Maybe… hehe. When I showed this creation from wool roving to my dearest husband, he, very mysteriously, didn’t seem to share my sense of humour – be it the grey strikes in his caricature hair or the fact I woke him up from an afternoon nap, he really didn’t like it so much as I did.
Well, maybe when he will wake up from his pink dreams, he might change his mind?
I don’t get so quickly along with the felting as I hoped to do, but in the end, the purpose was to keep busy while being – at least seemingly – productive, and since I majorly suck in cooking and cleaning and all the housewifing, why not to craft and pretend to be important, right?
The days (of our lives) in this place are counting down pretty quickly, hubby – who doesn’t appriciate my great sense of humour, I have to rub it again – is going to leave to London on Monday, to pick up our visas for Kuwait and than in just few days *pheeew*, we are somewhere else again.
The fact it got so close makes my sleep a bit rocky and I have nervous dreams about it, I mean, would you blame me? Moving when I was 22 was great adventure, moving three years later (and obviously 10 mental years since that point… wrinkles, wrinkles, where art thou?) is just a great deal of stress.
Maybe because we got a lot of stuff and we can’t really make it with one suitcase of 20 kg, maybe because I’m transforming into an old cat and hate changing places and paces and all that stuff around, maybe simply because moving to Britain was “eventually close” from Czech, but moving to Kuwait is “eventually far” geographically as ideologically.
I know, I should not have such a problem there being a Muslimah, but still. Weird place. Way too many unknowns.
Abood doesn’t really make it easier for me (or my thoughts), because he already assembled many boxes and started to pack his part of chaos in here, which really, really, reaaaally makes me tick like a timed bomb (or makes me wanna run around screaming and waving my limbs in the air as the flags… K’Naan, I blame you for this sentence). I am pretty known for packing earliest in about 24 hours before the plane leaves. makes me way more relaxed, and in the end more focused on what I should pack and what not.
Well, let’s hope this “move” will go well.
Snow is everywhere.
It’s a heavy white blanket covering all the area we are in, and it doesn’t take it easy on the human race. It’s cold and omnipresent and still falling from above. It makes the walking a small challange and driving a car a bigger risk.
It makes the children happy and all elderly horrified; it brings joy and broken bones.
It’s here and doesn’t go away!
I had that question in my mind when landing in Prague, snowing, hazy weather and freezing – black ice, perhaps? And the pilot approaching the runway in swingy style, like dancing with the aircraft, left wing up, right wing up, left wing up, right wing up. We eventually landed without digging a wing into the dust and without trying to make a wheelie with the airbus (don’t tell me it can’t happen!) but i had to swallow my guts for that. Even Dori was more of a hero. I blame hubby, it’s so his fault. He has shown me too many plane crashes. Definitely his fault.
Now we are in the freezing Czechmoravian Highlands, minus 8 degrees and snow everywhere, I swear, half a meter all around. And still snowing, occassionaly. Let’s make some iglooes!
One week till we fly to Czech for short holidays.
Only me and Dori, hubby stays at home in Britain. God knows what he will do. Snow fell once again on Newcastle as a silencing blanket, just overnight the temperature dropped about 10 degrees. One day sunny and fun, second a layer of about 10 cm snow everywhere. Fun for children, I guess though.
To make me feel calm and happy with flying we are watching National Geographic series “Airplane crashes investigations” or somehow like that, general idea is airplanes falling down killing people and such catastrophic scenarios (actually, things which happened). Comforting, indeed.
There’s nothing better than a cup of hot, satisfying coffee in a cold british day.
My favourite mug, wonderfully mild smell of coffee being prepared for a relaxing moment in soft and warm sofa, while Dori is playing out on the rear yard and letting the fresh air come to the living room…
Po třech letech pěstění dlouhých vlasů se s nimi provedl doslova krátký proces.
Aboody trval na tom, že dáma prostě dredy ani vlasy na ježka nenosí a mám mít jak se sluší dlouhý ohon, a já si řekla, proč ne, vlasy do pasu jsem měla naposledy na základce.
Do pasu jsem to nedotáhla, jen do půli zad, rostou mi rychle. A taky chcípou. A tudíž… padají. Hodně. Takový odpad ve vaně ze mně má radost; eventuálně Abood, který má jeho čištění na starosti a denně z něj tahal hrst mých vlasů.
Nakonec mi uvěřil. Mé evropské, nijaké vlasy prostě dlouhé jako arabské být nemůžou. Nějak to neuživím. I po pečlivém zkoumání struktury vlasů po vypadnutí jsem na první pohled mohla vidět, že jen polovina je normální, a druhá že je slabá a téměř neexistující.
Abdula přestala vana bavit, a přišel velmi nenápadně s nabídkou, že tedy účes změnit můžu… Hah! Ostříhal mě za trest sám. Z do půli zad je mikádo, prý je sexy. A zubaté. Buď si, on se na to dívá, ne já.
Já mám hlavu lehčí, vlasy přestaly padat téměř v danou chvíli a spotřeba šamponu klesla na třetinu.
Princezna prostě nikdy nebudu…