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?
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| This ladybug is where they should be, outside eating aphids. Sigh. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
