bone cold
My aunt is ballsy as hell. Whether that works for her or not these days, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask.
But I know I loved it when I was thirteen. When she use to sneak boxes of romance novels (Serious contraband in my house) into my room and under my bed. The kind with Swashbucklers and Miss Scarlet types who fall in love and move to Istanbul. My favourites were the ones about highwaymen and London fog. They’re what gave me the hankerin’ (I’m sure it’s a word) to move to England.
You want a thing long enough, you make it happen.
I wanted to walk in the fog. So I did.
So I do.
Most of the time.
Today, I’d rather stay in.
The weather’s awful. Bone cold that sticks to the sky. Wet that smells like rain but ain’t. I like my slippers and robe and the fact it’s a Friday and I can sit and write and love it.
But I’ll face the freezing fog and I’ll do it on foot. For touché éclat and dinner. Because my under-eye-vein needs the slap and Tall Dark & Handsome needs the food. Because a girl cannot live without YSL any more than the man can live without cheesecake and Bordeaux.
We’re also out of coffee.
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18 Responses to “bone cold”
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Amazing. Simply amazing.
As I was reading your posts I was thinking of The Lovely Bones. That book gripped me, and so has your site. I’ll be back. Please come visit me whenever you like!
Hi Buffy. I enjoyed your bright, sincere comments on my blog. Can I link to your site? I’d like to, so I can come more often. Hey, I hope you can get some coffee for tomorrow. It’s late there at the other side of the pond
Ann Marie aka |poeticjustice| in Soviet Canuckistan, EST
I too have been reading you over the past couple of weeks and I think I’m hooked.
I hope this helps end the search…..
CeCe
Boy, I’m cold just reading that. DOn’t forget Bailey’s and ice cream
touche eclat is worth stepping out for….along with creme de la mer
Caught your name from a good friend of mine and thought I’d drop by. Not expecting any sort of reply, but I merely wanted to say I enjoy your prose. It appears I have much to look over?
Ryan
great post. you have a great writing style. thanks for your advice as well on my blog.
my blogsite is down. Yes, a true southern porch. We are the only house in our circle with a porch. And I am enough of a RedNecked woman that I keep my Christmas lights on all year long. Actually, we got these rope lights that we have attached to the ceiling all around our porch and a ficus tree with the little white lights. And complete with white rockers, red wine and a jambox with any kind of music you like. If you ever come to Pensacola, please come see us. Your writing style is mesmorizing. So real. So no-ego. We are cold here, too. But spring will be on it’s way. Keep writing!
Really? You wanted to go to England because of romance novels?
I would have thought you would have lured pirates to capture you, or travelled back in time to the Dark Ages. But what do I know?
Cibbuano,
Pirates. Time travel. Highwaymen. All glorious cheesy fiction. Lets be honest. It all helps. But it was the fog. And the ‘walking on ground that’s not your own’. That did it. For me.
No, no, I understand the intrigue with fog. I once went to a soccer game at an open-air stadium… the fog was coming in off the ocean and it snaked into the game, like tendrils reaching out to suck the marrow from our bones.
Whenever I think of fog in England, though, I’m reminded of a creepy Sherlock Holmes mystery… Hound of the Baskervilles, I think.
Baskervilles. Bogs and quicksand on the moor. A delicacy of the English countryside.
Interesting…can’t say I know that many men who can’t live w/o cheesecake and Bordeaux.
Who cares who wrote about the fog before you. I loved it. Want to hear more about your ballsy aunt. Anyone I know?
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Everyone should have an aunt that sneaks bodice-ripping novels into the house! Actually, my grandmother was the ballsy one in our family. In 1920, she and her cousin escaped the farms of Wisconsin to hitchhike to Hollywood for adventure. 1920! Women had only converted to above the ankle skirts a few short years before.
A nice man picked them up someplace in Iowa and took them to a train station after explaining that two beautiful young girls should probably not hitchhike.
I think she must have also sought ‘walking on ground that’s not your own.”
Your writing AND your photos are wonderful!
And I LOVE the javascript/photo display! How did you do it?
Makes me worry about you out there walking alone.Reminds me of buppy Lynn! Sorry, inside joke.