Note to self:

... when I get older and my hair turns grey/white, I will either:
- keep it grey/white, or...
- dye it every frikkin week!
White hair and roots equals bald-spot look from behind. Not very fond of that middle age monk look, I must say.

I was out driving last night, with Simon. He leaves for the UK next week, and will make an expat of himself there, so using every opportunity I have to drive with him. (Bad Simon, how can he leave us and Mrs. Bucket? But then again, I completely understand the need to go somewhere else also. Looking into options myself. Life-altering, dizzying options. Ugh... Me no like.)
Anyway, yesterday it was dark, and the foggiest fog I've ever seen. I could barely see over the hood someplaces. But I was on a regular road this time, with roundabouts and traffic lights! Woooo! And we drove to Edvard Munch's house. It's a very purty little village, and would have been even purtier if I could see anything, but we stopped (I mean, *I* stopped!) where he painted "Girls on a Bridge/The Bridge" and walked up to his house. It was around midnight, dark and foggy, and the lights from the marina cast an eerie glow over the water. It was gorgeous, I wished desperately for my camera, but I never learned that "accio" spell from Hogwarts. Oh well... I know where it is, I can go there any time I like.