Bluebells at his feet.
It's a lovely day, but cold: 28F at 8:20 in the morning. I'll wait until 10 or so to walk the dog, when the temperature will, I hope, have risen above freezing. The high's supposed to be just above 50F, so it'll be chilly all day.
Our plan: to go out for burgers and beer tonight for St. Joseph Day. Almost to the end of our Lenten feast days: the Annunciation is Saturday, and then that's it until Easter. As much as I might sometimes cast an admiring, if not an actually longing, eye on Orthodox fasting, I have to admit that I like how the Catholic Church makes these allowances. Our feast days are such lovely little oases in the desert, this time of year, or wayside inns on a pilgrimage route. You get there, and you're beside yourself with happiness that you get to drink the water, or sit down and rest. Then you stagger on.
Sundays are that way, too, of course. We've always felt that there was nothing lovelier in all the world than a Saturday night in Lent, the sun down, the Vigil of Sunday commenced. Today is Monday, of course, and I've got to continue on my pilgrim way, putting some serious miles behind me before bedtime tonight. It's not really that hard, but the getting going again . . . oy. Don't make me get up out this chair, is what I say, in all my comfort-loving sloth.
This is when I'm grateful to have a dog. In fact, this is why I have a dog. In the fall of 2021, when our last children had left for college and our old dog was dead, I was not succeeding in making myself leave the house --- like, ever. If you've read Works of Mercy, and you wonder how I ever conceived of a character like Kirsty, let me suggest that nothing could have been easier. I did not have to look far. Anyway, when I regarded myself, I could see that I was not what you'd call thriving in some essential ways.
Enter Dora, who has no end of energy. Dora is happy to walk 5 or 6 miles a day, or more, whatever. Just clip the leash on and say, let's go, and she's ready. Then she'll come home and wrestle one of her blankets on the floor for a good fifteen minutes, vanquishing it good, or pretending to let it vanquish her. Then, when you're not looking, she'll drink your half-finished cup of coffee or jump up on the stove to eat whatever you'd forgotten was in a pan there, waiting to be put away. This last is why my husband has a very strange lunch to take to work today, made up of the random side things I had managed to package up in the fridge, but not of the major dinner leftovers I'd actually planned to send with him. Dora probably doesn't need much breakfast this morning, after her supersized meals of yesterday. All the more reason to get in some serious miles.
Wearing today, for the getting-in of those miles:
Celebrating the solemnity with a leaving-off of my Lenten purple. Here's Camellia + a secondhand Woolx blue tee (I love the color, but it's a men's tee, so the cut isn't my favorite, which is maybe why I wear it less often . . . but I do like it) + secondhand bamboo/cotton leggings + Boody bamboo socks (not visible) + secondhand Birkenstock hiking boots.
To this base outfit I added the merino sweater from which I had to work hard to remove the armpit stink. Soaking the pits in straight white vinegar, then hanging the cardigan to dry in the sun: this was successful, after several washes and treatments with vodka. I also spritzed the pits with some spray hand sanitizer, scented with frankincense, but what lingers is the vinegar smell. BETTER THAN SWEAT, say I.
Anyway, I'm wearing it today:
Probably going to add a scarf as well, since it's still below freezing, but the dog really needs to go out now.