A few things.
I've noticed the past few days, driving down my street at around 5:00pm, a middle-aged couple walking together in the blinding late afternoon sunshine. Single file to let me and other cars pass. I hope that, 30 or 40 years down the line, or 50 or 60, for that matter, I am doing this.
After I passed them I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the man reach out and take the woman's hand.
I really hope I am doing this in my future.
Asha has gone out rollerblading. I'm sitting on the back steps photosynthesizing the last warm rays of the day, basking in the alchemy of sunbeams into smiles beaming across my face. I can't help it. I almost definitely have some seasonal affect disorder (disorder? I think the disorder is that we trap ourselves inside all winter, live in cold climates, cover our skin) but now that the sun is out I can't stop grinning.
Today, though, I busted out the bug spray, because I have literally 10 bug bites from the other night. Ha.
Unfortunately the wasps are starting to unfreeze and find themselves drawn to my room. I am not particularly drawn there since it's colder inside than out these days, and downstairs than up. But we run into each other from time to time, their lethargic presence eliciting obligatory shrieks and a thorough smashing on my end.
Fortunately it is almost beach-bikini-babe beer season. I have never been so excited for summer to come. At least it seems that way. I am determined this summer to start Kristy drinking beer. We'll start with my favorite classic, summer shandy. First Leinie's, then the house version that I mix up by hand. Pumped.
For today I am drinking this:
A "vanilla pale ale" with a slightly burnt caramel flavor. (I didn't come up with that myself--it was on the bottle. But when it comes to tea, I tend to like vanilla-caramel concoctions. When it comes to anything, really, vanilla and caramel are pretty winning flavors. Like flan, when it is almost burnt.
See the Peruvian Chicken House.)
Also I am excited about small skirts, dresses, and shorts. And flashy shades. And purple polka-dot bikinis, a la Jess at this weekend's Hilltop Superstars sports tourney.
It's supposed to hover in the 70s for the next few days. I have been soaking up the sun via sunroof and parking lot lunch breaks so far this week. My mood has skyrocketed from relative February levels. All of these factors are key in the upcoming weekend shenans, when a few of my college girlfriends will be flocking to the illustrious city of Wilmington for St. Patty's Day. That timing was mostly unplanned, but fortuitous nonetheless.
Gwen at the Y starts the Tuesday night yoga practice always with a drawn-out sun salutation, the core element of which is intention, focus, grounding. She tells us to ground each of the four corners of our feet, first separately, then simultaneously, into our mat. Feet hip-width apart, sink the inside of your heel into the mat, then the outside. Dig in your big toe, then your little toe. Hip-width apart. Now all four corners at the same time. It feels like roots shoot out of my soles at that point and hold me immovably to the shiny floor of the Western Room. (Ironic, isn't it, that yoga is held in the Western Room.)
But now I'm shooting roots outside. And I couldn't be more stoked about it.
I've noticed the past few days, driving down my street at around 5:00pm, a middle-aged couple walking together in the blinding late afternoon sunshine. Single file to let me and other cars pass. I hope that, 30 or 40 years down the line, or 50 or 60, for that matter, I am doing this.
After I passed them I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the man reach out and take the woman's hand.
I really hope I am doing this in my future.
Asha has gone out rollerblading. I'm sitting on the back steps photosynthesizing the last warm rays of the day, basking in the alchemy of sunbeams into smiles beaming across my face. I can't help it. I almost definitely have some seasonal affect disorder (disorder? I think the disorder is that we trap ourselves inside all winter, live in cold climates, cover our skin) but now that the sun is out I can't stop grinning.
Today, though, I busted out the bug spray, because I have literally 10 bug bites from the other night. Ha.
Unfortunately the wasps are starting to unfreeze and find themselves drawn to my room. I am not particularly drawn there since it's colder inside than out these days, and downstairs than up. But we run into each other from time to time, their lethargic presence eliciting obligatory shrieks and a thorough smashing on my end.
Fortunately it is almost beach-bikini-babe beer season. I have never been so excited for summer to come. At least it seems that way. I am determined this summer to start Kristy drinking beer. We'll start with my favorite classic, summer shandy. First Leinie's, then the house version that I mix up by hand. Pumped.
For today I am drinking this:
A "vanilla pale ale" with a slightly burnt caramel flavor. (I didn't come up with that myself--it was on the bottle. But when it comes to tea, I tend to like vanilla-caramel concoctions. When it comes to anything, really, vanilla and caramel are pretty winning flavors. Like flan, when it is almost burnt.See the Peruvian Chicken House.)
Also I am excited about small skirts, dresses, and shorts. And flashy shades. And purple polka-dot bikinis, a la Jess at this weekend's Hilltop Superstars sports tourney.
It's supposed to hover in the 70s for the next few days. I have been soaking up the sun via sunroof and parking lot lunch breaks so far this week. My mood has skyrocketed from relative February levels. All of these factors are key in the upcoming weekend shenans, when a few of my college girlfriends will be flocking to the illustrious city of Wilmington for St. Patty's Day. That timing was mostly unplanned, but fortuitous nonetheless.
Gwen at the Y starts the Tuesday night yoga practice always with a drawn-out sun salutation, the core element of which is intention, focus, grounding. She tells us to ground each of the four corners of our feet, first separately, then simultaneously, into our mat. Feet hip-width apart, sink the inside of your heel into the mat, then the outside. Dig in your big toe, then your little toe. Hip-width apart. Now all four corners at the same time. It feels like roots shoot out of my soles at that point and hold me immovably to the shiny floor of the Western Room. (Ironic, isn't it, that yoga is held in the Western Room.)
But now I'm shooting roots outside. And I couldn't be more stoked about it.
 |
| she's only happy in the sun |
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