Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Getting A Late Start

Durwood had an early morning doc's appointment so I didn't get to blog then, and after that we went to Woodman's which means Durwood likes to walk up and down each and every aisle.  There's a lot to see in Woodman's.  We got beets, kohlrabi, brussels sprouts, carrots, broccoli, onions, red bell peppers, tomatoes.  Veggies for all!  Oranges, too, to hold scurvy at bay, also because they taste great.

I'll be pedaling my ass on the exercycle in the corner of the bedroom later today.  I'm determined to work to build a good workout habit.  How much I enjoyed the snowshoe on Sunday reminded me how great I feel when I workout so I'm working on working out.  Yesterday I did 30 minutes of Wii yoga before work.  Check.  Two days in a row is a start.

The garage door got fixed lickety-split yesterday so Durwood's van's back in there and I'll be able to get the snow shovel or snowbloweer out if I need it.  The southern part of the state's supposed to get a crapload of snow tonight.  We're supposed to get less than an inch so there won't be a lot of shoveling but still, I like having it fixed so I can snowblow if the need arises.  I need to start chiseling away at the glacier at the bottom of the driveway.  It's sheer ice and slick as cat sh*t on a linoleum floor and it extends out over the parking lane so getting to and from my car parked at the curb is an adventure.  I hate to have to shovel the street but the more the sun shines the slicker it is and one of these days the law of averages will catch up with me and I'll find myself on the ground with little birdies flying around my head.  We don't want that.  I've been salting a path so there's one place where the ice is more crunchy; maybe I'll get a lot more salt.

March 5--Edgar Degas, Girl Putting on Her Stockings.  Louisa's face looked blurred in repose, like someone had run his hand over it before it set.  No amount of makeup or liner gave her features the precise definition she craved.  The mouse brown of her hair seemed to fade int he sunlight like a cheap print fades in its frame.  She tried dyeing her hair red but the color washed out in just a few shampoos.  It was only when she took her clothes off that her face didn't matter anymore.  That was why she was so popular as an artist's model.  They painted her lush form and could give her any face they wanted.

Hey, blame Degas.  He's the one who painted her naked body and forgot to finish her face.  I write 'em as I see 'em.  Time for lunch.  Toodles.

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