Cute Shoes/Cold Toes

DSC_0253I’ve been looking longingly at my cute shoes for several days.

It seems like it’s been months that I’ve been wearing my warm shoes to church.  You know the kind –  the black ones that allow warm socks.

To be honest – these shoes did look cute in November. They were actually appreciated in December and January.

But it’s the end of February now.

And I’m over them. And winter. And snow. And wind chill factors.

Since we had a slight spring-like thaw during the week that melted much of our snow  – I caved yesterday.

I wore my cute little flats to church – they ones that you do not wear with warm socks.  I actually wore no socks.

My husband’s eyebrows went up as I put my coat on. He might have even smiled at my gasp when the cold north wind touched the tender bare skin on my feet.

He kindly pointed out that the air temp was a balmy 20 degrees as he turned the heat on high and redirected it to the floor vents of the van.

He took one last look at my footwear and said, “Sure hope we don’t have car trouble and have to walk five miles with this wind chill.”

I smiled back – but thought to myself,  “Me too!” Because I currently couldn’t feel my toes.

They thawed slightly during church and the potluck meal that followed – but were like ice by the time we drove the thirty miles home.

I found my thickest, warmest winter socks and a comfy grandma quilt and spent the rest of the afternoon warming up with several cups of hot tea.

And today it is snowing.

Good-bye cute little flats.

We’ll try again when spring decides to stay.

Spring Fever


It’s one of those spring-fever kind of days.

You know the kind with brilliant blue skies full of fluffy white clouds, a warm breeze, birds singing, and the sun shining.

As Robert Louis Stevenson described it:

“And the grass sings in the meadows,
And the flowers smile in the shadows”

The kind of  day that makes it impossible for the kids to settle down and do their school work.

And I can’t seem to settle in and get my housework done.

We all have a restless yearning to feel the warmth of the sun and smell the grass growing.

A. A. Milne described it well:

Spring Morning

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
Down to the spring where the king-cups grow-
Up the hill where the pine trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, big ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You’d sail on water as blue as air,
And you’d see me here in the fields and say:
“Doesn’t the sky look blue today?”

Where am I going? The high rook calls:
“It’s awfully fun to be born at all.”
Where am I going? The ring doves coo:
“We do have beautiful things to do.”

If you were a bird and lived on high,
You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You’d say to the wind when it took you away:
“That’s where I wanted to go today!”

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the bluebells grow –
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.”