Everything is Green and Black

One my favorite descriptions of all time. When asked what she thought of Springtime, the girl said,

I love the spring. Everything is Green and Black.

Now that may seem a little strange, black not being a color regularly associated with Spring, unless you adjust the way you look at things. Instead of focusing just on that haze of pink that means the trees are budding, or looking just at the lime green of newborn leaves, look at the whole picture and you'll see that so much of it is a rich, dark black. The bark on the trees after the rain and the color of newly tilled fields.... Black owns the Spring with as much fervor as Green.

I was looking at all the black today, quietly hating the cards dealt to me lately and adjusting to the first shock of losing Aspen. And then I heard a whispering sound, very very high above me. When I looked up, I saw that the breeze was mingling through the very first leaves on our maple tree and reminding me to focus a little more on the Green.

Aspen is gone, the last of our three dogs. I'm hoping, though, that for the first time in years she's jumping and playing with her sister and brother and they are all together again.

Kick 'em When They're Up

I've talked before about being a genetic cesspool. A very pretty, very smart genetic cesspool. It has been a running joke with another friend of mine who is also very pretty and very smart and who happens to be a genetic cesspool that you simply don't want to dip a toe in. We always laughed at "those girls" and told ourselves that "at least we have looks and brains." It made the situation funny and gave us a bit of self confidence back.

Don't get all judgemental if you haven't been there. I'd give you my shoes to walk in but they aren't going to fit you.


I found out, recently, that due to my genetic-cesspoolness, the limited and rapidly decreasing value of my looks is about to hit the wall and then slide down it in a pile of stinking goo. Not that I have much looks left over from the wild days of youth, but its been enough to get by. Anywhoo, the treatment for my cesspool genetics is going to really destroy any vestigial looks that I have now.

That's when I found out how vain I am.

When I lauged and said that all I had was my looks and brains, I thought was being funny and self-depreciating. Apparently I wasn't.

The question isn't really "Will you love me when I'm ugly?" but "Will I love myself when I'm ugly?"

I don't know the answer. I thought I put more value on myself than this, but maybe not. When is fate going to stop kicking me in the face? And, I mean that pretty literally this time. Ha. I said "pretty."

The Trail of Tears

*****EDIT******
I gave up and called our friend, Jeremy, to come and plow the rest of the driveway. Thank you, Jeremy, Thank you Plow.


The trail of tears. That's what I've nicknamed my driveway.

Over 300 feet of dirt, gravel and rock, with a pretty little "S" curve around a huge, majestic beech tree, it goes on and on until it finally reaches the road.

Pituresque, you say? Nice to have some privacy, you say?

Screw that.

With the untimely death of our snowblower 2 years ago due to complications of stupidity and inconsistant maintenance, we are on our own with 2 shovels.

After spending 8 weeks encased in solid ice, our driveway finally melted on Saturday and we had gravel again. On Sunday through to Monday, we were the proud recipients of 16" of more snow. That's over a foot. And it's heavy snow, too.

Winter is not yet done wringing the last bits of life out of my bones.

I spent 2 hours yesterday shoveling half the driveway. It was the most I could do before my back went out and I spent the night on muscle relaxants.
Today, tears welling in my eyes and my back spasming at the thought, I will have to go back out there for round 2.

My driveway. The trail of tears.

Good Morning, Dog Poop.