You’re only as good as your last haircut.
I have discovered a strong correlation between hairstyle and lucidity. It was one of those a-ha moments that I believe merits attention. My most recent observation was just yesterday. There was an alarm on my cell phone reminding me of a scheduled farrier visit at 1:30 pm. I was pleased to have received this reminder, because it proved the calendar phone option worked. Within ten seconds, my self-satisfaction plummeted to dismay and mild panic. The farrier appointment is today at 1:30 pm. It is now 1:30 pm, and I’m 25 miles away. I was helping my daughter, who was in the throes of an apartment move. I launched into my I’m always reliable and never forget an appointment speech while looking for small items to toss into bags. I called my husband a few times to discuss how this possibly could have happened. After he checked the calendar, (the old fashioned kind with handwritten notes), the scheduled visit was another month away. It was suggested that I didn’t have my reading glasses while clicking on the little phone keys or maybe I thought February looked like March. I don’t know. What I do remember is my hair on the day I was scheduling the event on my phone. I had had the worst style ever, with short strands sticking up, resembling winter wheat blades waving above matted buffalo grass. It makes sense. I pondered a day when my hair would not poof up, and I ran a full wash cycle in the machine, sans the clothes. Case closed.
There ain’t no cloud so thick that the sun ain’t shinin’ on t’other side.
an 1870s mountain man
Today we had a brief respite from winter; springtime was in the air. The roads were teeming with cyclists, bikers, drivers in their convertibles, runners, and the odd equestrian or two. Then, there were those of us who gravitated to the local tavern for a hamburger, fries, and Bud Lite. The greasy fare always goes hand in hand with the fragrance of damp soil and sunshine. It was a good day to run errands, browse the DIY stores for the next indoor project, get a bicycle tire repaired, buy dog food, sip a non-fat latte at the local coffee shop, and scan the county newspaper. (which has never been the same since the weekly sheriff’s report was omitted) The clouds have returned this evening and are unleashing a harsh reminder not to get too comfortable. It’s raining, but it will come as no surprise to find the white stuff on the ground tomorrow morning. After all, it’s only February (helmikuu in Finnish), and the snow moon appeared last night. This one day revived my senses and raised my spirits. I’m happy.
Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. ~Leonardo DaVinci
A few days ago I had commented to my husband that I was surprised how warm a pair of handknitted and felted mittens I had made a couple of years ago and, until then, didn’t wear. I thought they were too cute to get messy around the barn. Cute just doesn’t cut it any more. In these elements, practicality counts. I had heard it was hard to beat a woolen felted cap in winter’s icy air, so I set out to the local yarn shop and bought a couple of skeins of Brown Sheep bulky. There was a charming earflap cap pattern in one of my books. By the way, the cap in the above photo is drying over a bowl. When completely dry, I’ll attach the ties on the flap. Since it’s knitted with bulky yarn, it only took several hours total to complete. Anyway, after I commented about the felted wool to my husband, he shared an interesting historical fact that he learned from Pawn Star, a reality program on the History Channel. During World War One, the U.S.Government commissioned a three-sided trench warfare knife to be made for the soldiers fighting in the trenches. The knife had to be able to penetrate a German trench coat which was made with heavy felted wool, apparently a tough fabric. That’s good to know. Even though no one here will be in any skirmishes soon, we have a snuggy, durable cap to wear on our 50 ft. trek to the barn.
The best kind of friend is the one you could sit on a porch with, never saying a word, and walk away feeling like that was the best conversation you’ve had. ~Author Unknown
Yesterday was a good day with my pal, Doogie. After a trip to the vet, Doogie and I did lunch together. We munched on a Sonic burger with no cheese, no tomato, onions of course, and a small plain hot dog in a bun. Needless to say, I shared a generous portion of my hamburger sans the onions. Doogie has come a long way, since his adoption at a rescue in a nearby town. Even though he willingly came home with me the day I bailed him out, he soon demonstrated that he never had any intention of getting back into a vehicle. I don’t know if it had to do with abandonment issues or my driving scared the bejeevies out of him. One thing for certain is that he was always at my side, followed me everywhere. It worked to my advantage, as I discovered. We started an exercise where I would sit in the back seat, and Doogie would enthusiastically jump in next to me. The two of us, side by side, quietly enjoyed each others company. Then, one Saturday, my husband chauffered us to the hamburger joint. The rest is history.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show. Andrew Wyeth
For me, there is something about a winter terrain and chilling air that brings a sense of peace and calm to my psyche. My knitted hat slipping over my eyes, mittens stiff, boots pulled over stuffed layers of leggings, snow pants rustling and ground crunching with each stride, clanging water buckets swinging in sync, and, of course, the proverbial runny nose does not inhibit the tranquility that I experience this time of year. There are small nuances in daily life that old man winter offers, quiet comforts not typically stated aloud. The comfort of stepping inside to the warmth that will soothe stinging cheeks, the aroma that emanates from simple fare such as hot chocolate and toast, the sweetness of a scented candle, and even a hug from a loved one is extra special.
Could my tulips and crocuses possibly be waiting beneath?
And, during this time of bone chill, there is that exciting anticipation of new growth, fresh splashes of color, melodious sounds of songbirds, and the heavy thud of snow boots replaced with heels clicking on the sidewalks.