Beach Time!!

It's mid-winter where I live. Sunday February 3 is a cold day in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia and the ducks in the cove are making me feel even colder. Don't you get it? (I thought projected through the big living room window.)  You don't go swimming in February unless you're a Polar bear. And none of you look big enough to fit that bill! I get it that the water runs off a duck's back but don't you guys have any blood in your legs? I know it's not cold blood because you're a mammal but if it was ever hot, it's frozen now. But I can't worry about the ducks. They probably have their own mothers for that.

But what about me? And all of you out there who want to be at the beach instead of staring out at snowy fields and perishing ducks? Some lucky friends of mine went to Florida this winter. That must be nice, but it's a long way from here so I've lost my lunch buddies for a few months, which isn't nice. And I don't really want to go to Florida so I have to make other plans.

February needs a plan. If you don't have a plan light deprivation or something equally as mind-boggling is going to get you. And when it does, you find yourself on the edge of the blues and if you want to keep from sinking into their murky depths, you better have a plan B. You hibernate of course, but you don't have enough fur to keep you snug all winter and my bladder wouldn't allow that kind of a nap anyway so hibernation for me is not a big option. 

I get restless. My limbs keep moving (pacing) my mind races, hatching outlandish story plots for The Great American Novel, tires of that and gets creative with recipes for Super Bowl Sunday. Recipes that later decorate the trash. Miss Kitty just stares at me accusingly. I can read her like a book and she's saying "Would you please curl up and go to sleep? I can't take this jerking around anymore. Do you want me to start climbing curtains?"

No I don't.

I've just caught a glimpse of my hair in the mirror. It's weeks overdue for a cut and it's Sunday and I'm pretty sure my hair dresser won't come over and cut my hair on Super Bowl Sunday. She probably has a life. So I'll cut it myself. This is probably certifiable but there's nobody here to certify me right now and when you live on your own you can pretty much do what you like. So I do.

An hour later I get the idea that I probably should have thought twice. I stare into the mirror turning my head this way and that but no matter how I try to lean it to the left, that piece that's cropped above my left ear just doesn't get any longer and there's no way in hell it's ever going to match the other side. And I don't even want to think about the bangs. To make matters worse, I think my hair dresser's going to Florida to morrow so I'll have to live with this. Oh sh---! Hibernation is out. Scarves are in but I don't want to go out anyway. I want to be in the sunshine, on a beach somewhere where it's toasty warm - with ice cream sundaes.

 So I'll just curl up in my lounger and meditate. What else are you going to do? So just tilt your head back, breathe deeply and voila! Blue seas, warm sugar beaches, crooked palms and coconuts. (Think Pina Coladas and pineapples) Seagulls, sandpipers, grilled shrimp and sunshine!  I'm at the beach! The hair will grow and one of these days it'll warm up around here. Have a happy February!