It's damned cold out there this morning--barely 40 degrees at 7 AM. True, it's going to rocket up to near 60, well, okay, 55 today and it IS the first day of Autumn (I still think that the names of season, cardinal directions, and Earth, also the Sun & Moon, should be capitalized) but we need to achieve a bit of gradual change instead of this abrupt stuff we've had this year. There's no middle ground anymore, anywhere and in anything, no moderates in politics or religion (don't get me started), people either love things or hate them, wishy-washy has become passe, almost criminal and here I am a moderate, a middle-of-the-road-er, willing to listen to both sides (all sides?) and live & let live. I'm out of fashion, as usual. I got the living room decluttered and cleaned yesterday, vacuumed the hall, and the kitchen got dusted, mopped, and vacuumed. Today we're off to the Farmer's Market, then we'll swing through a few grocery stores before coming home where I'll be baking a Banana Split Snack Cake, whipping up some Pesto, toasting slices of French bread (I love making stuff; don't you love making stuff?), and cleaning the bathroom to within an inch of its life. I want to dig out bowls and platters and some fun napkins so that I don't have to do it tomorrow before our family comes over for supper. Durwood got his beans soaking last night and thawed out the pound of smokey ham schnipples to put in with his crock pot baked beans. We did an impromptu upstairs freezer reorganization when he got out a bunch of stuff for me to put into the basement freezer, and I had a brainstorm. (of course I did) He bought a new/old WW cookbook that we had to check through to see if it's one we already had; coupled with having sorted through the freezer stuff, I thought it'd make his life a lot easier if he planned a week's meals and used the upstairs freezer as a staging area for that week's food. Next weekend I need to defrost the downstairs freezer and asked him to come and make a list of what we have so we/he can better utilize our supplies and not let things go bad down there. We'll see. It's an ambitious goal for a couple of laggards; maybe we can make it work--for a while. Food's just too damned expensive to waste. Last night's yoga was good, a fine session of slowly and gently making my muscles wake up and take notice. I love that yin yoga, the slow settling into a pose, listening to my body and adjusting, easing, and sinking, feeling things ease as I hold a position, and the casual, less than serious atmosphere. It's hard to be serious when each week there's a different entertainer out in the cafe so we never know what kind of "mood" music we'll have. Makes you focus, that's for sure. I've said it before and I'll say it again, that hour of yoga is the best $5 I spend every week. Thanks, Mardi. Today's Photo a Day theme is "up." I took my camera out with me when I went out to top up the birdbath and fountain and looked up. See the pretty clouds? See the blue sky peeking through? See the Menopausal Goddess sculpture that still makes me smile after all these years? All raise my spirits up. Go outside and look up, your spirit will rise too, I guarantee it.
September 22 --Edgar Degas, The Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer. Sylive hoped Madame couldn't see her hands shaking. She kept them clasped behind her unless she was at the barre. Madame scared her. Madame had cheekbones as sharp as knives and her lips were always pursed and disapproving. Sylive wanted to dance for Madame, make no mistake, she would dance until her feet bled, but Madame had danced with Pavlova and Nijinsky. She had forgotten more about dancing than Sylvie would ever know. When Madame frowned her way with her brow furrowed and her eyes gleaming, Sylvie's hands shook and her feet suddenly felt too big.
Oh, that Edgar, he loved the ballerinas, didn't he? Such a scamp, such a dirty old man. And now it's time to get some clothes on, real outside clothes, I mean, so I can drag Durwood around the Farmer's Market in the chilly Autumn morning. Toodle-oo. Have a great Saturday.