I wondered from afar if the rock would be smooth enough to paint and draw a design to go along with my other kindness rocks around the house.
As I got closer, I noticed it glistened.
As I leaned it to pick it up, I realized with a sense of total panic that it was not a rock!
My next thought: if a woman panic-screams and her husband is mowing the yard with ear plugs in, did the woman really scream.
As I regained a sense of sanity, I noticed the hole beside him/her and wondered if he/she wintered there. My next thought was I’m sitting in front of the screen door where he has spent hours just hanging around……and then I looked again….
And he was gone….and I screamed….and the husband heard me…but he didn’t seem terribly concerned….it must have sounded similar to the spider in the bathtub scream.
I know he didn’t go far….the frog….husband continues mowing…..
EDIT: and so we get on with life…the hero says he has no idea where the frog is.
The title being in all caps is the reality of the disturbance in my head…I steal the term, disturbance, after hearing it used by a tv weather guy. Talking about the Canadian air mass sitting over the region for two weeks….”cold temperatures and smaller “disturbances” equals more chance for snow.
Seriously…disturbance? from the news media who normally has us hugging ourselves tightly while they scream shelter in place, lock your doors you are all going to die as our mental health experiences nervous breakdowns through the pandemic and the Trump administration.
It’s cold here. It’s Iowa Cold. Thankfully this morning when I got out of bed in my more than irritable mood, I realized I was feeling the same way I did for 55+ winters in Iowa. Mentally combining that with quarantining a year in the house….my CABIN FEVER is now in overdrive. There are seriously only a certain number of Words with Friends…actually strangers….games you can play in a day so I learned how to play backgammon. But it’s just not the same as what I had dreamed it would be…sitting in a pub in Grantchester playing the Vicar over a round of pints.
My Word for the year is “nurture”. Not feeling it today…Not a whole lot of positive going on right now….my benevolence has frozen over!
I was looking in the mirror in the bathroom a few minutes ago and noticed my developing marionette lines on my lower face. I decided to try some Ayurvedic formula wrinkle serum that my oldest daughter passed down to me. It was more like…hey Mom, I have this wrinkle serum that causes my face to itch, do you want to try it?
Even though I have no illusions that any ointment, serum or lotions are actually going to prevent wrinkles from forming, I said yes. Full disclosure…I know what is causing the thin skin on my forearms and the new developing wrinkles on my face.
1. No sunscreen
2. My age
3 no sunscreen
I actually laughed out loud as I looked to my right and sitting on the edge of the tub was a bottle of great smelling exfoliating, salt (feels like sand) that my younger daughter bought but wasn’t thrilled with. Hey Mom, do you want this exfoliating grit. (Not her real words). And the visit the time before, she sent me home with some lavender moisturizing oil…Hey Mom…..
Which took me back to the Life Cereal commercial from the 70’s…one of the longest continuously running commercial campaigns ever aired.
….and there you have it. Changes needed to be made when my life became reruns of TV commercials…so I got the Britbox and Acorn TV apps and now I speak with a British accent…..how much I love the term, Wanker, at a later time.
Because I have nothing urgent to do several hours a day….and I define urgency as drinking too much water in one sitting…I find myself on Facebook….and by “on Facebook”, I mean watching Facebook videos about hair. If we don’t choose wisely, the algorithm insanity states that if we click on one interesting idea that pops up on Facebook, the topic or associated topics become our social media life whether we choose it or not.
I’ve had very long hair, very short hair and hair of various colors and hues. I started coloring my hair when I was 16… I loved playing with my hair…styling it, coloring it, streaking it, sun-in hair lighteners. I’ve been nearly black, chocolate, purple and one unfortunate, very bright apple red/Sunkist orange before a vacation. I thought about being a hair professionally in the 70’s but didn’t take geometry so figured I would suck at angles.
Because I recently was hooked on a 30 minute video of a stylist cutting an older woman’s hair, I’ve been inundated with videos of stylists and hair and hair color and all of the latest toys for anyone with hair. This morning, I watched a stylist comb and part and ponytail and then form a HUGE bun on top of a women’s head. Before this morning I had no idea working hair into a huge bun was even possible. I’m just letting you know as a caution, if you see this video pop up now that I’ve mentioned it, do NOT click on it.
The thought has occurred to me that I wonder if there really was a Repunzel who let down her golden hair..betraying her beloved which caused his fall and blindness. And seriously, from hair we got peeping Toms as “Tom” apparently broke the rules and watched Lady Godiva ride naked through the streets… But most of all now I want to know why and how Godiva chocolate gots it’s name but there is no way I’m going to google it or click on any chocolate cooking videos because I do not need to be inundated with chocolate. I have enough problems!
Taking the white clothes out of the dryer today, there were two pairs of socks. One ankle pair that belonged to me and a pair of mid calf, thick, robust socks that belonged to him. I sighed realizing cold weather has arrived. For him, anyway. I will continue to wear my Offos flip flops until we have snow. Of course, this year I won’t be going anywhere because of flu/COVID season so perhaps flip flops will see me through until spring.
For as long as I’ve been aware of the washing machine and dryer, I’ve been aware of the urban legends of what happens to 1 out of every so-many pairs of socks. Nothing disappears in the act of doing laundry like socks…I maintain that we can continue to complain as we try to mate socks or we can just reach blindly into the dryer and just mate them as they come out. Where is it written that the person who does laundry must be the responsible adult.
Which brings me to sock manufacturers. Why do they mess with us. Why do they insist on a black logo one year, perhaps a blue one another year. I have several pair of black, gray and white design socks and each one identical EXCEPT each pair has a different color of stripe around the ankle. WHY WHY WHY. Is this really necessary? Socks are stuffed in shoes…and worn during the same season that long pants cover the rest of them. Why make this complicated?
Until next time when we will discuss why food that misses the mouth is only attracted to white shirts!
Some things just make you go HMMM. I’ve been going thru totes of memories that we have moved from one house to another to another to another. The best part was reading through old letters from friends of 45+ years…laughing, shaking my head, and doing a lot of WHATS??? I read things that could easily have been someone else’s life because I had a lot of blanks in my memory. I took snapshots of some things and emailed to my loves who are still a part of my life….and….googled other people who are not in my life anymore and sent out some feelers because I want to know how they are and if they are happy and content. It’s been a great few days getting to know me again as a young woman!
But the one that really got me was finding a box of our wedding reception napkins. I decided to just take them upstairs and use them instead of storing them. I mean after 41 years, we haven’t needed them for anything else.
Who the hell are Donna and Jeff. Half the box. Question number 1. If Donna and I both had the same color combo in our weddings a week apart, I need to find her.
Did Donna find some of our napkins in her box of napkins?
I gave him the look that had only previously been used when I learned that he had discarded the lids to my stash of cool whip containers.
The only reason he asks now has to do with a very traumatic event (for him) which happened last year. I had been saving “good” cardboard boxes in a corner of the basement to put “for thrift store” items in. Lo and freeking behold, when I went to the basement to retrieve a box, the basement was empty of boxes…..WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHY DO YOU THINK I SAVED THOSE BOXES ONE INSIDE THE OTHER?
We used to live in an A frame house that he built. Along both sides there were cubby holes and in one little corner, I had hoarded many, many, many Christmas present boxes. The next two house to house moves we made, that collection dwindled. I still feel the loss. The feeling that all is well with the world when I would see my stack of department store boxes which had been dutifully handed out by clerks from the stash behind the checkout counter during Christmas shopping season.
Because of my love for stacks of empty boxes, I giggled with satisfaction when this meme showed up on my Facebook wall last week.
Box people unite…I love you, I would be so “in” to be invited to a cardboard box Facebook group.