Within the women’s restroom of IKEA – in Örebro, Sweden – is posted the following sign:
Roughly translated it reads: Holy Moly Joly! Did you forget your feminine products? Simply exit this restroom, waltze through the cafe, the second half of the store, past check-out, and when it’s your turn at the info counter, we’ll be happy to assist you.
Yeah, that’ll help …
So. I promised to review the books I took on holiday …
Uncle Fred in the Springtime, by P.G. Wodehouse. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times – you can’t go wrong with P.G. Wodehouse. Unless, of course, you are not enamored with British humor; in which case, you will want to back slowly away – pity. P.G. Wodehouse is most known for his Jeeves and Wooster stories, as well as those of Blandings Castle and Uncle Fred. Uncle Fred in the Sprintime combines characters from all three – making it especially fun for Wodehouse fans. It’s a light, easy read – perfect for a lazy summer afternoon.
Here’s the story: Pongo Twistleon and his Uncle Fred pay a visit to Blandings Castle as Sir Roderick Glossip and his secretary. Polly Pott – daughter to private investigator Mustard Pott – joins them in the role of Sir Roderick’s daughter. Their lofty goal is to prevent the Duke of Dunstable from stealing the Empress of Blandings – Lord Emsworth’s prize pig – and right the wrongs of young lovers. Love lost, mistaken identities, Persian Monarchs, mickeys-slipped-in-drinks, egg-throwing, and whistling of The Bonny Bonny Banks of Lock Lomand add to the mayhem – and the hilarity. You have only to sit back and see how Uncle Fred proves, “there are no limits, literally none, to what I can achieve in the sprintime.”
Ilium, by Dan Simmons. Yeah, I’ve got nothin’ for ya. But don’t hold it against Dan Simmons. This was all me. Most of the time available to read was in Gothenburg. Our hotel was on the water. We’d open the window and settle in for a long evening’s read. And there lies the rub – I would start to read the book, then I would hear the water lapping against the pier, the seagulls, and all I could think was Hornblower. As in, Horatio Hornblower. It was the PERFECT setting to re-read a book from the series. Why, oh why, didn’t I bring one? I was actually a bit pouty about the whole scenario. Pitiful, but there it is. I will say that the few pages I managed to read seemed well written. But that would be the height of my review. At this time.
I have a dear friend whose fiancé ”inherited” a home. For the weeks leading up to their wedding, they worked to make the place liveable. I once asked if she had taken “before” pictures so people could truly value the fruit of her labors. She said no. There was no way to capture the horror. Now I understand.
Saturday, her sister and a friend rounded up a few of us to help clean up a bit before the two lovebirds returned from their honeymoon.
There simply are no words.
To give you a glimpse at the task before us – a crew of 8, in two-hours time, gathered enough stuff to fill two truck-and-trailer loads, with overflow. And I do mean stuff. There were body parts (those of dolls mind you, but just as creepy), wigs, rotten mats, bronze coal buckets (pee pots, spittoons, what have you), metal signs, wooden signs, a wood splinter wrapped with twine at the end of which hung a shoe, an electric blanket, a vacuum hose – IN THE YARD!
Other than dodging hornets (they were all a dither that we would even think of trespassing on their property) we kept our hands to the grindstone. Every once in awhile someone would utter a coheriant sentence. Here are a few things overheard…
Where’s Mandy?
Oh, she’s in the shed.
Yeah, um, that’s actually a part of the house.
This is wrong; this is very wrong … so very, very wrong …
These guys are going to go ahead and make up some hazmat suits so we can safely enter.
I just needed to come out here for a bit so I did’t throw up.
Is that a head in the grass?
We found what appears to be either a mouse or a corndog.
And the comment that pretty much sums it all up:
Oh dear God!
Now, lest you be shocked and appalled that I would use the Lord’s name in vain, let me assure you – that was nothing short of a heart-rendering prayer. A prayer that we got the wrong house, that people could not possibly live this way … that we would make it out alive.
But we did (and, apparently, they do). While I would love to say we cleared out all the crap, tore down the creepy sheds, trimmed all the juniper bushes, hauled it all away, sprayed decades worth of weeds and bugs, planted grass and flowers, and otherwise started from scratch … we still accomplished quite a lot. Further, there’s something to be said for working hard, in the heat of summer, to surprise someone you love. You feel a certain affinity for those you work alongside – as if you could say ”Come here you!”, pull ‘em in, and give ‘em a good dutch rub – or maybe hold hands and sing kumbaya.
Instead, I will simply say this: Mandi, Julie, Jared, Tim, Kayla, David, Brent, Aimee, Colby – and my mum – you rock!
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