Amy kindly observed in yesterday's post she looks forward to my announcements of hiatus because it means I'll return with a flurry of good stuff.
I look forward to coming back, too. I have this flickering notion we're sitting at an odd little tea party wherein I write things I'd probably never say in real life. Why is that? Well, darling, you can only talk about one-winged beetles amidst high society for so long before someone boots you off your chandelier.
But my head feels much better when I do.
So thank you for coming to sit a spell, and more thanks if you pipe up with something you might never say in real life, either. I do so enjoy hearing from you.
I found a little box for Angel, by the way. I put Mad Max in there and some other creatures I happened upon, plus a flower my mum crocheted and sea shells from a Canadian girl living in Korea.
My head feels better when I look at that, too.
It's true a lot of things happened while I was on break. Most may be filed under the trifecta of music camp, cousins, and making flagrant errors while playing the organ at church...but some also pertain to volleyball, running in the desert, and meeting an older gentleman in a Persian market who showed little to no faith in my intent to make ghormeh sabzi.
Oh really, monsieur? Then what do you call this?!
While my sister was here I asked her the dreaded question you can only expect blood kin to answer, namely: is my hair color too dark for my skin?
I'm sorry to say she confirmed my worst fears.
Don't form an opinion based on this photo, dear reader. You can't expect Instagram to do anything but sell you a pack of lies. My hair is too dark, which would be fine if I were into vampire chic, but I grew out of that ages ago. Therefore, I may or may not do something about this discrepancy in the future, depending on how much nerve I'm able to muster. I rarely discuss my fear of hair stylists, but it ranks only slightly below that of airplane malfunctions and shark attacks.
In the case of airplane malfunction, at least there's a yellow oxygen mask which drops down for you to strap around your face.
I don't see that being offered in salons.
As for man eating sharks, well...that's bad news no matter which way you cut it. But in the event of an altercation, no one disparages you for making a retaliatory eye gouge.
You can't say the same if things go south with your stylist.
In other words, this could be the last selfie you see of me in a very long while.
Beyond that, there's nothing much of consequence to report. Marshall's hunting skills continue to limp along. The irony of having been raised by wolves yet finding myself with a preying mantis who can't prey is hardly lost on me, dear reader.
Still, I don't tell him that.
We just roll onward and upward, sometimes downhill without brakes...embracing the things which make us different, yet lovable all the same.