Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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Bess- Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Monday, November 08, 2004 I couldn't get blogger to post on Friday so I saved the post, not even remebering what it was about. Not sure it's worth posting now, but for continuity's sake up it goes. I'm deliciously tired and relaxed as well and will try to get a report about the retreat up within the next few days. Just going to say here that I enjoyed this retreat even more than the previous two. so - Friday, da capo. The Retreat weekend has finally arrived. I leave today, in the early afternoon, after a luxurious manicure and pedicure at one of my favorite feminine immersion spots. The women who work in the shop are pure local gals. They’re a lot like the women in the best of the country music videos - strong women, energetic, friendly, ready to pick up any slack. They are entrepreneurs, so they have several other money making schemes besides the world of beauty. They were not academic students and didn’t enjoy school, but they weren’t drop outs, nor were they lazy. They just like to get down and get to work and they love to be around pretty things. They love their men, and even work with them in outside jobs. They love their dogs, big time. They’re ready to laugh, ready to party, and ready to do their duty. They’re really wonderful women. I had no idea I would become such a fan of nail salons or their women. Getting a manicure always seemed a little, well, silly, in my family. Like cartoon character jokes. Besides, growing up, I played the violin and couldn’t keep long nails. From time to time, as an adult, I’d grow long nails and take care of them too, but as my eyesight ripened into middle age, I couldn’t see to do such fiddly work and gradually stopped noticing. At last I got a pair of real glasses and realized my hands looked like a grubby kid’s. There’s something so wrong about juvenile details in a - - well - what is the word - seasoned? mature? (gad I hate to say old lady) - Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I prefer exquisite style and good taste in age appropriate presentations. I think short pleated skirts are darling. I have nice looking legs. But I’m 52 and I do not wear them. I think flashy colored and patterned stockings are the perfect blend of funk and fun. They’re one of the very few ‘60’s styles to be exhumed from the fashion crypt that I actually like, but again, you won’t see them on me. Likewise, grubby nails on grown up hands just look, well, grubby. So, I set off into the unfamiliar realm of nail salons and found a truly comfortable oasis of girlie-girl fun housed in a sort of tribal kraal where ancient female rites and secrets are traded. Every other week I sink into a pink chair, surrounded by just the right amount of frou frou decorations, pet the miniature dachshund puppies, and sit back and let feminine voices float about my head, while tales and gossip and questions and advice weave through the scented air. I, myself, get pretty voluble, chattering in a low murmur about whatever is on my mind. It’s a very supporting atmosphere. It’s a relaxing one, yet not the least bit quiet. It’s really one of the great pleasures on my list of routine activities. You know, I almost never have any idea where my thoughts will flow when I sit down to write this. I always wait till I’ve gone through my morning internet routine, just in case something out there prompts an idea. I really had intended to just post a little about the anticipation I feel as I head off to Syria VA and the Knitters Review Retreat. Who knew I’d end up on Water Lane with the manicurist gals? I do have my handouts ready - though nobody proofed them so I can only hope they’re not full of errors. I have yet to pack, either yarn, knitting or clothing. It’s about 2 hours to Graves Mt. Lodge, if there’s no bad traffic, but the route leads past a Boarders - where I know there is a book I must buy, and a mall where there are clothes I know I must try on. So, though I’ll leave at noon, I shan’t get there till probably 4. I regret the absence of the old friends who can’t make it to the retreat this year. I look forward to seeing the old friends who can and new friends who will. And most of all, I am looking forward to meeting up with KnitDad, making his first foray into the Virginia mountains, and giving him a gigantic hug. Two of ‘em, in fact. One from me, and one from KittyBoy, the spinning wheel he sent me last spring. Old friends, new friends, fiber friends. It is a rich world and I am blessed to live in it. posted by Bess | 5:09 PM |
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