to be working today. My schedule is so unchanging most of the time, rigid you might even say, that when it deviates I get a little off balance (not that unbalanced isn't my normal condition). Tomorrow the store will be closed, and then I'll be working Thursday through Saturday. Think of my paycheck! It'll be massive! Well, relatively. That means I can put more moolah in my stash(es). What? You don't have more than one? I've told you before that I have levels of stash or mad money. There's the "this is what's left over from last week's pay" mad money; that's the quickest spent for incidentals like birdseed, manicures, yarn and books. Then there's the regular stash; Durwood and I each have one that we put $50 into each pay period for things like vacations, The Clearing, trips to visit DD, and (sometimes, on very rare occasions) major purchases. We've done it for years. The regular stash money is what we can spend, without consulting anyone, on any harebrained scheme or purchase. I also have a deep stash where I put most of any money I make over and above my regular weekly pay, like last week I worked an extra day so that goes into deep stash. I've always been terrible with money, spending more than I make or have, so I'm trying to learn to keep some of it for emergencies, even if I think of an emergency as the need to meet Lala in Sheboygan for a weekend instead of having to fix a car, but I'd use it for that if I had to. Really, I would. It feels good to finally get a bit of a handle on money, even if I still can't see far into the future. It suddenly occurred to me that I'm more of a grasshopper than an ant. Good thing I married an ant.
January 24--Vincent van Gogh, Wheat Field with Cypresses. The wind blew the wheat and made it look like the ocean ripples. Clouds in white and shades of gray tumbled over each other against the blue sky and the green spears of cypress danced on the wind. Cecile loved the mix of cool and hot that ran in the air like streams of water. She wished that she could see the currents of the wind the way she watched the river flow through Lucien's field down the valley. The wind carried the sharp tang of the cypress trees planted as a wind break and the toasted bread smell of the ripe wheat.
It was hard to write because I was so enthralled with looking at the painting. I could smell the hot summer wind with its scents of pine and earth that bowled down the wheat field and feel the sun scorching the dusty path. It was lovely to imagine on a cold winter's night.