For the fifty-hundredth day this winter, it's snowing, and not "oh, lah-di-dah" tiny drifting flakes either, these are big "I really mean it" "look out below" snowflakes that are holding hands and plummeting down on us. Gah! Don't mind me, I'll be the one in the basement tunneling toward the south.
One of my callers at work yesterday was calling from Florida. After I hung up I actually considered whether I'd find someone to take her to the pool so she could get acquainted with her new dive gear and not look like a dork on the dive boat, or not, then I almost cried. But I took an hour to catch my breath (and my sanity) and got KC all lined up to dunk her in the pool on the 17th and tell her all the great places to dive on Cayman Brac because that's where she's going and he's been there. See what kind of wonderful person I am? I zeroed in on the perfect staff member to help her so that when she needs more dive stuff or training she'll call "us" instead of "them." Not that "them" aren't nice, good divers, and a perfectly good dive shop, they are all that, because they learned to dive from "us" and then years later they bought the other dive shop in town from "him" thereby turning themselves from "us" into "them." Amazing how that works. (we're not archenemies or anything, just competitors in a pretty small market)
Today I'm going to go get my nails done at the last nail salon I know of on the west side and if I don't get a good feeling from that salon I think I'll have my acrylic nails removed and go au naturel for a while. My long-time salon was sold a few months back and the atmosphere changed. Since then I've sampled a few others but none of them felt right or welcoming so I'm trying this one last salon before abandoning my one remaining grooming pampering. I've stopped getting haircuts (since Carla retired) and don't really dress better than jeans and a sweater with boots (not fashion boots, warm boots) or walking shoes so my nails are my one girly thing. I don't even shave my legs anymore, because the hair doesn't grow there anymore (woohoo, menopause! I still have to shave my 'pits though) and I gave up wearing makeup about 20 years ago, so my nails are it, well, and earrings, but that's it. Really. It. I'm just not girly, never have been since I was little and Mom was in charge. (why am I telling you this stuff??? moving on...)
March 4--Italian, Armorial Jug. Betts hoped she had cut the stems long enough. She wanted to put her armload of irises and gladiolas into what the kids called the mosquito vase because it was so colorful it'd make the white flowers pop. Her grandma had grown the same flowers, calling them flags and glads. Grandma knew instinctively how to make them bloom their best but Betts had the county ag agent's office on speed dial and spent too much time looking things up online. On the porch she plunged the stems into a pail of water so they didn't dry out while she dug out the mosquito vase. The kids called it that because of the faint strokes of golden brown paint meant to be stem ends of gooseberries but that looked much too much like a squashed bug.
Happy 20th birthday to my "little" nephew, CA! I remember the day you were born; you're much taller now. Have a great day.
Today I'm going to get my nails done, play with my Beware the Idiots of March project, and see if I can't rig a squirrel baffle on the peanut wreath to keep the clever little tree rats off it. Wish me luck. Hi, LC and Daddy!