Dave and I started gleaning through our closets about a year ago. Our motivation at the time was our parish yard sale. It was a long process of emptying the contents of these dark recesses onto the floor outside to evaluate the worth and necessity of each item. This past weekend we completed the process by giving the garage the once over.
Naturally it was a very hot and muggy day, the kind that would make most people decide to put the job off for another, more temperate day. So, faced with the lack of future rescheduling possibilities, we sorted, rearranged swept and loaded the back of the CRV with yet another load of stuff to take to a charity shop.
While we were in work mode, I was distracted by children’s voices from the house next door. Having been raised as the oldest sister by an oldest sister, my ears are finely tuned to detect mischief and when I peeked out the garage door, I discovered my skills are still in fine working order. I saw the neighbor’s eight year old dressed only in his white briefs, shod in one white shoe and one black shoe, standing outside his bedroom window next to a bar stool attempting to coax his younger brother to join him in his escape!
Instead, I joined in on the escape, from my cleaning, and asked him if his mother knew he was standing in the yard in his skivvies. He said no and decided to hastily return to his room via the window. Once inside, he stuck his head out and nonchalantly began to ask who was going to live in our house after we moved, as if his window comings and goings were nothing out of the ordinary. Then his brother joined in by pulling down the sash on his head. This was followed by some muffled squeals, yells and the abrupt shutting of the window.
Later, when the whole family trickled out of the house to get in the car (parked conveniently in the front yard) I told his mother about the escape. Although she was a little embarrassed and frustrated by her sons’ adventures, I know she appreciated my watching out for them. Despite what you think of Hillary Clinton, it really does take a village to raise children.
God only know how I got from cleaning closets to Hillary Clinton. But, for this morning at least, my escape time is over. The lawn awaits before the day becomes one of those really hot days. . .