Biscuit = A White, Doughy, Butter Lump

My lips are chapped, my cuticles are breaking, and no matter how much shea butter I rub on my knees and elbows, they are still dry and itchy. I hate this time of year. I miss dewy summer skin; I miss sandals (actually I just miss an excuse for a pedicure). I miss my #3, ‘Sand dollar’ foundation. In my paleness I am forced to wear #1, ‘Biscuit.’ I don’t want to be the color of a biscuit.

Growing up, “biscuit” in my household was another name for butt cheek. After bath time, Ann and I would do sprints up and down our hallway while mom or dad chanted, “I am going to tweak your biscuits.” I recognize that this all sounds a bit dirty now, but at the time, it was a feverishly fun game.

Winter Burnout Blues

It’s that time again. The holiday hullabaloo is over and the mind numbing, depression- inducing stretch of winter has begun. These are the days when we live like critters—scurrying out in the daylight hours to gather food (a.k.a “work”), only to scurry back to our holes (a.k.a. “homes”). The breezy, free-spirited days of summer have long been put to rest, and lay buried under 3 ft. drifts of snow and ice.

There are 81 days between now and April 1st. 81 frigid, freezing, dark, dank, slushy, sloppy, salty, SLOOOOW days until Spring. God’s speed to us all!