Tuesday, June 07, 2011

Rain, rain, go away!

JFK Park

Sandbags on creek just before park

near campground



creek below school before railroad tracks

Sunday, June 05, 2011

The Move

We moved Hermione from the west to the east this weekend. With the invaluable help of some men at church, we loaded Hermione and trekked east. Fortunately some helpful guys were waiting on the other end, as we hauled stuff up three flights of stairs to the new place.

The drive from the western place to the eastern place was eight hours, so we broke our journey with a stop at home for the night. Home was halfway.

From west to east, we drove along bank full creeks and rivers. A few were out of their banks, but we were lucky to avoid flooded highways. Last week one of the interstates was flooded.

Flooding is a rotten deal, but every thing is REALLY green around here. Hopefully as June ends, the over abundance of moisture will too.

The World of Fashion

I need more laughter in my life, so I’ve decided to take up fashion design. I see in my mind’s eye a group of designers laughing themselves silly around a conference table saying, “I CAN’T believe it. We actually got them to wear it!” A thirst for giggles is the only reason I can come up with for the styles in women’s clothing the so-called sophisticated people create.

For a while, the world of design tried to camouflage all women as safari animals. Attendance at any formal event resembled a day at the zoo with woman attired in zebra stripes, leopard spots, and orange giraffe blotches.

The dress up theme has now changed from women on safari to women at the beach. At the most formal party, funeral, or wedding, flip flops prevail. I have been sternly lectured by my daughters that I may no longer refer to this foot wear as “thongs” because, ahem, that is reserved for a type of underwear.

Ah yes, thong underwear. The fashion gurus must be in stitches about this. At first, I thought thong underwear was a movie creation. You know what I mean: the producer for some inexplicable reason craves a PG-13 rating instead of a PG rating. What better way to do that than to get film footage of some woman’s rear end hanging out? Thus appeared thong underwear. I never thought real-life women would be demented enough to actually wear it. In which circles does it make perfect sense that the entire back of a garment worn on one of the largest parts of the body is composed of a one to two inch wide strap? These circles are undoubtedly made up of people who watch the skies for the arrival of aliens and periodically go on radish and lemonade diets. If the discomfort of thong underwear didn’t discourage women, surely, I thought, the groadiness would. I misjudged a few members of my sex. Burned in my brain is the work training meeting I attended. Call me nit picky, but I think a sixty year old woman wearing white pants that expose her tan thong underwear is not a good look.

After the introduction of bizarre underwear, tight fitting jeans and short shirts became the order of the day. Suspenders anyone? The prevailing school of thought for these creations must be that women look terrific with their stomach flab hanging out. Do you suppose those in the field of medicine who provide liposuction financed this foray into belly flab?

Eventually, the fashion for shirts became longer, but we are still supposed to pour ourselves into tight fitting, slim leg jeans. These dismally unflattering pants have the ability to any woman, no matter how underweight, look fat.

I have a question. Is Paris still the fashion capital of the world, or are they borrowing fashion ideas from houses of ill repute located in the remote corners of the world? One Christmas, I stumbled into the department store to find the fashion world latest offering for the plus size women during the winter time party season: halter tops with inch in diameter spangles beneath the bust. Halter tops in January may be perfect for a New Year’s Eve party in the Congo, but spangled halter tops on obese women in Montana in January? Better get those designers a brown paper bag. The laughter must be causing hyperventilation by now.

Next time I’m feeling blue, I’m crashing a fashion design buzz session. I have no doubt that a million hysterically funny ideas and rattling around in the designer’s fertile brains. Heaven knows I could use some belly laughs now and again.