Down in New Orleans, my sister: Oh Mighty SHE of the Pitchfork and 23 other mid-west folk, put their building experience to good use hanging sheetrock, painting, and in general helping to rebuild a little part of that city. They will be there for the next couple of weeks. She sent me these photos today, but isn’t in any of them.
A bright blustery day here in LA. I woke up, worked in garden briefly, made coffee, and went in the bathroom to eat breakfast off the floor. Yes siree Bob, I awoke to a gleaming squeaky clean house. Unnaturally clean some might say. The floors especially look like, well… mirrors. Cat posse is afraid to walk on all non-carpeted areas. They are scaring themselves with their reflections.
Monk’s sister returned with hard core cleaning equipment in tow. She filed solemnly into the house at 8:30 yesterday morning with a look of intense concentration on her face. Her lips were set in a straight line. Eyes carefully scanning every surface looking for signs of dirt and disaster. I beat a hasty retreat to the door. Monk’s sister takes her job seriously and will tolerate no tomfoolery on her shift. By the time I returned many hours later the house had been sanitized, disinfected, scrubbed, cleansed, and shape-shifted.