Gray skies. (Okay, I prefer either bright blue or the deep black of storms.) But gray skies exercise my synonym finder. The sky today is ironwood, gunmetal, the color of cold, dead ash.
Green shoots. I love gardening and in February I begin to see new growth. Sadly, it’s the growth of weeds not crocuses. Boo.
No oily skin. This would be great except my skin isn’t oily to start with. It’s dry. By February my skin is so dry, the outside air makes it hurt. So when I remember I slather it in cream…except, it makes my skin feel oily. Hiss.
Winter sickness is almost over. All the colds, flus, and stomach bugs are over. (I hope.) All that remains is the dust that’s crept into the bones of the house. I’m severely allergic to dust. I’m tempted to open all the windows and air out the house, but the boys think that 30 degrees Fahrenheit is not optimal air out the house weather.
Ladybugs. I like ladybugs. They’re brightly colored—cheerful even. They go to town on aphids—I hate aphids. All in all, when I see a lady bug, I smile. Until this winter. Somewhere they found a chink in our house and invaded to survive the winter. If they hid in the walls, that would be great. But they like our ceilings. I don’t like crawly lines of red with back spots meandering the ceiling. But our ceilings are ridiculously high, so I have to balance precariously on pieces of furniture holding a vacuum in one hand and the suction hose in the other (because the hose is too short to reach from the floor to the ceiling) and vacuum ladybugs off the ceiling…you know, I hate ladybugs.
Hmm, this is not cheering me up. Isn’t February over yet?
|This ladybug is where they should be, outside eating aphids. Sigh.|
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.