How About A Little Pie?

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was one of those days that happen from time to time, where you feel as if you can do no wrong. I bounded out of bed at 7AM full of energy and ready to tackle, well, if not the world, at least all the things on my "to do" list. I'm a big believer in lists. They keep me focused. And for someone who's been known to look for any excuse to not complete something ("Oh look, my toenails need clipping. Maybe I should just go back to bed.") being more focused is a good thing.

Picking up the leaves that had fallen outside was on the list as priority #1. It wasn't so much that the leaves scattered along the ground bothered me. It's more the fact that one of my neighbors has taken to coming over to my house and cleaning them up himself. Anywhere else and this would be considered a kind gesture, but I think it's more an act of hostility. I've begun to suspect my neighbors get together on a semi-regular basis to compare their individual lists all titled: "Why Tom is an Incompetent Homeowner." Trust me, it's not paranoia. Once, when I was up on a ladder cleaning out my gutters, a neighbor walked by and said "So, you FINALLY got to those, did you?"

My neighbors have too much time on their hands.

Anyway, within one hour of my getting out of bed, the leaves were off the ground and in their paper recycling bags. I tossed in a load of laundry (#2 on the list), ate breakfast and started my grocery list (trip to the supermarket was #3). By 11AM, I had crossed off the picking up of leaves, 2 loads of laundry, the grocery shopping, gone for a 4-mile run and had thrown in phone calls to my mother and sister along with checking my emails.

Four hours later, my dog Nora had been bathed, the house had been cleaned, the rented movies had been returned, the checkbook was balanced and a pan of perfectly baked brownies was coming out of the oven. Maybe all this didn't exactly make me Superman, but I was feeling good enough about myself to at least identify with that singing woman from the old TV commercials who could both bring home the bacon AND fry it up in the pan. I felt very accomplished.

In fact, I was feeling so accomplished, I thought I deserved a nap. Could there be a better environment to take a nap in than the one I had created? The bed linens were clean and soft and the taste of a warm homemade double-chocolate brownie still tickled my palate. The desire to close my eyes felt as if I had earned it. A one hour's nap was little reward for all I had managed to do. Right? So, I patted Nora on the head and headed upstairs to bed.

Flash forward to one hour later. Let's face it, there are times in all our lives where the understanding that God has a sense of humor likes to prove itself. Despite what the Reverend (and I use that term oh-so-loosely) Fred Phelps would like people to believe, God doesn't hate. If anything, God likes a good chuckle now and again. There's a line from the old Lynn Redgrave movie, Georgy Girl: "God always has another custard pie up His sleeve." And little did I know that while I slept, God had pulled out the celestial apron and started baking.

The first thing I wondered as I groggily came down the stairs was: What is that smell? Pre-nap, the scent in the air would have made Martha Stewart proud. A heady mix of Murphy's Oil Soap, warm chocolate and Lemon Pledge. But this smell was alarmingly different: the smell of sick dog.

Now, you should know that whenever Nora gets sick, something in her head seems to scream out to her: "RUN TO THE LIVING ROOM!" As much as I'd like her to realize that getting sick on the kitchen floor or the tiled bathroom floor would be an easier clean up for me, that's never the case. Even the hardwood floors would be OK, if that was where she had an accident. But, that's just not quite custard pie-ish enough. Instead, when Nora falls ill and feels something about to suddenly come out, no matter which end that something is about to come out of, she feels the need to run straight to the living room rug. And while I was asleep, this is exactly what she had been doing...a lot.

I won't go into a detailed description. Let's just say that dog diarrhea, for the uninitiated, is not a pretty sight. And the fact that my living room rug was being marinated in it wasn't exactly what anyone would have wanted to wake up to. But, the custard pie had been thrown and there wasn't much to do except have a chuckle, check on Nora, open up the windows and haul out the cleaning supplies again. After all (my apologies for this obvious ending)... shit happens.