Not sure what you ladies do for hair-care when living out of a suitcase.
On days when washing is not an option, (1) dry-shampoo roots, followed by (2) oil ends, is pretty much my only defense against what life on the road tends to do to hair. Ponytail if all else fails. (Or in this case, simply adopt the headgear of a certain military man pointing his crafty camera at me.)
Never consciously realized what a big part music played in my mundane morning routine till my speakers stopped working about a week ago. Turns out, coffee, shower, make up and Smokey maneuvering between my feet are just not the same without some rusty blues or raggae running through the walls.
The fact that they were a house warming gift from my friend Ernie makes me also realize I've been in this place for over six months now. And that so much has changed in the last six months.
A pretty slow day today -- or “nicely paced” is probably a much more accurate way to describe it. Half out of necessity half due to sheer luck, a perfectly paced day manages to land on my lap every once in a while and break up whatever resemblance of routine my regular life seem to be structured around. And truth be told, I’m beginning to truly appreciate a slower beat. It’s not that I don’t enjoy relaxing [I truly truly do] [especially with friends] it’s just that even when not buried in things to do, I still find it next to impossible to enjoy stagnant inactivity. Not quite sure why but pouring my energy into life gives me way more energy than preserving my energy does... which probably doesn’t make much sense. But be that as it may, getting philosophical or attempting to disprove the laws of the conservation of energy is pretty much the last thing on my mind. Definitely learning to appreciate a slower pace though. The weather has been nothing short of perfect (to those of us in Florida, let’s hope it stays like this for a while), exactly the kind of weather that makes me regret selling my Mustang convertible many moons ago. My friend Ernie is getting home from South America (lucky him) later today. Haven’t seen him in ages so I’m quite excited to hear his stories & see his photos. Well, off to grab a bite with a friend at this ramshackle Mexican gin joint in a few minutes. Then hopefully hit the sack early -- a lot to get done tomorrow.
At the end of the day I love every color. Guess what I mean is they all have their place. But all my life white has been the color I never tire of. If I had to wear the same outfit for the rest of my life it would probably be a white t-shirt with jeans.
Painting all my walls white today. They were sort of an off white before, not too bad but all the wrong undertones. White walls are tricky like that, the wrong shade just makes a place feel off. Kind of hospital like... or just plain unpainted.
Gotta love all-white homes but what I love even more is white mixed with wood, leather, jute, plants and other natural elements. White + wood is like the house version of the white t-shirt with jeans…
For me the magic is in the texture. Walls, textiles, clothes, towels, paper, whatever… if the texture is right my whole world feels just right.
Still playing around with different textures & shades of white:
Will figure it all out soon I hope. I know Smokey loves white & definitely appreciates texture -- especially for claw sharpening purposes.