Killing Time

Or waiting for paint to dry.

 

Nail polish

but you get the idea.

 

The shellac manicure has spoiled me.

Suddenly, the time involved in "doing"

my nails at home

has become intolerable.

Keeping my nails presentable consumes

 at least two nights a week -

nights that could be used for so many

other pursuits.

 

I use the nudest of nude polish

and keep my nails fairly short

so it's not a matter

of maintaining fire-red talons.

It's simply that they have to look "done."

 

Thinking it would minimize my OCD

concerning chipped polish, and thus allow me to coast

with just one session during a week,

I tried just a clear coat for

 shine and protection.  

It didn't work.

It's been three days

and I just couldn't take it!

I've just applied a quick coat

of color so I can go to work.

 

Obviously wet nails don't interfere

with typing

so the time would provide a good excuse

to post on a regular basis.

There is never enough time for reading

so wet nails would be the

perfect cover story

to curl up and read the night away.

 

Yes, it is a trivial complaint, at best,

and there is always a

suitable resolution

for such matters.

 

 

Faux Fuchsia says it best:

"Chipped nail polish still revolts me." 

 

 

 

Throwing in the Towel

It has been cool here these last few days.

We've enjoyed having open windows.

Fresh breezes.

The chatter of squirrels

and birdsong as our soundtrack.

 

google images

 

Yesterday was overcast,

cool, but humid. 

  So. Very. Humid.

You could be whereas I was covered with a clammy film

just standing thinking about work.

Just thinking!

 

Today it will warm up,

to what would still be considered

open window weather,

but it means the humidity

will intensify.

Intensify!

When I finish this post

I'm closing the house and turning on the AC.

 

I will wear my badge of wimpdom in comfort.

 

 

 

 

Peer Pressure

We have always

always

always

waited until Mother's Day

to do anything with bedding plants.

 

This past weekend our neighbor and her adorable

preschool daughter

had filled their big, red wagon

with all sorts of flowers

and made their way around the yard

planting and

laughing and

oohing and ahhing

and having so much fun together

that I went and bought

some plants on Monday.

And Tuesday.

And they looked great.

On Wednesday.

 

Last night when I came home from work

I noticed those same neighbors had been busy

covering their handiwork with sheets

so I tromped around in the dark spreading

 a few sheets of my own.

 

It has been snowing all day.

 

All day.

 

All day!

 



 

 



Still, small voice...

This is always a fun time of year.

There is something new to enjoy everyday.

 

The wisteria made it through the winter and has buds!

The sun sets later each day.

Birds are singing.

People are opening their windows

(I can smell coffee on my morning walk).

 

We sleep with a window open year round which leads

 to an convoluted process of

 trying to find the right mix of sheets

and/or blankets.

For these few weeks

temperatures climb and drop so much from

sunrise to sunset and back again.

Thus, today's dilemma:

If I take the flannel sheets off I can leave all the blankets on.

If the flannels stay I need to eliminate

or exchange at least one blanket.

 

 

 

Here's hoping that the quiet whisper I hear, now, saying

"you should have stuck with the flannel sheets" 

doesn't become  a wailing

"YOU SHOULD HAVE STUCK WITH THE FLANNEL SHEETS!"

when I crawl into bed tonight.

Confessions on a cold morning

My Kindle is searching the Oxford Dictionary for "succumbation" as I start this post.  

The yellow bar is barely crawling along...

My venerable print copy was checked first - found nothing - so I figured I should 

put the resources available through technology to work.

That yellow bar is still crawling...

If it proves to be a word then I may claim the privilege 

of poster child.

You may remember the recent meatloaf incident...

This latest succumbation resets the bar.

I bought Christmas ornaments the other day.

Still crawling....

Yes, I've had a list of projects posted for several weeks already.

Hold on while I put another log on the fire.

 0 results for succumbation.

Yes, I've revised the list several times and actually begun several projects..

Yes, I've looked through Pinterest and various books/magazines

 for Christmas ideas.  

None of that counts.

Buying ornaments is in a different category.

I've succumbed.

Fair Warning

The flannel sheets came off the bed today.

Charlie has an appointment for a hair cut on Tuesday.

Tim's sweaters have been washed and put away.

Go ahead and pencil in your preference for one last minute storm for the middle of next week.

True Story

I have a sad, but true story to pass along today.  

Actually, more like several vignettes.  I went to a wedding over the weekend
- without my camera.  I know, but it gets worse. 

So you'll find no pictures, here, of the happy couple.  Or Leslie looking wonderful in her dress.  

No record of the table settings or bouquets. 

 Family.  

Incomparable weather. 

 Nothing. 

 I thought of throwing in a picture of my shoes - which are both adorable and comfortable - but I wasn't in the mood for a sop.

Anyway.  The saga continues.  

Not only did I leave home without my camera for this stellar event
 - I left my spanx on the dresser.  I know.  

I had clothes for the dinner Friday night.  For hanging around Saturday morning. 

 Several Weather related  options for the wedding on Saturday afternoon,
 changes if we went out later,
something to drive home Sunday morning - 

but my spanx got left behind.  I know. 

 Of course I didn't discover this until I was out of the shower on Saturday, starting to get dressed. 

 I emptied my suitcase.
I put everything back and emptied it again,
lifting each item and shaking it to dislodge what was not there.  

How could this happen?!?  Aaargh!!

It is both unfortunate and 

I know everlastingly to my advantage 

that Naphtali suspected Aidan was developing strep throat.  

While my private drama was developing they Tim, Naphtali and Aidan were out in search of a drop-in clinic, 

which they found, and

  which confirmed Naphtali's excellent motherly intuition and 

got the lad started on an antibiotic. 

 In the mean time, Naphtali called me asking if I had heard from Leslie concerning the pew bows - 

bear with me that will be in the next paragraph - and 

I spilled my tale of woe.  "Well, I could pick you up a pair."  They were at Target. 

 Just that easily: another crisis averted.

So, back to the pew bows. 

 Over the years I have been acknowledged as competent, even skilled, I know at a variety of crafts. 

 But one crafting basic has consistently eluded me
 - making bows.  I know.  

So imagine my dismay, on Friday night, when a somewhat harried mother-of-the-groom 

asked if Naphtali and I would be willing to make 60 pew bows. 

I looked her in the eye and said the only thing I could:
"Of course.  No problem.  Glad to help."  I know.
Trusting all the while that my multi-talented daughter 

would be able to pick up the slack created by my two left thumbs. 

We got started Saturday morning at what I considered a leisurely hour and pace for 60 bows when Naphtali confessed 

that bows had never been her strong suit.  I Know! 

 But that revelation was counter balanced by the news that we only had to make 16 bows.  

With all the background noise I had misheard Leslie.  She needed 16 - not 60 - bows!
The bows were finished and made it to the church in time.
It was a lovely ceremony on a perfect, classic fall, October afternoon.
Aidan received the appropriate medical attention.
I was sufficiently cocooned in the new spanx.

You've been very patient  and I hope somewhat amused with this epic tale and here's the payoff:

I learned a new skill:  Bows are no longer my bete noir.
I know!  

Today I made this bow.

Who knows what I may make tomorrow!  
I Know!

You can thank me later

I have no trouble whatsoever taking credit for this lovely weather.
 Had I not changed to flannel sheets, the cold, damp, gloomy weather would have continued
and I would have shivered my nights away.

 But, well, you know what happened.
You can thank me later.