Changing Time

I have the day off, a commie-inspired holiday that has morphed into a holiday marking the end of summer. There is plenty of warm weather ahead, but the days are growing noticeably shorter and the nights a bit cooler. We have had snow in mid-September before. The corn stalks are turning brown, the flowers a little less vibrant in their beds. My normal fall allergy headaches are already in force.

By this evening the retailers will be in full holiday season mode, shilling Halloween. Before the candy corn is even stale the first Christmas advertising will crop up. Ready or not, here it comes. Clothing stores have been stocked with sweaters and coats for a month. Worse, shoppers will soon be wearing them. No more tight tank tops and short shorts. On the bright side the shapely ladies will be wearing tight jeans and boots.

I got the yard mowed yesterday. I imagine house cleaning is on tap today. I don't want to, but I can't sit around and watch the wife toil. I was not built that way. Besides, she has shouldered most of the burden during this wasted summer of surgeries. Last night the wife dropped a disturbing notion into the conversation. She wants to move the furniture around in the family room. I hate having the furniture rearranged. My Mom used to move stuff all of the time. I mean sometimes weekly. One could wake up and find the couch on the opposite wall. It drove me nuts. The wife has lots of stuff on the walls; pictures, shelves, and knick knacks. If we move the furniture, that all has to be moved too. That means fixing nail holes, sanding, and painting. Then we have to put stuff back on the walls. It is not as simple as just moving the couch over there and putting the TV in the corner. I already know I will hate the new arrangement, whatever it is. That is until a couple of years from now and she wants to move it again.  I won't be too keen on that move, I promise.