Highly accomplished

The following conversation occurs in Pride and Prejudice regarding when to call a woman “accomplished.” Miss Caroline Bingley begins:

“…no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and, besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy; “and to all she must yet add something more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

I cannot claim to be “accomplished” by Mr. Darcy’s standard. Even Miss Elizabeth Bennet comments, “I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.” Nevertheless, I did accomplish some things today.

First, I put back together my dogs’ kennels, which had spent the months of my absence folded flat in the garage. Two were simple, but the third was difficult. I could not get the door on for reasons that would take too long to explain. Suffice to say, after using pliers and a hammer to make small adjustments to some metal pieces, I finally had it complete.

I needed to get those kennels ready today. The last two nights my dogs have slept with me. Three dogs and myself in a recliner would be okay if everyone calmly lay down in the places where they’ll eventually end up. But my dogs have to spend time wiggling, climbing and crawling all over me, jumping to the floor and back again, attempting to or succeeding in licking my face, and—in Beatrice’s case—yapping and snapping at anyone who invades her personal space.

Second, I put into the kennels new comfy mats I’d ordered from Amazon shortly before I went to the hospital. They arrived neatly rolled up and shrink wrapped. Since coming to the house to supervise workers and then moving home, I’d seen those rolls several times. I thought I remembered seeing them in my living room, and I also thought I’d seen them in my utility room. But as soon as I wanted to use them I could not see them anywhere. I spent what felt like at least an hour walking into every room and one large closet over and over again, searching but not finding. 

I started to write a text to my sister-in-law who has a highly organized memory to ask if she could magically tell me their location. Before I sent it, I decided to make one more attempt. And in the guest room on a bed was a box with “Save for the pups” written on it. Well, yeah. How was I supposed to find that? My excuse is that my mind’s eye was picturing three rolls, not a box. Hurrah, they’re placed, and now the dogs have one lovely bed each, as do I. We’ll all sleep the better for it.

Samuel Pepys often ended his diary entries with: “So to bed.”