For the last, let’s say, three months, I have been procrastinating on putting up my backdrop. I don’t have any particular reason why. It’s just been so easy to not have to move around it. And even easier it leave it wedged in its bag, rumpled, and in need of ironing. Last night as I was making my goal list for today, I thought it was time to stop pretending I didn’t see it and just set it up.
As feared, the cotton muslin has not survived the move in any capacity. It’s crumpled and looks like a bed sheet that got tossed in the laundry. Yes, t was neatly folded, but moving didn’t treat it well. It was wrinkled and needed to be ironed.
Just one problem: it’s 31 degrees outside and even warmer in the house. I didn’t want to turn on the iron. But then again, I couldn’t fail my own goal list. So I went downstairs, to the basement, to iron.
Now if you read my article yesterday, you know that Max (the dog) follows me everywhere, and that’s ok. It also means I walk down the driveway and in through the downstairs door so Max can avoid the big stairs. That didn’t seem like anything I needed to think about when I took the folded backdrop downstairs. But with the muslin ironed in the cool of the basement, a wee problem arose: how was I going to get it back upstairs?
Hear me out. I couldn’t refold it. That would defeat the purpose of me having just ironed it. And I couldn’t leave it there and come back for it when Max wasn’t looking. That’s not the reason why I keep taking the long route. So, I decided to do what any sane person would do. I cloaked it over me and as dusk fell in my neighbourhood, I casually strolled down the driveway.
I live in the country, so it’s not like I have row houses on either side watching me. And yet, it does not escape me that in my fine country setting, had any neighbours looked out their windows, they would have seen me, dressed like a little white ghostie, laughing like I had lost my mind, and strolling through my yard.
On the plus side, my backdrop made it upstairs and only needed minor steaming to repair the wrinkles added by me in my giggling ghost disguise. Not only has it been hung and now ironed and steamed, I have managed to actually hurt my sides from laughing at my own neighbourhood prank.
And the best news? If the Mystery Machine pulls up along with Scooby and the gang to solve the mystery of the haunted driveway, I’ll have a nice place to take their photo.