Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.

1 Comments:

LGBG in the summer! Is there anywhere more humid in the state of VA? Spent many a day 'drenched' in the atmosphere of that lovely place - somewhere designed to be intimate yet public. I miss it. I gather your activities are indoors! It often sounds like the 'royal' gardens around you are similarly designed. How lovely! Am starting to knit a tutu with Berroco. Something to stash away for the future. Otherwise divide knitting between scarves, shells and stash knitting. I not only have stash yarn, but I have stash knitted/crocheted presents. Still, no spinning, no socks. This must change as 20 year old has expressed desire to take a handknit sock wardrobe to China over Christmas holidays - direct result I suspect of reading MY Yarnharlot!!!! Stay cool and keep inspiring the rest of us.

By Anonymous Glenn across the river, at 5:35 AM  

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Tuesday, July 18, 2006  

My preference each morning is to read through a dozen favorite web spots: newspapers, e-mail, blogs, forums, before I start writing my post. This way, if something of import, or even just personal interest, leaps out at me, I can use it as the theme of the day’s post. Even something as tickling as discovering an obituary for Micky Spillane, author of the dark Mike Hammer mysteries and Robert Brooks the developer of Hooters Restaurant, on the same page can be a jumping off point for a meandering wander through TheQueen’s state of mind. Other times, I know what I want to talk about and can use the down time between one slow as molasses page load and another in a productive way by writing the day’s missive. And sometimes, I dither about, knowing exactly what I’d like to share, but unable to find the words. Those are the mornings I type and delete a dozen sentences before grabbing my hair and making a loud ARGH noise and then opening up a game of solitaire with our thousand dollar deck of cards.

Guess which type of morning today is.

How frustrating, when what I really want to do is to paint last Sunday for you with glorious sparkling words, for it was a day of such beauty and peace and balance I could feel every minute as it filled its allotted time, rolling forward into the next with perfect ease - with rightness so targeted that you couldn’t regret its passing, even though you knew it would be gone forever.

We’d been having a dreadful Bermuda High - one of those summer spells when no breeze blows and the moisture in the air can be scooped up and put into a glass. The sort of weather that turns dust into mud before you can sweep it up. The sort of leaden atmosphere that makes every spare ounce on your body feel like an unwelcome pound of flesh. It culminated on Saturday with wet air so heated it pressed against your lungs, only to blow away in the night, shoved off by some dry northwest (probably Canadian) gift of wind. Sunday dawned a jewel of clear, sweet air that caressed every sticky surface, mopping up damp and mildew and bad moods, misery and discomfort and haze, leaving us in that state of languid energy that can only happen when you know you’ve done all your chores, you have a good book, toys, a new crossword puzzle and dinner planned, and a whole day’s worth of minutes unfolds before you to do with as you please.

Throughout the day I often stopped whatever I was doing to just savor the beauty of existence, the pleasure of being able to look in any direction and see the sharp edges of green leaves against blue sky, the crisp definition of just mowed lawn against a well swept walkway, the vivid colors of a world that had been hidden by smudgy haze for a week. At times my heart would constrict with the realization that there was no way I could share such beauty here, that it was my pleasure alone, for even as I knew I would try to describe it all, I knew I wouldn’t have the vocabulary to convey all the layers of pleasure such a day brings.

Odd, that when I am completely enmeshed in the beauty that is a home in the country at its best, I feel compelled to find another with whom to share it. That’s how I began throwing my large garden parties, events that grew to an annual gathering of a hundred odd guests from all walks of my life; from the library board to long standing friends to family members. It’s probably why I like to write these long posts about Life In The Country. It’s just so durn beautiful - when it’s beautiful - which is most of the time. It’s too much beauty to enjoy alone. All day on Sunday I kept wishing I could teleport in my far-away friends to give them the sweet soft air, the dancing green of the marsh, the prehistoric cry of Mr. Bald Eagle, the sleek head of a white Labrador retriever, the crisp bite of fresh corn on the cob, the delight of a patch of grass hidden around the bend of a persimmon tree skirted with day lilies. These pleasures are ephemeral, for all their constancy, for they depend on two ungovernable powers - time and weather. Each one of those forces inflict perpetual change upon the present so that the gleam of sunset on the maple tree will shift to a different forest window as the clock ticks, the vividness of a day of perfect weather will give way to another bank of hazy moisture when tomorrow dawns.

Happily, I could share the day with TheKingHimself, so my gushing praise had a recipient, my giddy pleasure had a partner. Even happier still, he is as sensitive as I to the magic of Virginia when it is Eden. We savored a slow morning in bed, parted to caress our separate joys, reunited for meals and a canoe ride to the swimming beach, and took our books to bed with us to top of the day. There is a new bobbin on HeyBaby, a library book to return and a netflix DVD to put in the mailbox this morning.

Monday came in hothothot - and I spent it at the Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens at a series of lectures put on by educators - part of the Governor’s Thrust For Quality Early Childhood Education - who gave us a single lunch break in the midst of a long series of lectures. Is this evidence that the problem of ritalin controlled, ADHD kids, sinking into misbehavior or torpor is caused by an education system that doesn’t believe in physical activity? It’s obvious to me that eventually they’ll give us mandatory pre- and pre-pre-kindergarten in the schools, regardless of how much the professional educators say they’re not angling for it. I’ve never yet seen an educational system, be it for infants, children or college students, that didn’t want to get bigger. Sooner or later the DoE will be unable to resist all that new funding - but in the mean time they can use their travel budgets for more symposiums on TheProblem.

Today the weather dot com guys promise even hotter temperatures though it’s not as humid as last week, and dry heat is not so hard to take. It’s a busy week for me from this point on. It’s the week of the July Library board meeting so I’ll be bustling and serious and dressed in my business outfit, rather than the easy T-shirt and skirt summer uniform. I leave you with this cute joke sent to me by dear L:

> Two bored casino dealers are waiting at the crap table.
>
> A very attractive blonde woman from Alabama arrived ....and bet
> twenty-thousand dollars ($20,000) on a single roll of the dice.
>
> She said, "I hope you don't mind, but I feel much luckier when I play
> topless."
>
> With that, she stripped to the waist; rolled the dice; and yelled, "Come on,
> baby.... Southern Girl needs new clothes!"
>
> As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up-and-down... and squealed... "YES!
> YES! I WON! I WON!"
>
> She hugged each of the dealers... and then picked up her winnings and her
> clothes, and quickly departed.
>
> The dealers stared at each other dumfounded. Finally, one of them asked,
> "What did she roll?"
>
> The other answered, "I don't know... I thought you were watching."
>
> Moral ---
> Not all Southerners are stupid.
> Not all blondes are dumb.
> But, all men..... are men.

posted by Bess | 7:28 AM
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