far too much writing, far too many photos

Yesterday evening, driving home from Montpelier, I spotted a house strung with the first Christmas lights I’ve seen this year. (The real item, not the ones left up all twelve months. Several offenders of that kind also had displays going.) Kind of nice, actually, those graceful points of white light shining in the darkness.

Had appointments with dental hygienist and haircutter today. Various weather reports heard along the way mumbled ominous predictions of major snow coming our way tonight — anywhere from two to eight inches, depending on the weather mumbler. By midday, the sky had grown wild, flurries came and went, driven by strong breezes. I went about my biz, teeth getting cleaned, hair getting cut. My haircutter is a genuinely entertaining woman and we got talking, distracting me to the point that it simply didn’t register I’d been given one hellaciously ragged, uneven clip job. (The sign mentioned in the last entry remains on the door at Acme Hair, BTW.)

Got home, got absorbed in doing things that needed doing. Did not pass a mirror until 20 minutes before I needed to head back into town for a film. At which time the picture I was presented with, the extent of the disaster, nearly stopped my little heart. One of my hands grabbed scissors, began flailing away in a fast, dirty repair job.

It’s been a while since I’ve had to save myself from a hair massacre.

Drove back into town, flurries growing heavier, more insistent. Met a friend, ate, saw Lost In Translation for the second time. Outside, the snow got more serious, wind whipping it this way and that. The drive home: long and intense, the road slippery, treacherous. There is nothing quite like navigating a dark, winding country two-lane in heavy snow.

I sit here writing this in a comfortable house, warm, lights on, wind rattling windows, snow piling up. It’s good to alive in the middle of it all.

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