(translation = This crazy life.)

The last few days have been a little goofy.

It has been floor refinishing weekend, but foster son needed a place to stay, so we all ended up staying here in the house.

However, the wood floors were inaccessible from all entry points, so the only way to enter our bedrooms? Windows. Foster son had to climb a ladder to the second floor, and we had to burglarize our way in through a window on the first floor, hoping neighbors wouldn’t notice two old people on a step ladder hoisting themselves inside.

As soon as we pried open the window, a thick waft of highness hit our nasal passages. I am fairly certain Banana and Split have about a third of the brain cells they once had last week…

So we have been perpetually higher than kites as we’ve occupied our bedroom for many hours over the weekend, just waiting for the beautiful floors to be dry enough so we could come out of hiding and re-enter the land of sanity.

Today, the floors were ready for testing. They are beautiful and we love them. However, the painters arrived just in time before 8 am to begin their work on the kitchen cabinets. Enter the largest tubes of airplane glue aroma in the history of Guiness World Records, because whatever they are spraying inside the drawers to varnish and seal, makes our home smell like a life-size B52 airplane model in progress. If ever there was a whiff of “old people smell” in this house, it has vanished.

And all the while, I stayed home from work today, on this beautiful 75 degree gorgeous day, because I have COVID without the VID, so just CO, but add the UGH. That’s what I have. CO-UGH. Continually. Apparently, it is a viral thing going around, so I just have to wait it out, after not one but TWO COVID tests and a doctor appointment. But waiting it out means occupying more time in this master bedroom with all the fume-y highness while I CO-UGH.

I have felt sorry for the painters in our kitchen having to listen to The Doobie Brothers all day, so I changed the music to the unknown Latin music genre, currently playing, “Quien Te Entiende,” translated “Who can understand you?”

That’s fitting.

I am pretty sure we are a third less brain cells now, too, along with Banana and Split. My man is wearing crocs with socks and he cracks me up. And Banana got out this morning and decided he was manly enough of a cat to take on a fox. We would have never known what happened to our little guy had it not been for a really nice neighbor with a loud scream and the vet tag that hangs around Banana’s neck. Nice neighbor lady called to find out where this less-than-intelligent cat lives. Since I am CO-UGHing incessantly, I sent my man and his crocs and socks down the sidewalk to meet her.

“I’m so sorry. Banana is his name, and he is doped up on airplane glue. We’re your new neighbors who climb through our window instead of using the front door. Nice to meet you and thank you for rescuing our boy! Es una vida loca!”

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I am grateful for this adventure.

I am grateful the fox thought a Banana was a little too crazy to eat.

I am grateful the neighbors haven’t called the police.

I am grateful for wonderful guys who are artists with floors and cabinets.

And I am grateful Sam has other shoes to wear in public.