Fox report: Poor is the new Rich

Sometimes, on rare occasions, I wish I was more girly. Like a girly girl. There are a few reasons for this and I realize how bad this is going to sound, but I mean no offense. Sometimes I don't want to haul/chop wood. Sometimes I don't want to lug buckets of meat and poop around. Sometimes I want to wear makeup and skirts and be clean. Not often, but sometimes. I don't really know very many girly girls anymore, I guess because I can't really relate. I had a day off from the winery yesterday and maybe it's just because I was feeling lazy but I just wanted to stay inside (it was raining) and bake. But, things have to be done around here when we're not at the winery and so I drag my big arse outside and work. Not very hard, mind you, but I work. I'm obviously really glad that Rich isn't in to girly girls and I think he likes me because I'm tough, or at least I act tough. But yesterday, as I washed dirt off my face under the outdoor facet and then hocked a farmer blow off the deck (for those who don't know, a farmer blow is when you plug one nostril and blow snot out of the other one instead of just blowing your nose like a normal person) I wished I was more girly and less, shall we say, disgusting. The cherry on this sundae of grime and dirt was when I glanced at myself in the mirror in natural day light. First off, natural light is my only enemy. Secondly, I realized I had let my monthly pluck/wax ritual lapse and was looking disturbingly like Burt Reynolds. One positive thing about having less-than-desirable hygiene habits is that I get a lot of comments on my skin. Random people often ask me when I do to keep my skin looking young and fresh. (I happen to think my pours are big enough to serve dip out of, but I digress) Genetics play a part of course, but also I think my skin looks young because I don't wash my face every day. I'm not sure where any of this is going but it's been on my mind, so I thought I'd share. Of course, this is all a choice. I choose to live like this. And don't think it's a mushing thing because I know of plenty of female dog mushers who are girly...in looks only of course, but girly nonetheless. My hands are always dirty, when I'm not at the winery, and so are my clothes. I guess that's what I love about Alaska: nobody cares.
Peace.

And now, I've channeled my inner girly girl and am presenting some pretty pictures taken around our cabin last week.


Pretty flowers.

Pretty rainbow.

Pretty view.