sencillament vermell – simply red ( II ) (Photo credit: Jordi@photos)

It’s turned honest cold here in Southeast Tennessee today. We’re just beside ourselves, bundlin’ up and waitin’ on the next mood swing. The South rarely bores us, but it might be nice once in a while.

Do you know how hard it is to be short in winter? It’s a constant battle not to look like some kind of gnome, sittin’ in somebody’s snow-less. But I just read that gnomes are all males, with beards and blue tunics and red pointy hats.

You wouldn’t believe all the stuff I’ve got on right now, except for a beard and pointy red hat. I’ve got on a deep red scarf, which is so soft and pretty and generous, which I love, especially because it was given to me by three young women from India, who were students when I worked for a while at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte Architectural Resource Center, in the library, years ago. (I hope they’ve added some color to that place. It used to be almost all gray. I longed to put something red there. Gray looks good with red).

Anyway, under my pretty red scarf, there are some other mentionables (hey, I try to keep things clean, when possible) like a black cotton turtleneck sweater, which is almost worn out, because it’s so comfortable. One woman at the center today had on a pretty navy blue and white cotton-blend turtleneck that looked so comfortable. I asked her where she got it. She wouldn’t tell me.

She also pushed me out of the way, with silver words, when I was washing the dishes. She didn’t want to dry dishes, she wanted to wash dishes. I didn’t say anything, but just dried. Choosin’ battles. But that’s how you know you have a real place, when somebody else takes it. (Don’t worry. They put stars in our crowns, when they put us down).

Back to winter clothing, for short people, who have many reasons to live. Besides the red scarf and black cotton turtleneck and dark stretchy jeans and shoes and double socks, I’m wearing a double-breasted jacket that drapes almost to my knees, because I’m short and this coat was made for a tall woman. I bought the jacket (with slacks) at a yard sale. (The slacks need to be hemmed. They’re in the car).

Short people are not supposed to wear double-breasted anything, but I’m wearin’ it, against the cold and the rules. It doesn’t look so bad, with my little hoop earrings, which I put on again, after accidentally discovering (while looking in my old jewelry box) that my ear-holes are still there, after not wearing pierced earrings for months. I tried to go all French, to be “less is more” and not wear any earrings. But hey, we Southerners have to gaudy things up a little once in a while, to feel better.

Oh, and I’m wearing black eyeglasses, like Brad Pitt and Christine Baranski do sometimes, so I can see clearly, instead of blurry. I bought these black eyeglasses many years ago, when I still worked at UNCC, before black glasses were all the rage. Who knew? Trendy! (Oh, when I was growing the dark brown fake color out of my hair, two students thought I paid to have dark frosted hair tips! (My son told me to go natural color with my hair if I wanted and my daughter advised not to get those big hair perms anymore. “No more poofy hair Mom:) I mostly listen to my children, since they are smarter than me (Really).

Anyway, I look like a woman gnome today, without a beard, but still rockin’ winter, aged-all-fine (instead of processed) and all fluffy too, for giving myself permission to eat a whole little tub of frozen peanut butter and true vanilla and red velvet yogurt yesterday. (Lord willing, I’ll tell you about it soon. YUM!)

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Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument, New Mexico, United States of America. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Would you believe somebody sent me some unexpected money yesterday, enough to buy a bottle of Emeraude, which said on the back it’s from Paris and is timeless and romantic.

It made me feel good to get that surprise, because I had yearned for perfume yesterday and it’s like God noticed and cared and wanted me to have the fragrance.

But still, something was off this morning. Making coffee didn’t help like it usually does and nothing felt right or on time. So I went to the nutrition center and it was annoying there too. Let’s not go into it. We got lunch served.

Let’s just skip over all about the unsettled day today.

We have to work at waiting on God and resting in God, Who makes homes for the lonely. God can break us out of the just-me jail. It’s in the Psalms.

For now, it’s just me out here, trying to wait and trying to work and trying to get centered.

The beat goes on. I’ve heard annoying things will turn into priceless pearls someday, if we let them. If we liked it, it wouldn’t work, would it?

They say only real pearls feel scratchy on your teeth.

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Lebanese hummus, garnished with whole chickpeas, on a Yemeni serving dish (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So I got home from the center today feeling low. But I had to get ready for the rest of the day and change out of my bleach clothes.

Bleach clothes are the old clothes that don’t matter if I get bleach on them. Maybe I’ll buy some colorful scrubs, so any bleach incidents just blend in.

We have to use a little pure bleach in the rinse water and then a bleach solution to spray the tables down, because we have to be sure within an inch of our lives that we’ve exterminated as many germs as humanly possible, with bleach’s toxic help. I do not like bleach.

Even if you spill just a little bleach on your clothes, it’s good-bye outfit. My blue capris have permanent little bleach spots because a few drops of bleach solution splashed during cleaning.

Today I bought some hummus and pretzels in a container as a snack, to go with sweet iced tea from Dari-Kreme. I like hummus a lot.

Two other things made me happy today and that was finding a purple Henley shirt on sale at Kmart and also some Suave men’s hair paste, which is cheaper than the women’s hair paste, and hopefully softer.

Maybe the new hair paste won’t feel so much like glue. Glue and paste are just too much sometimes. Less is more. (Except for hummus!)

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English: A tie dyed lace tank. Photo taken by User:Gezi and explicitly released under GFLD by ThaiDye Artists. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s hot again here in the Southern United States. It’s not as hot as it was, but it’s hot enough to confuse your clothes. This morning, I must have changed clothes three times, trying to get comfortable.

The repetitively unpredictable weather patterns in the South are hard to live with and can drive just about anybody nutty and swirly, like those autumn leaves swirling down at the same time the roses are blooming and wilting and the yellow butterflies are dancing around all crazy-like, but also pretty.

It sure can get frustrating. Just a week or so ago, we were enjoying autumn with its cool breezes and friendly sunshine and clear moonlight. But it didn’t last. Summer changed her mind, which is the pattern here in the South.

Let’s not get used to any leveled-out weather here in Tennessee, or anywhere else in the South. Just when we think we are free and clear, here comes summer again, carrying that torch for us.

This blazin’ heat makes you want to wear tank tops here in September and maybe thumb your nose at people and then just get somewhere cool.

The guy at the desk stared at my apologetic tank top, but it’s really trying to be a happy shirt, fit for the weather. When (and if) it gets cold enough, I’ll switch to turtlenecks and sweaters and jackets and long sleeves and V-necks. But right now, the heat presses down and makes us wear tank tops, trying to be comfortable.

A young woman with her hands full kicked the automatic door open with her foot today. What did I tell you? It’s the heat. Time for a happy shirt.

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Photo of a pair of shoes in the grass. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The writer/actor/comedian Steve Martin wrote the book “Cruel Shoes” and today I had a day full of cruel shoes and many women can testify!

After hours of trying to find a pair of comfortable and affordable white sandals to get ready for summer in the South, I gave up.

Actually, I didn’t really give up, but bought what could be called shoes. But when I got them home, I regretted my purchase. I spent less than $50 for two pairs of summer shoes because I need cool shoes for hot temperatures. (And I cannot afford Jimmy Choos or any other even nearly-expensive shoes).

Shoes, I learned at the “History of Footwear,” have been on our feet for thousands of years. Apparently, early humans wore leather foot coverings filled with straw. Sandals are the oldest crafted foot covering known.

Shoe fashions, according to the footwear website, date all the way back to the mystical Chinese practice of foot-binding. The high-soled wooden shoe style, called the geta, originated in Japan.

“History of Footwear” noted that an astonishing 88 per cent of all women wear shoes that are too small.

Maybe it’s not all our fault. Today, while I searched in vain for a really good pair of affordable summer shoes, a woman walked up to me to share my (apparently) obvious puzzlement and pain. We talked at length about the difficulty of simply finding comfortable, price-wise shoes that are also pretty. We agreed that there are all sorts of styles and colors and the “bling” she mentioned on some shoes. But, we wondered, “what about shoes for feet of a certain age?”  For feet that have traveled quite a few miles? We didn’t arrive at any suitable conclusion.

So, here I sit, with one pair of cruel shoes at home and another pair on my feet at the library. There’s a reason most of us kick our shoes off when we get home. Sometimes we can barely wait for that amazing little liberty. Guess where I’m headed?  I can’t wait.  And wherever you are, good lady, why don’t  you join me? We’ll testify!

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Trouble breathing this cold gray Valentine’s Day.  It’s impossible to love everyone, or anyone, enough.

Went to the bank to get quarters for the Laundromat.  Friends’ husbands had given them flowers for Valentine’s.  Roses and lilies and wildflowers.  I felt glad for my friends and for getting to see the flowers.  Flowers never grow routine.

Drove to the coin laundry and put all the clothes in and started reading “Saving Grace” by Lee Smith, who is one of the best writers in the nation, maybe the world.  Read this book or anything by Lee Smith if you can.

Saw a woman around 30 years old with black hair, black as a blackbird, doing her laundry.  She had a small teardrop with a light-colored center tattooed just below her right eye.  She said she and a friend did the tattoo themselves with a needle and black ink when she was 13 years old.  The woman told me she put the teardrop there because she loves her Dad, but he went somewhere.  She wants the tattoo off her face now, but can’t afford it.  She said she still loves her dad.

A tall young man dressed in black and gray with a rhinestone in his left ear brought in his laundry with his friend.  She sat at a laptop playing solitaire while he put the clothes in machines.  He had just enough quarters but not enough.

He put out his hand and said, “Do you have enough quarters for these nickels?”

“Sure. Just take the quarter.”

“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t feel right.”

“Did you hear about that woman dying?”  He was talking about Whitney Houston.  We talked about Whitney Houston’s magnificent voice.

“People can be rich, but feel poor inside,” the young man observed.

He told me about having Crohn’s Disease and how all the medications damaged his heart.  He pulled his knit shirt just a little and showed me the purple scar where doctors had cut him open to give him a pacemaker. He has to have another surgery next week.

My clothes got dry and I started loading them in the car.  We need to pray for hearts.

When I pushed open the glass door, the young man with the broken heart leaned just so softly over his friend’s shoulder and said, “What are you worried about, sweetheart?”  I heard him calling tech services.  He never raised his voice.