I should have a basket over my arm, gathering supplies for the winter that is approaching. I envision myself the typical Hollywood movie type of female Indian. A buckskin dress, fringed at the hem and a pair of moccasins worn on my feet, I live in a teepee beside a steam. My long dark hair is combed smooth and has a glossiness that is only attainable through daily washings. Where does Hollywood get these visions of how the American Indian lived? I'm sure baths weren't a daily occurrence nor was their hair coiffed and glossy but that's the vision I get since I'm a child of the Hollywood movie information center.
Why do I get that Indian squaw feeling each year when the temperatures dip into the 50's at night. The leafs from the tall Maple tree on the front lawn cover the ground in a thin blanket. This blanket will become deeper as more cold nights push into the south.
I find myself wrapped in my soft plaid lap blanket while stretched out on the sofa, TV remote in hand. My thoughts drift to baking something with apples and cinnamon, the smells adding to the eminent encroaching fall season.
My house is very quiet; it's early AM. I can hear the tap tap tap of my fingernails on this keyboard and the occasional swishing sound of a car passing by on the street outside my window. I like this time of day when the television hasn't been switched on and the news of murder and mayhem are held at bay by the simple decision to withhold pressing the power switch on that remote control. Soon enough my curiosity will overcome my desire for quiet and I'll plunge back into the world of news.
In closing, I'm grateful I'm not dressed in a buckskin dress and a pair of moccasins. I hate to camp out and I like my hair washed everyday and living away from a nicely decorated bathroom is just not my thing.
Now for the news. Where IS that remote?