[stylist] Wintry Tale

Mon Jan 28 23:36:16 UTC 2013

Donna you have made me laugh so hard, sitting here by myself, in front of a 
computer screen. I just imagine what anyone might think who may have seen me 
out there in the early morning that day.

There was a night about 20 years ago, when for a reason I will not go into 
right now, that I and a friend were out on the streets of the Bowrey in NYC 
in the middle of the night in our nightgowns, too.
And, then we were picked up by the police because our car seemed to have 
disappeared - we had flagged them down for help, but instead landed at the 
police station - all in our nightgowns. I doubt they believed me that I was 
an executive director of a museum,. and that my friend also worked as the 
education director of a world famous museum....oh, the stories I could tell!

Lynda

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Donna Hill" <penatwork at epix.net>
To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Monday, January 28, 2013 4:30 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Wintry Tale

> Lynda,
> Glad to hear recovery is progressing as well as your archiving. I related 
> to
> a lot about this wintery tale, especially the differences in dogs and
> falling painlessly into the snow. What I couldn't imagine -- and it shows 
> me
> how brave you are -- was actually going out in my nightgown! I have a pair
> of old, hideous quilted ski pants that one of our neighbors gave us, and I
> keep them by the door. I'll hang out in the house in my shorts, but I put
> those ratty pants on whenever there's snow on the ground. That "shocking
> wetness" isn't something I care to experience again -- having had the
> pleasure, I remember it all too clearly.
> Donna
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Lynda 
> Lambert
> Sent: Sunday, January 27, 2013 11:32 AM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Wintry Tale
>
> I continue to recover from surgery I had on January 4th - but have been 
> able
> to sit awhile now and spent the last couple of days writing. The other big
> project I am working on during the entire month of January is to revisit 
> my
> own art history. I have begun the big project of putting my archives in
> order and putting them into chronological order. Since I began a
> professional exhibition career in 1976, this is a very big project with 
> over
> 300 exhibitions to be recorded chronologically. This has needed to be done
> for a long time, but now that I am retired, and also recuperating from
> surgery, I can do this job. Once it is finished, it will be put on CDs and
> sent off to the museums and galleries that archive my career and have my
> work in their permanent collections. I have to say that turning the bend
> this year to my next "0" birthday has been great motivation to get it all
> done NOW.
>
> Here's the little story I wrote yesterday and today:
>
>
> A Canine Snow Story
>
> By Lynda McKinney Lambert
>
> Copyright, 2013. All Rights Reserved.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> I quickly  opened the kitchen door in the early morning dusky lavender 
> light
> today. It was not quite daylight yet but the dogs were used to getting up
> early. This was our routine since Bob and I are retired and often take 
> them
> out during the night or in the very early morning hours. Mitchell and 
> Rocco,
> our two  dogs,  were anxious to explore the outdoors, as usual.  Rocco is 
> a
> PomSheltie mix and he bounced out with his fluffy tail waving like a flag
> behind him He never had to have a leash on because he understood his
> boundaries and he would stay with me for our morning walk.
>
>
>
> On the other hand, Mitchell was a terrier. I often like to tell people she
> is a TERROR-ier. Mitchell had to wear her red harness and stay on the 
> leash
> because she just never understood that we have boundaries. If she was not 
> on
> the leash, she would be dashing back and forth across the two roads near 
> our
> house, and she would be visiting every other home in sight.  If she 
> happened
> to get loose, and she did on occasion, then all I would see would be quick
> flashes of a white dog darting about in ever widening circles. She moved 
> so
> fast her brown spots were invisible. Once that happened, all I could do 
> was
> to wait her out. She never came when called, and had no clue that she was 
> in
> danger. She ran like a Greyhound on a race track in pursuit of the fake
> rabbit. She dashed through the woods, and at times came back home after
> rolling about in stinky messes left on the floor of the woods by wild
> animals.
>
>
>
> The three of us were a common sight as we walked through the woods and 
> into
> the meadow at the top of the ridge overlooking the creek.
>
>
>
> I must have looked especially strange as we burst forth from the warm 
> house
> into the cold morning today.  I was wearing tall rubber Wellies to keep my
> feet dry from the snow drifts. I had ordered the Wellies from the L. L. 
> Bean
> catalogue last winter for days just like this one. It was very cold and 
> the
> snow was deep. They were just perfect for my winter walks with my dogs.
>
>
>
> But today, in just a few moments, it was too late! Frisky and impulsive,
> Mitchell pulled me into a deep snow drift that was higher than my boot 
> tops.
> My long lavender flannel nightgown caught the snow as we were launched 
> into
> the drift. Snow surrounded me.  With shocking wetness against the bare 
> skin
> above my boot tops.  My dark purple plush bathrobe flapped in the wintry
> coldness that blew up from the creek bed. It felt warm as a winter coat 
> and
> the soft gray wool scarf I had wrapped around my neck warmed my face.
>
>
>
> I tried holding up my snow laden nightgown, but the snow was stuck here 
> all
> around the inside hem of my flannel nightgown. I plunged on down the
> hillside into the meadow on the ridge overlooking the frozen creek.
>
>
>
> Mitchell and Rocco  were excited and sniffing the air. I was busy looking
> around for fresh deer tracks in the snow. Mitchell held a pose that told 
> me
> she was looking for something in the woods. She stood perfectly still, 
> with
> her face pointing towards the bare trees.  This stance always made me a
> little nervous, because I did not want to run into one of the deer. On
> occasion we did, and it would snort and stamp it's feet at us and I would
> quickly turn around and move out of it's domain. Rocco would run after the
> deer, barking and chasing it back deeper into the woods while I would 
> scream
> at him to come back "now." Shortly, is little fluffy black and tan
> long-haired  body would come bouncing back, when he was ready to do it.
>
>
>
> Only a couple of cars drove by on the main road as we stomped through the
> wet snow. Finally, we turned around and headed back up the hill to the
> house. In a short second, I felt my right boot slip beneath the snow, and 
> I
> was thrown down onto my face with my hands extended outward above my head.
> My legs apart, and the toes of my Wellies dug deep into the drift.
>
>
>
> It happened so fast I could never have prevented this fall. It was 
> painless.
> I began to laugh out loud. I hoped my husband, Bob, was not watching out 
> the
> window and I hoped he did not see our morning plunge into the newly fallen
> snow.
>
>
>
> Mitchell, quickly turned around to see what was happening when she felt 
> the
> leash pull her to a stop. Fortunately, I held tight, and was still 
> laughing
> as I staggered back up onto my feet.  Bob  greeted us at the kitchen door
> and we laughed together because he had seen me rolling about deep in the
> morning snow. I was now completely covered with snow and remarked that 
> "Here
> come the snow bunnies."
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Here's a little Wintry Tale from an adventure I had yesterday morning.
> Lynda Lambert
> 104 River Road
> Ellwood City, PA 16117
>
> 724 758 4979
>
> My Blog:  http://www.walkingbyinnervision.blogspot.com
> My Website:  http://lyndalambert.com
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
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