Am I the only one who is sick to death of winter? I need some sunshine, people. As much as I love the hot pink pea coat Ron gave me for Christmas, I am ready to have it dry cleaned and put away for the season. Miss Ruby is right there with me: The dog park is too muddy and cold for her people to take her as often as she is accustomed to and Doggy Day Care is too often full. You may not appreciate the extreme rarity of the event captured below. Not the sweet smiling girl, but a Virginia school bus driving on snow. Twice in the past year our school system has canceled school because snow was forecast, before a single flake fell.
I mentioned a while back that Ron and I were looking for new bedroom furniture and that we were having a difference of opinion on matters of style. We keep rediscovering that our only overlap in taste is Shaker-style furniture. The last time we made this discovery was the last time we bought bedroom furniture, so guess what? The new stuff is so similar in style to the old that it is not at all like having new stuff. Except that it smells new and wonderful, and there is a huge difference in quality. The old bedroom suite came from Rooms to Go and very few trees were harmed in its production, whereas the new one was made from actual oak by actual Amish carpenters in Pennsylvania. I am a bit embarrassed by these pictures, which I snapped to email to my mom. There is bedding on the bed now, but we have taken everything off the walls in preparation for painting. (There is ordinarily a picture between those stars.)
We are repainting the room the same yellow. We went to Lowes Sunday to buy the paint, and I forgot to bring the paint chip, but I was pretty sure I remembered the color name. I went off to look for drawer organizers while Ron ordered the paint, and I didn't look at the swatch painted on the lid until we got home. Apparently the actual color I wanted was Sun SHOWER, and there is a considerable difference between them. Please calibrate your monitor before viewing this image.
We will be returning to Lowes before the painting commences.
In other news, I get the results of my thyroid biopsy tomorrow. Since no one seems to want to hear the details of having cartoonishly huge needles jabbed into my throat, I will just say two things about that. One, people kept telling me that my bruises looked like hickeys. Although it has been a very. long. time. since anyone planted a hickey on me, I remember that it was much more fun than a "fine needle aspiration biopsy." And B) the lovely endocrinologist's name is Dr. Chhabra, and it is all I can do to resist calling her Dr. Chupacabra. This has everything to do with my own immaturity and nothing at all to do with her appearance, skill, or bedside manner.