I remember one of the neighbor ladies telling me “the higher you get your hair, the closer you are to God” when I was young. After she told me that I assumed she must be near the right hand of God because she had an amazing head of hair.
It was piled up big and high and reminded me of a sculpture. Her hair was an entity all of its own and I used to watch it to see if birds perched on it or what have you. For the record as far as I know no birds ever perched on her hair. Perhaps the most amazing thing about her hair, and there was a lot of amazing things about it, was how it never moved. Not even a fraction of an inch. Big winds were no match for her hair.
My Father said her hair could become an issue for low flying airplanes, especially since it was a tall and unyielding structure. This made her hair even more astounding to me, almost exotic in some ways. Especially compared to the other ladies and their styles which were bland, boring and conservative. They, I reasoned, we’re not as close to God.
I aspired to have big hair, not to be closer to God. But because she made it seem so glamorous. Special sprays and only one person to style it, not to mention that she had to keep a special routine to keep her hair at maximum height. So I grew my hair long and discovered short of wrapping my hair onto a structure affixed to my head, my hair simply would never acquire the height and volume of her hair. Of course I also discovered the nightmare of being trapped in a hair routine. So I cut it off, because too much responsibility is a bad thing in my world.
It was all about big hair in the house today. I mean big, big hair. No we weren’t reliving the 80s. We also weren’t living the 60s or rocking beehives. And no one suddenly developed a need to back-comb hair.
Instead it was a day of big hair thanks to static. Static in the air because the air is rather dry and just about any movement results in incredible fly-away hair. Well in the case of the court-footed one, massively static-filled ears. She could almost take off with how big and pouffy her ears have become.
She isn’t a fan of the big hair or big ears. Her answer to solve the problem? Rub her face and ears all over the floor and curtains. Because it builds up more static. I guess she is working on the theory that once you’ve reached your maximum level things just sort of deflate. If it works you will find me rubbing my head on the curtains because I really am not a fan of the fly-away hair.
Of course when we get to the rainy season my hair will hang lank and straight and again I shall complain. Just as I’m sure the four-footed one will take her limp fur as a bit of an insult. We will probably yearn for some of the “body” our hair/fur gets with is dry air. But right now we aren’t thrilled with it. Shocking isn’t it?
I thought when we got her, that the four-footed one was a dog. I never suspected that she would really be a mini whirlwind disguised as a dog racing from here to there with barely a pause. And yet it seems this isn’t’ the case. Except when she’s sleeping; then I’m positive she is a dog. She even has the vet fooled, that’s how good this disguise is.
But Beloved, I and our friends know otherwise. We have watched her race around the house leaving a wake of turmoil, disturbance and mess where she has visited. I know what you are thinking; she’s just in need of training, or perhaps managing and such. The truth is, you cannot train a whirlwind any more than you can attempt to tame the wind. She is a force unto her own. A free spirit following her own desires and whims.
We thought we’d contain the umm effects of her activities to one room, however she has discovered this thing called space. Actually she discovered the other rooms in the house and I’m pretty certain she decided to spread her style of decorating to these rooms as well.
At first we picked up after her, but when you do this about a million times in one day you get to the point of wondering why you even bother, especially when the item you’ve just put away reappears in some random spot in under a minute. Sure we could take away her toys and what have you, but then I’m pretty certain she’d demand that we become her toys and as much as I adore her, I’m not about to become a toy for her to shake or chew.
We’ve lied to ourselves saying this is a phase she will outgrow, but why would she? And yes I suspect we have kind of become overwhelmed with how fast and far-reaching her umm help travels which is why we’ve decided to just let the herd of “babies” stay wherever she leaves me. And by babies, I mean leaves that make crinkly noises when you pick them up, along with squeaky gingerbread boys and girls. Add some pigs that oink, cows that moo and a couple of dinosaurs to this group and you get somewhat of a feel for her babies. I never signed up for rounding up this slightly odd grouping of “family” members on a regular basis. Besides the pay is not what I expected.
My grandmother used to keep plants and candles on her windowsills. My mother kept seedlings on hers until they were ready to be planted in the ground. A few of the much orders ladies I knew growing up kept powder on their windowsills, to keep the haints away. These ladies always had yellow trim on their windows to ward off the haints as well.
But me, I apparently seek the not to grow life nor to ward off those who have passed over. You see friends I keep dinosaurs on my windowsills. I didn’t start out with a plan to keep dinosaurs on my windowsills. Actually I didn’t plan on keeping anything on my windowsills. However the four-footed one opted to out her plush dinosaurs on the windowsills she could reach. Thankfully she only has two, but that’s enough for me.
I’ve nothing against dinosaurs, plush or whatever. I just have no need for them on my windowsills, but every day around eight in the morning they are placed on the windowsills to be removed only when it’s time to run around the house with them in your mouth. Well if you are the four-footed one that is. I have no more need for carrying dinosaurs in my mouth than I do to have them on my windowsills!
It’s that time of year when, at least if you are a female and are in the Western world, where the media and other women start to remind you that you need to fit into that special dress. No not a wedding dress, but the Christmas party and New Year’s Eve party dresses. You know the kind that tend it fit you just so.
But this year, given my health and because I just don’t want to be bothered with any of that, I’ve decided to wear a tent. I’ve already told Beloved of my plans. If you think about it, there are some very practical reasons for wearing a tent.
First off, a tent will be roomy and comfortable. You really just have to be able to get your head through where you place the post, then you can work with belts or other items to create a certain look. Lets not forget to mention that tents will be forgiving.
Secondly most good tents are waterproof or at least will wick away the water. How many times have you been at one of these lovely affairs only to have someone spill a drink on you? Wearing a tent you have absolutely no worries, the drink will simply roll of your outfit and you can carry on with your merrymaking rather than worrying. At the end of the evening, if it’s raining or there is sleet, no worries because your ensemble is designed to handle this stuff.
Tents come in a variety of patterns and colors so you can have fun finding the perfect look for each party. Because you will have chosen exactly how to wear your tent, you are basically guaranteed no other woman will be wearing what you are. The tent can be very plain allowing your accessories to make the look or the tent can be bold and you can skip the hassle of accessories.
And when you are finished wearing your tent you can use your tent for all sorts of different things. Well besides being a tent of course. But the ideas are endless.
In other, breaking news, Beloved has advised me that we wont’ be attending any parties or such this holiday season.
Today was the annual “Lob A Lemon” festival. What? You’ve never heard of it? Incredible! It’s such fun!
You see you get some nice, sunny lemons that happen to be just perfectly ripe. Rinse their skin and then from there is just depends on your style. Some people like to zest the melons first so that they can add the zest to water. Other people will give the lemons a few squeezes to soften them before the event.
Some will overhand lib the lemons while others will underhand the lobbing. Some people toss them almost apologetically and still others happily get into the lobbing with passion and joy.
Okay so Lemon lobbing isn’t really a thing, but it could have been. Well to be honest it was a thing today in the house. Not because I felt like lobbing lemons, but it seemed that way. Lemons are apparently hard for me to hold and so a few found the floor, one went towards the dogs, Beloved had to move fast least he get a lemon splattered up in a dress shoe and yes friends ones went in my oven.
I blame lupus for this day of citrus circus acts. Beloved has doubts about them, given the accuracy and the fact his dress shoes are basically new. Let’s face it, if I wanted to splatter his shoe with lemons, I wouldn’t be able to hit anywhere near him. I’m just not that accurate and he knows it. Often times the object I want throw ends behind me, so clearly this ability with the lemons is super natural so to speak.
If it weren’t a waste of food, d be all for lemon lobbing, providing that’s what you wanted to do!
Some people use throw cushions, others wee blankets. We, well, we use stuffed toys. Stuffed toys that squeak, rattle, scrunch and have a habit of ending up in all sorts of places. Yep we are Mavericks when it comes to using throws and decorating our house.
It’s all rather an organic affair of sorts with the four-footed ones getting in on the action. They do a good job on the whole organic distribution of said toys. Today I found myself eye to eye with a large purple crab, it grunted when I picked it up and threw it out of the bathroom. I mean I do not need to shower with a crab, purple, grunting, stuffed or any other kind. I just like my showers on my own thanks all the same.
I found a blue whale in the back of the closet. Frankly I had almost forgotten about the thing. Maybe because the whale is supposed to make a noise that only the four-footed ones can hear. Then again maybe I almost forgot about the whale because the dogs never played much with him.
I stumbled on two rough baby squirrels who were just minding their own business n the stairs. They just happened to be doing the minding n the centre of the stairs and it was pre-coffee for me. The kitchen had a bear, kangaroo and soccer all to help add to the decor.
And in my shoe at the door I found a small mouse. Well a mouse minus her tail. Horrible accident there, but still much-loved is this mouse. Probably because she weighs only the weight of the squeaky toy so she is easy to fling around. And of course when you fling a toy you also have to run like crazy to get to it before someone else does. And well who doesn’t want in on that?!?
I do pick up after these two monsters of mine, but the outnumber me. When we are both he, they out sneak Beloved and I. Oh yes these are crafty ones. They spend their time planning for maximum coverage and no doubt award each other points on best hiding places!
I’m almost tempted to give in, but stepping n a squeaky toy in the early hurt of the morning is a pretty sure-fire way to know the day is going to be loud!