Well, that's the last time I get my hair cut on Friday the 13th. The stylist (and I use that term loosely) turned me into June Allyson in the middle of a Depends commercial. It was so bad that I couldn't bear to see my reflection in the glass of the front door when I got home. In desperation (after two hours of trying to tousle my hair into the messy, edgy look I think befits a writer) I plugged in the electric curlers. Twenty minutes later I looked like Sally Field in The Flying Nun.
I don't even want to think about what I look like this morning. Instead, I'll tell you what my property looks like: black and brown and grey and white. White from the last vestiges of snow. Black and brown from saturated trees and weeds and stone and mud. Grey from the fog over everything. It's 54ยบ F. on January 14. The basement pumps have been running constantly. Rain and wind, hitting the windows hard, woke me up at 4:00 a.m. I guess I'll call my daughter...I'm certain she isn't skiing. Tonight we're supposed to get snow, and tomorrow the wind chills will be in the teens. I'm supposed to drive over a mountain to a baby christening at noon. We shall see...
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2 comments:
It's always about you -- Suzy this, Suzy that -- well, the last time I got my hair cut it was a PETER'S, the Greek barber three doors down. I left looking like Anthony Quinn if he just stepped out of a washing machine.
And to make matters worse, I have somehow put on 15 lbs. over the summer. I have a belly hanging over my belt and that is NOT my chosen image. I start my cruel but necessary diet tomorrow. No fatty foods, no booze. I'm depressed already. What am I supposed to do? Play scrabble? Put together a big puzzle of Texas? I think I'll take long walks in the cold.
Glad you're blogging again, remote country gal. :-)
Hi Susan :-). Nice picture of you!
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