Dear Snowy Sunshine,
The clouds have parted. Finally the sun is back. I’d forgotten what it looked like as the clouds of destiny took over the sky and dropped buckets of white stuff upon the earth. Everywhere. So much snow shoveling. Great exercise but oh so cold and stuck under a dreary grey sky.
But the sun is back, shining it’s shine.
But the cold and the snow are still here.
As such, I find myself in the uncommon position of wearing a winter coat, boats, scarf, TARDIS toque, mittens, gloves under mittens, and sunglasses. I’m so thankful for the dichotomy. What are you doing sunglasses? You are a summer attire option but I’m wearing you in February.
Being brilliant, that’s what you’re doing. I thought summer was sunny but seeing the sun reflect off the white snow is blinding. The world just went through some kind of filter that makes you squint because everything is so overexposed. But there you are sunglasses, restoring my capacity to see and bringing a little bit of summer to the winter.
The fact that I’m simultaneously wearing sunglasses and normal glasses should not be mentioned.
Dear Creator of Clouds,
You outdid yourself with the snowflakes this morning. Granted I could have done without the wind that whipped them into my face at a bajillion km/hour but still, the snowflakes themselves were stupendous. They were the plumpiest snowflakes I have ever seen. Fat snowflake conglomerates that bounced about on the wind like slightly drunk reindeer.
They were happy snowflakes.Warm cup of hot chocolate snowflakes. Toboggaing snowflakes. Snowman snowflakes. The kind of snowflake that makes Frosty come to life or houses the entire world of the Whos Down in Whoville.
They were quite clearly Christmas Card Snowflakes. The kind that falls idyllically through the back window while the TV family celebrates learning the meaning of Christmas. Quite frankly, the fat snowflakes made me happy when they were in my eyeballs.
So thank you. They were beautiful.
I look forward to any future art projects,
Dear Curls of Craziness,
I’m pretty sure that I have two heads worth of hair on my scalp. It’s thick, it’s crazy curly, it’s got a mind of it’s own, it literally breaks the super expensive hairdresser brushes when I get it cut. I can’t brush it unless it’s wet. Even after drowning it in conditioner, it makes ripping noises when brushed. IT’s like it’s own entity. My little brother has the exact same hair but in a shorter man length cut. Guess why I call him Hedgehog? It’s the hedgehog hair.
But I’m so thankful for this unruly head of hair because I am the laziest hair person ever. I literally do not touch it. I wake up, look in the mirror, go ‘eh good enough’, and head out the door. No product. No brushes. Sometimes I’ll sport a clip or a ponytail if things really went askew.
And hair, dear animal pelt affixed to my scalp, you keep me looking presentable. As a child you were thick and frizzy. Basically straight. As I grew up you increased the frizz. This was okay. Children can get away with unfortunate hair-dos. But then I got to high school and hair mattered. BAM puberty hits and you bust out all the curls. You’ve only gotten curlier. This is mildly alarming as The Mother already refers to you as a sort of near-Afro.
But you keep me looking presentable with no work. Because honestly, I wouldn’t do much to you even if you looked straight and limp and frizzy. Also dearest hair, the rain does absolutely nothing to you. I don’t need to do that girly screech and cover my head when it rains. We’re fine. Wet. But we look normal.
Sure, I’d like to try straightening my hair once in while if you’d stop being so stubborn and maybe it would be nice if you actually looked as long as you are and maybe I’m terrified of cutting my hair too short and becoming a Hedgehog, but those are minor complaints. You let me be lazy curls.
Thank you so much,