Day of Chores

As much as I want to move along with writing and other self-expression, today may turn out better dedicated to chores.  Cold laundry sorted, both regular and gentle.  More than the usual amount of gentle.  None takes very long once sorted.  Just tote each basket downstairs, put in the right machine at the right time, let the washer and drier perform, fold, and return the garments to their assigned place in my bedroom.  Ample dishes to do.  Not that many fleishig ones remain.  And I need to reseason the cast iron grill pan from its ordeal with a rib steak.  Then exchange sink to milchig and do those dishes.  I've already done a load of milchig dishwasher, so the rest need to be washed by hand, which I mostly find relaxing.

My herb pots seem to be going well.  In the backyard the flowers and vegetables could use some watering.  I should begin weeding.  And I bought a package of Swiss chard seeds.  Maybe plant three grids of these, or a dozen.  Thinning seedlings is premature.

And today's centerpiece, completing the transfer of my house to the revocable trust to avoid probate at some future time.

Those are the do it and done tasks.  I also have room and space tidying.  My Space with its destination desk, the kitchen, my half of the bedroom.  Never quite done.  Multiple schemes to promote progress, from setting a timer for a fixed duration of effort or setting a subtask to work on until completion.  Short bursts of intermediate progress.

But in the end, while having all the laundry and dishes done generates some tangible accomplishment, I've always had a preference for my mental efforts.  So no matter how much laudable household chores or errands I do, my assessment of how the day went falls back to what I read or wrote.  Time for that not only gets carved into each day, but with a timer that allows nothing else as it ticks to zero.