I need to wash my hair.
I place a plastic jug of water in the sun first thing this morning in order to warm it up. I know, I know . . . I could use my hot water heater. I like the solar method. Someday I’m going to paint the plastic jug with matte black paint. The water would get hot in about an hour.
I set up my wash station and use a plastic cup to wet my hair and to rinse out the shampoo. It’s quick, easy, and I don’t have a shower stall to wipe down. I use the leftover water from washing my hair to wash out some clothes. It’s a sunny, hot, and breezy day, perfect for drying clothes. Back to the subject of hair . . .
Mine’s getting wild.
I need a haircut. I’ve needed one for a long time. And then there’s the hat. Wearing a funny hat every day may be part of a good anti-skin-cancer regimen, but it’s hell on hair. Bed hair is bad. Hat hair is worse. I have bed-hat hair.
Occasionally I try to work up some interest in improving my appearance.
Usually I forget to put lotion on my skin which is very bad in this Arizona dry heat. I’m not wrinkling so much as I’m cracking. I get out the nail polish and the little bottle stares at me for a few days until I put it away. My make-up is so old, it should be marked with skull and crossbones.
That’s the way it goes with some boondockers.
Not all, mind you. Some people do keep up appearances very well. Others, like me, get a little – how shall I say it – rough around the edges. It’s a condition that a previous generation called “letting yourself go.”
I’ve been letting myself go for several months now, and I can tell you, hallelujah, sweet mama, it’s a great way to live!
Rusty comes over this morning to get the harness for Timber.
Yesterday I told him I think Spike’s harness might fit Timber. I’m talking about the harness Spike used to wear before I got him and Bridget the mesh fabric kind. It takes a lot to control Timber. He needs a harness. I couldn’t find it yesterday, and I didn’t feel like doing a major search in the heat. This morning I find it and adjust it to fit Timber. It looks good on him and he seems more comfortable in it than Spike ever was.
Later in the day I hear hollering from Rusty’s camp.
I look out the window and see him running this way, pointing at the sky. What? Is it falling? I bust out of the BLT to see what’s the matter. “Look at the sky! “ Rusty calls out. Hmmm… It does look very unusual with weird black clouds. I go back inside and get my camera.
Rusty doesn’t stay long.
He doesn’t want to miss Prairie Home Companion on his radio. I decide to take a few photos of myself and the crew for this blog. Sounds like a simple task, right? Oh no, not so. The two of them duck under the BLT as soon as they sense I want to pick them up for a photo. What is it with these two? They act like I’m going to pierce their eyes out by taking a photo. For heaven’s sake, guys! I’m the one who could use a makeover!
The wind picks up.
I roll up the awning for the night. Today was the hottest day I’ve experienced in Arizona. During the hottest hour, Spike sleeps under the PTV. Bridget and I stretch out on the bed in the breeze of the fan.
I tried to watch TV but the Sunday worship of fat loss was on all the channels I get. Geez, people. Let yourself go![slideshow]