Heat is not kind to me, psychologically and in other ways. But busyness fills the blankness, and so I suddenly wind up with my cotton pants from the 80s neatly ironed, (chuffed of course that I can get into them: but they may actually be the early 90s, and I weigh less now than I did then); my bedroom sheers washed (once every eight years whether they need it or not); my shower curtain ditto; the bathroom sparkling from Merlin's Magic All Purpose Household Cleaner, mixed up by older brother; and a new shower curtain liner to replace the old cracked one. (May be too light a pink: I seem to recall I had maroon to start with, to block the hideous sun. But again, that might have been the old bathroom nine years back and its brite white tile.) These little tasks are something I'd never have done without great protest ere now-- I think I haven't ironed in this millennium at all-- but Buddhist patience or attend-to-the-moment mindfulness has kicked in, allowing me to unhook and rehook the curtains automatically, a fiddly job that usually reduces me to tears.
Merlin's Magic contains tea tree oil so I've sloshed a bit of it on the roof outside the study. To date have seen no new raccoon poop, but the spring is yet young and it's just a matter of time. The tea tree oil should discourage them.
Heat is kind in one specific way: it stops my hips aching. Put a Robax heat wrap round the lower back and got through my meditation session very well thank you. Second last one and not a minute too soon: uninspired is not the word for the way the seminar is conducted. Only plus is that one gets to talk to an absolute stranger and tell them things one has formerly kept for therapists, since no one else but the mythical Best Friend would be the slightest bit interested.