May 23, 2013
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Lunch with the UnWee
I am going to have lunch with my sister and her husband today. They live in North Carolina, are here for a long weekend to watch my niece graduate from high school and touch noses with the family.I’m looking forward to it.
I am sitting here in a heavier shirt, jeans and a denim jacket. I have no idea what the temperature is, but the burst of 80s weather we were having apparently blew away in the rainstorms yesterday. I steam-cleaned the carpets yesterday to evict the eau-de-dog (not to mention the chocolate dog tracks on what is essentially a mint green carpet) and now I live in a greenhouse. Between the humidity and the damp carpets, everything feels damp.
Annie’s classes are going well. We learned a new command this week, ‘park it’, and once again it felt as if Annie already knew it, she was just waiting for us to learn. (That, or she’s really, really smart, which is entirely possible.) However the great Dane puppy returned to class and storms were brewing in the wind and all of the dogs were excitable. Annie really, really wanted to school the Dane. At one point they engaged in a little across-the-aisle name-calling. It takes everything I have not to tense up and jerk her away from other dogs as soon as I see one because I don’t have sufficient faith in my own abilities to read my dog and her reactions. So while we are doing well with our commands, we could improve following commands with distractions, and we are really taking our classes to socialize and crowd/stranger-proof ourselves, and while we are making progress, we are not there yet. So we’ve decided to take intermediate obedience again. Perhaps we’ll just spend our shared lives going to intermediate obedience classes once a week.
I’ve closed the windows. It’s not even 60 degrees on the back fence (which is a climate zone all of its own.) I still need to put on socks, although I did comb my hair.
Speaking of hair. Most of my front hair is white (I understand the back is more mixed. I can’t see it.) My white hair is thicker, sproingier, and–this is taking some adaptation–dryer than my brown hair was. So it appears that I have more of it, frothing like sea-foam all over my head. And some time has passed and it’s morphed from its original shape and it occurred to me about a week ago that…it’s not really short, any more. It’s not long: it’s just not…neatly trimmed. I can feel it on the back of my neck.
My one girly girl passion, lifelong, has been for long hair. I am, unfortunately, not blessed with the kind of hair that looks good long. I would need more extensions than nature-given hair to pull that off–but every once in a while I feel obliged to try again.
Yesterday I steam-cleaned the carpets. It was in the high seventies. Steam-cleaning is humid work, even when there isn’t a thunderstorm gathering around you. I glanced in the mirror and I had this haystack of wild half-curls teeming all over my head, it was crawling down my neck, hanging in my eyes, and I thought (once more:)
There’s a reason why cut this stuff off.
But, I don’t have time right now. Need to meet my sister.
While wearing shoes.
