where for art thou Mr Sprightly Spring...

i have come to the conclusion that i have been robbed...

yes indeed, robbed of Spring

and as of a few hours ago, it would now appear also our credit card details.

but we will not dwell on such 'crappity crappiness' of the utmost crappy kind.

no we will go back to Spring and the mysterious disappearance of it...

which is crappy enough in it's self for one day.

i am beginning to wonder if i jinxed it.

for indeed i did 'sprightly springify' the shed to within an inch of its life in January.

now i am thinking perhaps that fooled Mr Spring and he has passed me by,

thinking his job was done...

usually this time of year, my little pasty pins have had some exposure,

of course in winter,

i may forget the razor and go as nature intended.

but in June this is risque.

for although my pins are not seeing much daylight i must keep them 'daylight ready'

i know the minute i say "oh sod it Mr Spring" and start to grow my winter coat,

he will appear,

suddenly,

mockingly,

out of the gray will come blue,

no warning

and at a most inconvenient time.

a time when i am unable to dedicate a marathon session with my pins and a razor.

he will have the last laugh watching me sweat it out

in my layers of clothing.

unable to remove my woolly attire...

so i cannot take the risk,

despite this being my risk taking year,

for now i will continue to have my pins 'spring ready' and pasty under my layers.

i will also continue to assess my frocks.

for i'm all about the frocks...

any season is frock season for me

but i am particularly fond of spring summery frocks.

so far i have found 3 summer frocks at the thrift store,

one of which is now with handy apron and pocket,

so i may collect eggs

small creatures

or perhaps care to carry around my yarn

and

Mr Hook

and best of all

(perhaps the bestest of besty all)

a pair of dungarees (overalls)

oh, how i rejoiced when i found them.

for dungarees have been my best friend for many years.

they saw me through my teen years.

then into my twenties

and through four pregnancies...

but then i hit the big 30.

apparently, according to an article i read at that time,

by 30 it was a big "NO NO" to be seen in dungarees.

oh the power of the written word,

i took my 'lordy how could i have let you go' old man's denim LEE dark washed vintage dungarees

and sent them packing.

even now i'm choked just thinking about the crime i committed

due to the opinion of another.

11 years on, in my local thrift store

and

i was stopped in my tracks by a pair.

not quite the same, for another could never replace my true love.

as i reached out to them,

they spoke to me,

i said "i'll give you a try"

all the time, the article from so long ago, ringing in my ears...

by the time i had the second clip in place and turned to the mirror

i could only hear one thing,

for a small chorus of angels had crammed into the little cubicle with me,

singing their angelic hearts out with a small round of

"hallelujah, hallelujah"

and

from outside the cubicle,

glory shone from under the door

it would appear, a little piece of me, i lost so long ago had returned home...

since being reunited with some dungarees

i have noted just how content i feel.

in the back of my head i hear dottie angel

once again reminding me just how wonderful it is to be

an eclectic woman of an uncertain age.

and despite the fact Mr Spring appears to have forgotten about me,

i note it really does not matter.

for wearing my dungarees or apron frock,

clippty clopping clogs upon my feet

and pasty pins

i'm feeling sprightly and springy even in the crappiest of crappity weather...

she will be back tomorrow with how she made her 'ordinarily extraordinary' blanket ~ Tif