Why I *heart* trees

I think I've had quite enough slack for the time being. Having nothing to do is making me lazy. Of course, the attitude that nothing has changed in my life would kill me if I really believed that, which I don't. Life is irrevocably changed now, everything hinges on an absolute. To a person who is used to painting life in shades of gray, that's quite a dramatic change.

~~~~~

I went to get my haircut today, wearing the Dress with the Intersting Pockets, in which the bandage is somewhat exposed, and found myself answering questions about what happened. I found that it was no big deal, and that other people seem to be more shocked than I am. In any case, Greg, my hairdresser, asked what we were doing with my hair today and in the course of that I mentioned having to wash my hair in the sink so I'd need a cut that I could take care of easily. He's so great. He said I shouldn't have to sacrifice my hair and offered the services of his washing sinks and hair-washing people whenever I need them.

So far, I've avoided playing my condition for sympathy or advantage as much as possible, but I'll gladly accept this favor. It's a great load off my mind, I tell you.

~~~~~

As I walked home from the salon, thinking that my hair looked redder when I left than when I came, and that it was looking copperier than usual, and that I didn't really mind that, I stopped to stand under the boughs of a very tall conifer-type tree; I stopped to breathe and to smell the earth with things growing in it. It seemed like a very dear treat to have this tiny patch of forest, no more than four feet square, right there where North Carolina Avenue crosses Independence Avenue, about eight blocks from the Capitol.

It was cooler in the shade, the breeze kept blowing and the air utterly revived me. Moments like the few I spent there make me think every little thing really is going to be all right. I think peace must smell like dirt, dampness and green.

~~~~~

I remember a dream from a couple of nights ago, in which I was travelling with my mom in some semi-exotic chilly place like Ireland or Scotland where the currency would be pounds, and she and I stopped in at a shop that seemed to be in somebody's house. I saw a pile of sweaters, they were all quite beautiful. Most of them seemed to be knit by hand in dark colors decorated with bright flowers, but I pulled one out that was very delicate, a dark ivory color with tone-on-tone flowers all over. It it was a round-necked cardigan with pearl buttons, and the stitch was such that I could see through the sweater.

Although I admired the work on the dark sweaters, I decided that I wanted the gossamer ivory cardigan. I determined that each sweater cost about $5 US, and I went back through the pile but I was never able to find the sweater again. As you see, I'll never have that recipe again.

before - after