I got to go clothes shopping last weekend. Not just any kind of clothes, either! Fancy clothes. In preparation for my upcoming symphony work, I needed new fancy raiment. I browsed a bit online to find local tailors and clothiers, and settled on an establishment that is practically across the street. Because of the area I live in, I seldom go a-walking when shopping, because I'm not really "equipped" to purchase from my local merchants.
By which I mean that asiago-and-port-wine bedroom slippers aren't really in my price range.
I got yelled at yesterday. For the better part of an hour, a customer berated and finger-pointed. It was not -- as they say -- fun. I maintained my cool, in the sense that I did not punch the person between the eyes. I did, however, bristle and give increasingly curt and non-acquiescent responses. I failed Customer Service 201 while trying to preserve Customer Service 101.
And then, after having all of this piled upon me, I went somewhere and did something that took the pain away.
Various friends would have me whipped and placed in the stockade for saying so, but I think it's starting to wear on me. The weather projection for this week is highs about 50, lows about thirty. Every. Day.
We had rain tonight, which -- for a very short while and likely due to a computer error -- was listed as snow. I'm not going to say that I sat by the windows watching, but I did pull the blinds up and read at the nearest armchair.
I think I need the cold and the snow to balance me out. The official total for Kansas City this winter is 0.4" -- not even enough to declare a winner in the "when does KC get its first snow?" contest on the local weather.
My friend who grew up in Florida loves it. My friend who grew up in Alabama sings the praises. I think that it isn't the end of the world to be stuck in Eternal Autumn, but it sure is grating on my nerves.
I need the snow. I need it to freeze the world. A certain kind of beauty is only unmasked when the bright eyes wink in
the wind, and while the hair framing those eyes is caught up in drafts
bearing frozen crystals. The muted crunch of footsteps soothes the heated anguish in my mind. The silence that fresh-fallen snow enforces: it calls out to the frantic parts of my brain in softly tufted storms.
The trouble with attempting to parse who among your friends is most like you is that you may not be able to stop. I'm on my third pick. What's worse is that the three aren't very much like each other, or indeed, me. Usually a particular event or conversation will lead to me identifying one or another as the prime of the moment, but further reflection tosses the fish back into the barrel.
The true answer is that none of them are me. No matter how familiar their choices, how sympathetic their circumstances, eventually there is a divergence. A moment that makes me say, "That's not how I would have done that!"
I think about this not because I'm measuring my friends to my own stick -- everyone knows I'm not so crashingly enamored of my life to thing it a good candidate for inflicting on others. Not to say I don't like my life, on balance: just that I'm not the sort of person to go shoving my gum into other people's faces and saying "Of course you like strawberry!"
With that established, let me tell you the tale of Jenna.
This post was going to be about me watching a woman tie her hair up.
During the recent orchestra rehearsals I was involved in, I landed my eyes on the back of someone's head. When you are a brass person, you tend to sit in the rearward of the ensemble -- as such, I see lots of head backs. This particular woman took a moment during the space after tuning to spin her hair into a ... do they call them "buns" if it's just scrunched up like a gift-wrapped pony tail?