Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Seeing red...
I'm not going to burden you with yet MORE snow pictures.
And I'm not going to try to scramble around and find appropriate examples in my stash of 2347 assorted images.
You'll just have to read and use your imagination.
*GASP!*
Eastern Montana is not known for its spectacular color.
With the exception of the sunsets and sunrises, the tones and hues of the land are quite subtle.
And in the autumn and winter, one might even use the words "monochromatic", "bland", "monotonous" and downright "depressing".
Which is sort of funny, considering the fact that the people who live here are usually quite colorful.
(Remind me to introduce you to Judd Twitchell, someday...)
Not in their dress or their outward appearance. In that way, most everyone is very restrained. There's a lot of practicality....a lot of beige, blue, black and green. In a way, people around here dress as though they could somehow fade into the landscape.
Anyway, living here sometimes makes the eyes and heart crave color. After looking out, day after day, at grey as far as the eye can reach, or white land and sky and water, people like me (and I'm guessing many others as well) are so very thirsty for ANY sort of difference!
For me, it's red.
The color of ripe fruit, of hearts drawn with great feeling and little skill by children, of ladybugs and tulips and rose hips and tomatoes, of cheeks fresh in from the cold, of lifeblood.
My friend Lilly once told me she thought every room should have a touch of black in it. (Lilly has scads of good taste, so I listen when she says things like that.) But I've come to realize that my rule of thumb is to have a touch of red in every room. And a little goes a long ways.
Never having been one to do well with boundaries, I went right ahead and painted my kitchen red. It's the happiest room in the house!
And it matches my toenails, 11 1/2 months out of the year.
My phone is red. My computer is red.
Red heels, red lipstick, red front door, red cap, red wine...
My football teams are even red, for heaven's sake! (Just occurred to me, this winter...doing laundry. How handy is THAT?)
When I went out this morning, Day 110 of winter, to start the Farmer's pickup, I realized how much I crave that color. Mile after mile after endless mile of white and grey...which to some people would perhaps be soothing and restful....was like purgatory for my eyes. The sun was just starting to come up, with its cold brilliance, and the first tone to sneak across the horizon was red. And I was so very grateful.
Now...when the greys and whites get too much to bear, I go to Pollywog Creek, where my friend Patricia lives. (Well, I don't actually go there....but in spirit....) Her photographs are like medicine for the Eastern Montana eyes and her words are like sunshine for my heart. I tell her this time and again...and now I'm going to share it with you, in case you haven't been there. Perhaps you've seen her comments on sticky notes...and smiled. Well, put on your sunglasses and make a visit! (Ask her about the Swamp Cabbage Festival...true story.)
In the meantime, look around you and see if your rooms need a touch of red.
Really!
And I'm not going to try to scramble around and find appropriate examples in my stash of 2347 assorted images.
You'll just have to read and use your imagination.
*GASP!*
Eastern Montana is not known for its spectacular color.
With the exception of the sunsets and sunrises, the tones and hues of the land are quite subtle.
And in the autumn and winter, one might even use the words "monochromatic", "bland", "monotonous" and downright "depressing".
Which is sort of funny, considering the fact that the people who live here are usually quite colorful.
(Remind me to introduce you to Judd Twitchell, someday...)
Not in their dress or their outward appearance. In that way, most everyone is very restrained. There's a lot of practicality....a lot of beige, blue, black and green. In a way, people around here dress as though they could somehow fade into the landscape.
Anyway, living here sometimes makes the eyes and heart crave color. After looking out, day after day, at grey as far as the eye can reach, or white land and sky and water, people like me (and I'm guessing many others as well) are so very thirsty for ANY sort of difference!
For me, it's red.
The color of ripe fruit, of hearts drawn with great feeling and little skill by children, of ladybugs and tulips and rose hips and tomatoes, of cheeks fresh in from the cold, of lifeblood.
My friend Lilly once told me she thought every room should have a touch of black in it. (Lilly has scads of good taste, so I listen when she says things like that.) But I've come to realize that my rule of thumb is to have a touch of red in every room. And a little goes a long ways.
Never having been one to do well with boundaries, I went right ahead and painted my kitchen red. It's the happiest room in the house!
And it matches my toenails, 11 1/2 months out of the year.
My phone is red. My computer is red.
Red heels, red lipstick, red front door, red cap, red wine...
My football teams are even red, for heaven's sake! (Just occurred to me, this winter...doing laundry. How handy is THAT?)
When I went out this morning, Day 110 of winter, to start the Farmer's pickup, I realized how much I crave that color. Mile after mile after endless mile of white and grey...which to some people would perhaps be soothing and restful....was like purgatory for my eyes. The sun was just starting to come up, with its cold brilliance, and the first tone to sneak across the horizon was red. And I was so very grateful.
Now...when the greys and whites get too much to bear, I go to Pollywog Creek, where my friend Patricia lives. (Well, I don't actually go there....but in spirit....) Her photographs are like medicine for the Eastern Montana eyes and her words are like sunshine for my heart. I tell her this time and again...and now I'm going to share it with you, in case you haven't been there. Perhaps you've seen her comments on sticky notes...and smiled. Well, put on your sunglasses and make a visit! (Ask her about the Swamp Cabbage Festival...true story.)
In the meantime, look around you and see if your rooms need a touch of red.
Really!
Monday, February 07, 2011
Pat Green Jeans
You may be wondering who Pat Green is, and why I have his jeans...
It's a long story.
And you're going to get most of it.
So go pour yourself a beverage and get comfy...
Here we go:
My friend Anne and I took a mental health day to Miles City, the first part of December, in which we mostly just ate out, pretended to Christmas shop and ended up spending about two hours (conservative guess) in a little shop called Ravishing.
It's a store we dare not even walk by, with children.
It's a store we don't let our husbands check the price tags. On anything. Not even the belts.
It's got the most FABULOUS clothes you can imagine.
Sort of like a celebrity dress-up store, in a little cowtown!
And we must've hit the owner on a magnanimous day, because that's what she let us do: try on clothes to our hearts' content.
It takes awhile. Our hearts weren't content for a long, long time. And it was only when we started baiting each other and disagreeing about styles, that we called it quits.
Typical snatch of conversation at the beginning of the session:
"Oooo! Anne, I really like that. You should try it on. It'll be FUN! Besides, you look great in that style!'
"Mary, that dress is perfect. You need that. How much? Oh. Well. I wonder how long you can wear it around the store..."
Typical snatch of conversation at the end of the session:
*"I don't like that. At all."
"Well, I DO. I'm going to try it on."
moments later...
"I still don't like it."
"I DO. I think I'll have her write it on my Wish List!"
Aaahhhh, the Wish List.
The owner keeps a little index card with each customer's name on it, the size and style of the desired clothes, and the price. We didn't really count as "customers" per se, seeing as how we didn't have $198 on us at that moment to buy the perfect dress. And probably never would. But she kindly wrote down our information and thanked us for coming in and wearing all her clothes. Sort of.
(Incidently, the maximum time you may wear a black, shimmery Joseph Ribkoff dress that fits like it was made for you that day, is around 20 minutes....Anne distracted her and I took advantage. *sigh*)
On my list were two items: the previously mentioned perfect dress and some jeans that I impulsively tried on and fell in love with....because they were so impractical and...well...you'll see....
After we returned home, we excitedly told our husbands about our big day, and they sort of asked what the prices were, turned a pale-ish sort of shade, and the matter was dropped. Or so I thought.
The Farmer, knowing I was going to the Pat Green concert in February, and feeling flush with dough, or insane or something, snuck into Miles and bought the jeans for me for Christmas. I never imagined that he would. I was slack jawed when I opened them at his parents house. (So were they, to be quite honest.)
And here's why:
It's a long story.
And you're going to get most of it.
So go pour yourself a beverage and get comfy...
Here we go:
My friend Anne and I took a mental health day to Miles City, the first part of December, in which we mostly just ate out, pretended to Christmas shop and ended up spending about two hours (conservative guess) in a little shop called Ravishing.
It's a store we dare not even walk by, with children.
It's a store we don't let our husbands check the price tags. On anything. Not even the belts.
It's got the most FABULOUS clothes you can imagine.
Sort of like a celebrity dress-up store, in a little cowtown!
And we must've hit the owner on a magnanimous day, because that's what she let us do: try on clothes to our hearts' content.
It takes awhile. Our hearts weren't content for a long, long time. And it was only when we started baiting each other and disagreeing about styles, that we called it quits.
Typical snatch of conversation at the beginning of the session:
"Oooo! Anne, I really like that. You should try it on. It'll be FUN! Besides, you look great in that style!'
"Mary, that dress is perfect. You need that. How much? Oh. Well. I wonder how long you can wear it around the store..."
Typical snatch of conversation at the end of the session:
*"I don't like that. At all."
"Well, I DO. I'm going to try it on."
moments later...
"I still don't like it."
"I DO. I think I'll have her write it on my Wish List!"
Aaahhhh, the Wish List.
The owner keeps a little index card with each customer's name on it, the size and style of the desired clothes, and the price. We didn't really count as "customers" per se, seeing as how we didn't have $198 on us at that moment to buy the perfect dress. And probably never would. But she kindly wrote down our information and thanked us for coming in and wearing all her clothes. Sort of.
(Incidently, the maximum time you may wear a black, shimmery Joseph Ribkoff dress that fits like it was made for you that day, is around 20 minutes....Anne distracted her and I took advantage. *sigh*)
On my list were two items: the previously mentioned perfect dress and some jeans that I impulsively tried on and fell in love with....because they were so impractical and...well...you'll see....
After we returned home, we excitedly told our husbands about our big day, and they sort of asked what the prices were, turned a pale-ish sort of shade, and the matter was dropped. Or so I thought.
The Farmer, knowing I was going to the Pat Green concert in February, and feeling flush with dough, or insane or something, snuck into Miles and bought the jeans for me for Christmas. I never imagined that he would. I was slack jawed when I opened them at his parents house. (So were they, to be quite honest.)
And here's why:
What are all those things on the back of them?
Those would be rhinestones.
(Karen, tell me what Dad says....I can only imagine....)
They are incredibly flashy, for this Eastern Montana girl, and I love them.
They are also completely form fitting, with not a milli-skeeter to spare, so I've been trying them on once a week to make sure the runs are still working.
Only just...
Anyway, when you see a post about my trip and it refers to the Pat Green jeans, now you have the background on 'em! I don't REALLY have Pat Green's jeans. (Poor Marina probably just about fainted with envy, on that first statement. Sorry!)
(They go GREAT with my tiara...)
*Just in case you were wondering, Anne and I left the store as good friends and decided it was low caffeine in our systems that was causing the irritability. We went to Kafe Utza, got a good slug of the good stuff, and had a great rest of the trip!)
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