This is my kamma this week. Thus far.
Yesterday (a Monday, naturally) I awoke to what I thought would be a normal day in my humdrum unemployed life. I decided to clean the birdcage, which had developed one of Squeeps’ distinctive green poop-piles. Lovely.
This birdcage is not what one might call sturdy. Since I bought it six months ago I have had to replace cheap tabs with twist ties. These are the tabs that hold the whole thing together. And I found myself having to discipline the bird not to gnaw at these new twist tie “toys.” The bottom plastic pan just fell out once while I was carrying the cage by the top handles, denting the newly restored hardwood floors. Grr.
So as I’m lifting the cage down, it swings, bumps against my knee in a firm, but not “bending over with pain oh God my knee oh the agony” sort of way. But the bars of the cage bent, two more connector tabs broke and steam came out of my ears because it hadn’t hit that hard. Made worse when I tried to bend one of the bent bars that the bird could have pushed his head through and it broke. Augh!
Squeeps’ travel cage is very well built, a product of Quality Cage Company here in Portland. So I called them up, wanting a cage that would fit the existing base. No way to tell on the phone, of course, so off I went to far eastern Portland with the caster-wheeled base. They have a lovely 20″x20″ cage, which I purchased but which would not fit in my car. Back home. Kristine leaves virii and microbes cooking at work and we drive back and get the cage. Squeeps loves it, there is much rejoicing and I can heartily recommend you buy a cage built by Quality Cage. This thing is a tank, and very livable.
Onto doing four loads of laundry, barbecueing chicken for dinner, completing an Apache 2 install, finishing the yard cleanup and getting the lawn recycling to the curb as well as 50 pounds of household trash. Yay, that’s a lovely kammic kick for a Monday.
This morning I awake, make coffee and hit the garage for a smoke and a call to Scot Hacker. Hey! There are the six lawn and leaf sized bags of returnable bottles and cans we keep moving as we need to work and unpack. They’ve been staring at us for months, but they never leave. I have contemplated just grabbing someone that’s asking for change at one of the highway entrances, but that’s creepy. Some guy pulling up in his car and saying, “Oh, yeah, I got money. Get in and …” No thanks.
I finish the smoke and phone and head back inside. Start an e-mail and almost immediately the doorbell rings. A twenthirty gal is standing there, and asks if I would be able to help her sister get her electricity turned back on in any way. Oh heck yeah, I could. Jam myself, this lady and six lawn and leaf sized bags of returnable bottles and cans into my car and drive the 2 blocks to Winco. Perfect.
Here’s sincerely hoping someone gets their power turned on, that maybe I helped in some way and a little nod from me to the Forces That Be saying, “I got that one.”