If you don’t want to be asked to do something again,
make an awful job of it the first time round.
That was the lesson my father’s father
apparently taught him
when it came to household chores.
It was the reason that his attempt on the lawn,
a job normally reserved to my mother,
has to be redone
once he’d relinquished hold of the mower
and she’d had chance to evaluate the outcome.
It was similar to my Grandfather’s paint job
of the kitchen in my Dad’s childhood home.
The instructions were to leave two inches
of each wall below the ceiling unpainted,
so my Grandmother could do the edges
with a hand she clearer believed to be steadier
than the one she left her commands to.
was two inches of paint,
on ceiling and wall each,
while the rest of the room
When my father pointed out
that he didn’t think that’s what his mother meant
Granddad responded with ‘Never you mind,
I know what I’m doing,’
and besides the ensuing hurricane
that always blew when her temper ignited,
perhaps he did know his way,
to avoid loosing time
on jobs he didn’t want to do that day.
I mentioned on my last post that I was feeling a little under the weather. Turns out that I’ve got a throat infection (which is why I haven’t included a recording with this poem). Anyway, it’s knocked me back for a few days so I’m playing catch up with the NaPoWriMo prompts. Not the way I wanted April to go but sometimes you have to roll with the punches.
Still not feeling great, but I don’t feel as completely drained as I have done for the last four days this afternoon. (This may be a trick as Wednesday I felt and little better and then Thursday, oh boy did I feel rough.)