Musings – Monday to Friday

 

Monday

(early morning)

Cats must crave the Vitamin D they get from the sun. Oscar sits at the living room window as the winter sun filters through the trees and blazes a path through the stillness of the veranda to his favoured spot on the sill.

 

(late morning)

Today is a velvet day. The older I get the more velvet days I want. I am reminded of the poem, “When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.” Indeed! When I grow old, I shall wear only velvet. No matter the colour. All colours of velvet are so luscious and rich.

 

(afternoon)

Riding a bike in Vancouver, at night, is a precarious, nerve-racking affair. The streets are getting narrower, the SUVs are getting wider, squeezing you further and further into the door lane of parked cars where some idiot is waiting for the exact second you ride by to pop open their door right in front of you.

 

(evening)

Cycling or walking down a lonely dark street or alley at night, a women cannot help suspecting any person of the male gender that she may cross paths with, of being a rapist or mugger. It must be very hard on good sweet men to see the fear and avoidance on a woman’s face as she hurries along, head down, avoiding eye contact.

 

Tuesday

(morning)

When it comes to worrying about why someone hasn’t returned a phone call or an email I believe there are two kinds of people: the ones that think the other person must be dead or in the hospital; and the ones that think that they have done something so terrible to that person that they never want to speak to them again.

 

(afternoon)

The best sleep is the one stolen from the middle of the day when you can curl up with all your clothes on, under a cozy patchwork quilt with your cats curled up at your feet like two big apostrophes.

 

Wednesday

(afternoon)

The leaves are falling from the trees in a crazy frenzied dance with the wind. They never want to stop showing off their colours and their grace. But, it’s their final swan song. They eventually fall, exhausted, to the ground, the wind gently coaxing them up for their last bow before they meet their final resting place.

 

(evening)

I love laundry day. Cocooning, at bedtime, into plush, freshly-laid bed sheets, scented from the dryer with “Spring Awakening” or “Outdoor Fresh” or “Gentle Breeze”.

 

Thursday

(morning)

How has the ubiquitous colour black held first place for so long in the roster of people’s favourite colour choice for clothing? It’s not as if black looks great on everyone. All men, in my opinion, look dazzling in blue. Blond colouring craves creamy whites and redheads should favour copper and sage tones. But everyone wears black. Black doesn’t even hold up it’s colour for long. It fades quickly to a deep grey slate blend and loses its vibrancy (except for black velvet). You can’t match two separate pieces of black to each other. Every black is different. But, when you go shopping, all the best fashions are in black, the greatest choices are in black, the sexiest styles are in black. What is a girl to do? Buy black and be done with it.

 

Friday

(afternoon)

Women certainly know how to shop at sales. We must be born with this knowledge. We intuitively know all the rules: arrive early, stand in line, rush for the door when it opens, spread out like rats over the merchandise. Grabbing all the select items we can get our hands on and holding onto them like we were drowning and needed these treasures for survival. We then find a little spot out of the hordes of other shoppers to exam our loot and decide what items we can afford; what we have to give up; and what we absolutely must have. We are prepared to change our minds several times. Then just as we have made our final choices, we see a fellow shopper with an item that we covet and so the whole cycle starts anew.