Wednesday, December 12, 2012
That's what I get when my alarm buzzes--and damned little of that at 6:30 AM. It's too early even for the peach and pink of dawn to be tinting the clouds, of which we have many clumps today. See? It's pretty, I grant you that, but it sure is dark. In only nine more days (9!) it'll be the shortest day of the year, or the longest night whichever way your pendulum swings, and then the day light, the beautiful and warming sun will start its creep back, minute by minute, to warm and light us for another half-year until the tipping day when dark takes the upper hand once more. It's that inching march, the tiniest bit of extra light that keeps me sane through the coldest days because here in the frozen upper Midwest we have our coldest days in January and February (and sometimes March) when the light is winning, getting stronger every day. Aunt B, I'm so glad to read that you're putting quarters in the kettles too. I've got my little purse of them where I can grab it. You're right, that "thank you" feels good. I need to grab me a shift again this weekend. That hour last Friday really made me feel great, and Christmas-y. Today's Photo a Day theme is "hat" so here's my Christmas tree hat along with the 4 he-man chemo hats I've finished. They'll be going along to be shown off at the Knitting Guild meeting tomorrow night as will my shower puff for the dishcloth exchange. I'm tossing in a few extra crocheted star dishcloths in case someone forgets to bring one. (oh, can't forget to make the pimento cheese tonight and ask Durwood to pick up a batard for me when he's out and about today, I figure I'll take a Tupperware box and assemble the sandwiches tomorrow afternoon so the bread isn't soggy, good plan, don't you think?) Don't you hate having a song stuck in your head? I have a 1940s nonsense song in mine (Hut sut ralson on the rillerah...), it was there when I woke up, I can't imagine why, and I can't shake it. Grr. Excuse me while I go flush out my brain.
December 12--Iran, Head of a King. It was hot and dusty in the gallery where the Iranian antiquities were displayed. Gina always thought that someone's sense of humor had led them to put the desert peoples' artifacts in the hottest part of the museum. That day she noticed a new smell as she entered the vast space. She hoped that none of the school groups that flooded through the museum every day had stuffed some garbage into a corner. A lot of the older curators and technicians had stories about things people left behind. She gathered up the new labels she had made for the exhibit and made her way to the cases to put them out. She turned a corner and the smell got stronger. A hand lay in the patch of sunlight from the skylight. The hand was connected to an arm. Dr. Mead's arm. Her labels fell to the floor and scattered. Gina saw that she didn't need to hurry for help. Dr. Mead's white lab coat was soaked with blood that had partially dried. The silver king-head ornament beside him was bloody too.
Writing that before I fell asleep birthed a dream where I visited JZ's "new" dental office, not his current one where I've only been once and then only in the waiting room, and confessed to him that I'd killed a guy. I don't remember who, I just remember sitting in a vestibule, dodging janitors carrying things, and waiting for the cops. Oh, and his assistant, who was about as tall as a one-year-old but with really long wavy brown hair, came to keep me company. Sheesh, dreams are crazy aren't they? None of that is remotely true. Not one bit. I think the most amazing part is that in the dream it wasn't the first time I'd offed someone and I wasn't all that fussed. Go, me.