How cold is it? Cold enough that I exchanged my overnighter suitcase for a bigger suitcase because the clothes that I need to take with me tomorrow for my weekend run-away are thicker and fluffier and take up a lot more room than spring-type clothes. We want to walk along the lakeshore so that means fleece pants (they're mostly windproof, more windproof than jeans, anyway) and layers of sweaters and shirts and shawls and scarves and extra hats and mittens and... well, you see what I mean. Can't forget the super thick socks. And boots, which don't get into the suitcase but need to go along too. I was thinking last night that it might be a good thing that I haven't taken my snowshoes out of the back of Beverly yet. Nooooo, Mother Nature wouldn't do that to us, would she? Now that I'm post-menopausal and edging even more fully into crone-hood, I'm thinking the old bat's probably just vindictive enough to do it... and laugh while she's at it. I suddenly had a mental image of myself all huddled in shawls and lap robe sitting in a rocking chair knitting. Eeesh. I'm not quite that old--yet. Although with all the crazy weather that's been screaming through my joints are aching like mad. I don't like it, not one bit.
Friend and yogi MH recommended that we find Johnston's Bakery in Sheboygan. She says they have the best hard rolls. We'll see. I might just have to buy some nice cheese at Field to Fork and get me some of those rolls so I can determine how really "best" they are. Naturally there will be a stop at the Victorian Chocolate Shoppe between the motel and Il Ritrovo/Field to Fork. It's only right. All that walking, along the river and the lakeshore and up the hill to the restaurant(s), a person needs chocolate to revive herself. And to stimulate the local economy. Yeah, that's right. I'm civic-minded like that. (Is it any wonder I have trouble losing weight? All I seem to think about is food. Tsk. Any clue how to change that? And if I figure it out I'll let you know.)
March 21--Leonardo da Vinci, The head of the Virgin in Three-Quarter View Facing Right. She looks so real, Marco thought, like I could reach up and put my fingers in her soft hair. The smile that teased her lips made his lips match hers, and he thought that no one had ever looked at him with that much love. He had never really liked Leonardo. He thought Leonardo was kind of overblown and given too much credit but then he saw an exhibit of models made from the artist's drawings. Leonardo's genius, made three-dimensional in wood, exploded through the room. There were flying machines and war machines. There were machines to move water and machines to measure things. Leonardo must have seldom been still, scribbling in a notebook to record the flood of ideas in his mind, and yet he drew the love on a mother's face with such care and delicacy. Still Marco didn't see why everyone made such a big deal of the Mona Lisa's smirk.
Thereby completes another notebook. One of these days I should count how many I've filled over the years. Maybe not, it'd probably make me cry or faint. Hey, I'm off to work soon so I'd better get out of these sweats. See youse tamarrah. You in particular, Lala. ONE DAY!