I walked in the rain this morning to get my Sunday paper; jumped in puddles; caught raindrops on my tongue. I got thoroughly wet except my feet. Had on my LL Bean Duck boots/Maine hunting boots - you know the ones I mean. They are a god-awful orange and murky blue with gum soles, but do they ever keep your feet dry. It’s a love/hate thing.
I’ve never been hunting, never will unless 
civilization falls and I’m in dire need of food, but I’ve worn those boots in the rain and in the snow. If my feet are warm and dry, I feel invincible in any weather.
Mama always said if your feet get wet, put water on your head, so I imagine the reverse is true. Rather than wet my feet, I jumped in a steamy shower and got wet all over, while the coffee pot worked its magic. Outside, it’s a chi
ll 54 and still raining. I sit curled into a corner of the couch by the window. Still warm from the shower, wrapped neck to ankle in my thick, black Victoria Secret robe; Jazmine lounges on the leopard throw; the Sunday news waits for me to hit post and put my laptop aside, and a steaming cup of spicy coffee is close at hand........ phone's ringing - Sunday 'mom call' - post later. 
I love Sundays.
