Although we had been in the middle of a warm stretch, my mother wanted her winter clothes taken out of the attic. Her first motivation was that it was predicted that it'd turn cooler shortly (and it did); possibly also motivating her was that it took over a month to get her winter clothes put up into the attic. This was, you might be anticipating, another of those cases where I deviously refused to help my father by saying ``sure'' when he said he would need help getting the stuff up in the attic, and then he never got around to doing anything about the storage boxes for me to help with. Perhaps I was emboldened by my sister-in-law's success in getting the bookshelves built, but I insisted on getting them down now rather than later or sometime in the indefinite future, to my father's surprise. He didn't know that I was agreeing to get them down now.
I don't like going up in the attic. It's invariably stuffy and the temperature is uncomfortable; I also don't like the noises the ladder makes as anyone climbs it. And the attic is filled, with no particular organization scheme, and various loose debris ranging from pencils and an ancient copy of Real Men Don't Eat Quiche (remember that book? I can't guess which of my parents bought it, or why) to long strips of metal bent into a corner shape and waiting eagerly for someone to step on them by accident. It's tough to navigate and I can't avoid hitting my head on things.
Another bit of irritation this produced was that I had no idea how many storage boxes I was supposed to bring down. My mother never gave me a number, and they were not all arranged together, and my father would tell me only to bring down ``all of them'', refusing to say how many would constitute having gotten all of them. We also got some arguing in over just when I should let go of the boxes as I passed them down, and over how I refused to use the ladder as a plane for sliding them down just because the boxes didn't fit past the ladder's support mechanism, those coils and things that get caught in my pockets whenever I go up or down.
For some reason my father also asked me to bring down all the luggage, again not specifying how many pieces of luggage would likely be ``all''. So now the living room is stocked full of storage boxes and suitcases. The cats are prowling around quite upset because they don't know what this means but they're sure they don't like it.
Trivia: Of the seven million persons qualified to vote for the National Convention in 1792 which turned out to abolish the French monarchy, only about seven hundred thousand cast ballots. Source: The Age Of Napoleon, Will and Ariel Durant.
Currently Reading: The American Plague: The Untold Story of Yellow Fever, The Epidemic That Shaped Our History, Molly Caldwell Crosby.