Today is one of those rare days when I’m able to do all my work from home and even rarer, it has happened on a Friday. I don’t have to drive to Marshall and down to Coldwater and back home. I can tuck in for the day, sit back and relax, slow down and enjoy.
Whoa.
But will I? I have a list of around the house projects to do. I have reading and commenting to do for the next writers’ group and I have writing of my own to do. I have all of those things to do that I’d do if only I had the time to do them. Oh-oh, today I have the time.
Maybe instead of being in whoa mode for the day, I’ll treat this like any other weekday when I have things I need to get done and I’ll actually cross some of those to-do things off my list. Whoa! I’ll do something and I’ll still have the weekend to kick back.
If only making the decision to do something was the same as doing it. Sigh, talk to you later, I’ve got some stuff to get done.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Smells in the best sense of the word
AllAtwitter’s blog post on smells has me thinking about my own favorites and the “smell memories” they evoke. My strongest memory ever associated with a smell or scent happened a few decades after my parents had divorced, I was helping my mother go through an old dresser and came upon a jar of Wind Song scented body creme. I opened the jar and breathed in deeply, then said out loud, “You and Dad are going out.” The smell had instantly taken me back twenty-five years to that moment after the baby sitter had arrived and Mom was all dressed up and perfumed leaning over to kiss me good-bye.
Smells I love are cookies or bread baking, coffee, snow on the air, wood fires burning in the fireplace and that smell of cold when my husband comes in from outside. All of these evoke home for me.
Wings perfume, the flat out best smell I ever smelled.
The scent of burning leaves. The smell of apples at a fruit stand. The smell of lilacs.
Smells I love are cookies or bread baking, coffee, snow on the air, wood fires burning in the fireplace and that smell of cold when my husband comes in from outside. All of these evoke home for me.
Wings perfume, the flat out best smell I ever smelled.
The scent of burning leaves. The smell of apples at a fruit stand. The smell of lilacs.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Quoth the raven
I usually don’t talk much about my “real” job in the blog, but I’m going to say this. I’ve had a project this week where I had to search back 100 years on 8 parcels of land.
Nevermore.
Nevermore.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
V-Day is coming!
Humans are funny ol’ things. One of the most romantic days of the year is named to honor St. Valentine, a martyred saint who was caught marrying Christian couples and executed and/or buried on February 14. I vote for romantic love to be celebrated on a different day than this death day, perhaps the six month anniversary of Valentine’s Day, August 14, a day as far away from Valentine’s Day as it is possible to get in the year.
However, I would not want to forget Valentine’s Day altogether. I plan for fitting tributes to be paid. A yearly tradition where we bury old letters or other mementos from those true relics of our past, anyone who is now an ex. Each year, in honor of the original St. Valentine being offed, we toss the stuff into a hole and throw shovelfuls of dirt on top. Perhaps even whacking the stuff with the shovel before the dirt goes on top all while imagining the ex. Then we dance on the grave. I see a whole new Hallmark department with specially designed bags and trims in which to place one’s formerly treasured, er, treasures. I would opt, though, for a basic ceremony instead. Dig the hole, toss in the stuff, heap on the dirt, then say a few words or swear a few words or sing a few words and dance.
Then open some wine and toast the future. After all, August 14 is only six months away.
However, I would not want to forget Valentine’s Day altogether. I plan for fitting tributes to be paid. A yearly tradition where we bury old letters or other mementos from those true relics of our past, anyone who is now an ex. Each year, in honor of the original St. Valentine being offed, we toss the stuff into a hole and throw shovelfuls of dirt on top. Perhaps even whacking the stuff with the shovel before the dirt goes on top all while imagining the ex. Then we dance on the grave. I see a whole new Hallmark department with specially designed bags and trims in which to place one’s formerly treasured, er, treasures. I would opt, though, for a basic ceremony instead. Dig the hole, toss in the stuff, heap on the dirt, then say a few words or swear a few words or sing a few words and dance.
Then open some wine and toast the future. After all, August 14 is only six months away.
It's beginning to look a lot like February
A hint of spring in the air today with the melting snow. Not entirely melted, it is, after all, February in Michigan, but I can see a couple of patches of grass in the yard.
In the past few days, I’ve received a few gardening and flower catalogs in the near quarter ton of daily mail the post office sends along for me. I’ve been flipping through pages of beautiful roses and dahlias and it occurs to me that these freaking flowers have been air brushed of all blemishes and lit in ways meant to seduce me into believing this is just how said freaking flowers would look in my own garden. HA! They can’t fool me. Then I come to another realization. I want them to fool me. I want to believe as I sit here on a day when I also believe spring might be in the future that these flowers could be mine. Such are the dreams in February.
The reality is that the weather forecast is for at least 6" of snow starting tomorrow morning. Ah, February in Michigan.
In the past few days, I’ve received a few gardening and flower catalogs in the near quarter ton of daily mail the post office sends along for me. I’ve been flipping through pages of beautiful roses and dahlias and it occurs to me that these freaking flowers have been air brushed of all blemishes and lit in ways meant to seduce me into believing this is just how said freaking flowers would look in my own garden. HA! They can’t fool me. Then I come to another realization. I want them to fool me. I want to believe as I sit here on a day when I also believe spring might be in the future that these flowers could be mine. Such are the dreams in February.
The reality is that the weather forecast is for at least 6" of snow starting tomorrow morning. Ah, February in Michigan.
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