It’s the May 24 (Vic- CHORE-ia Day) weekend here in Canada, also known as Rapture according to some folks, obviously hungry for a diversion.  Saturday the world was supposed to end, but it didn’t.  Surprise. I spent the day outside because it was nice out for once and everyone else had mowed their lawn.  So I cut my grass for the first time this year using my broken gas-powered lawn mower.  There were big puffs of blue smoke coming out of the motor, but I didn’t care, I inhaled deeply and carried on.  The end is nigh and I am high!!!   Then I went to Canadian Tire and got some potting soil and annuals to plant in all my flower vessels.  I had to dump the old earth out first though so I picked up one of the pots and underneath there was a giant earthworm the size of boa constrictor writhing around like a sexy beast on the prowl.  It had eyes and looked up at me and smiled.  I screamed and dropped the pot and ran in the house.  I hate snakes!  Didn’t Jesus and Jim Morrison both poetically see a snake as an omen before they both died tragically, one as a martyr and the other as a drunken pig?   I know it was a worm, but still.  Freddy came out, and picked it up and threw it into the back of the garden and I finished planting.  I’m not much of a gardener but it looks pretty good.  Each planter has a thrill, a fill, and a spill, meaning something popping out high in the center, and something filling in the rest , and then something spilling out the sides.  In the days of yore, we would just plant a bunch of crappy marigolds in an old barrel and be done with it but now everyone is Martha Stewart.  I took pride in my finished product and went inside to wash my hands and reward myself with clean fingers.

But the chores didn’t end there.  When I got inside, Righteous Teenage Daughter had ripped apart my office/pantry/laundry room and filled a couple garbage bags and boxes  with junk .  “I feel like I am on episode of Hoarders and I am saving the day!”  She was delirious with glee.  “Here!” she barked, “Start hauling these outside!”  So we threw out bags of half eaten tapanades, Rubbermaid containers with missing lids, papers and more paper, including bank statements (yes, identity thieves:  Take mine, please!  You can be a slightly neurotic single lady of a certain age whose credit card doesn’t work in a parking meter, I’ll just go and join the circus instead.  Good times.).  Anyway, we filled, hauled, and dumped, and I have to say it was the best fun ever.  And before we knew it, the Rapture time came and went and we were still in tact.  Same old, same old.  I’m not sure if the Faux-pocalypse taught us to LIVE LIFE TO THE FULLEST  because that level of existential awareness would get tedious pretty quickly.  You can only eat so many bacon bombs and bungee jump so many times before you prolapse.  But maybe just appreciate what you have, remind yourself that unopened mail holds no power, delight in the surprises like smiling worms, and if you can’t find the lid to something, for God’s sakes, throw out the container!  And life should have the occasional thrill, a bunch of fill (please no marigolds), and some spill.  And with that, I leave you Blondie: