... I'd be Hilda!
Look at that girl. Happy, fun-loving, gorgeous and, unlike just about every other pin-up girl on the planet, plump! Up until a few days ago I had never heard of her. Then bloggy friend Carrie Clevenger posted a Facebook link to a collection of Hilda paintings and I fell in love. Artist Duane Bryers brought this famously ravishing redhead to life and you can find out more about him (and see lots of other happy Hildas) on Les Toil's website.
Hilda's one of the reasons I finally changed the name of my blog. I know, I know, I'm slower than a frozen roast beef in a broken crock pot, but I didn't want to pick a new name until I found something that tickled my picky-pants fancy. Nothing made me stand up and sing. Nothing. But it was bothering me, so much so that I didn't even go near my blog because I felt guilty. I'd see the bookmarked link on the top of my computer screen, Life on the Muskoka River, and avoid it like I owed it money. Last night I dreamed about the darned thing. Argh. I woke up this morning and went, that's IT. I have to change the stupid name on my stupid blog before my head spins and I start spewing pea soup.
I wanted to put Cold Lake in the title and liked the Cathy-Cold Lake thingey going on. I mentioned Cathy Does Cold Lake but Dave thought it was too corny and way too porny. Then I kinda settled on Cold Lake Cathy, thinking it reminded me of Buffalo Bill, which is all western, and I'm now all about being western. So yeah, Cold Lake Cathy.
Then all I had to do was come up with a new header. Easier said than done.
Cold Lake isn't easy to sum up in just one photo. It has multiple personalities, it does. It's "out west" but it's also "up north." It's known for being home to Canada's largest air force base and not a day goes by that you don't see fighter jets zooming overhead, or military folks lined up in the grocery store. But it's also a booming oil town, with a soaring economy and camp-dirty 'oilers' lined up behind the guys and girls in fatigues. Even more, it's famous for the lake, Cold Lake, a deep, clear, wave-swept lake so big you can barely see across to the other side. And yeah, it's cold. Freakin' cold.
If this town had a nickname, it would be Sybil.
I looked at airplanes and oil wells and people shivering in the cold. I thought seriously about vintage cowgirls. Nothing seemed right. I almost gave up in frustration. I've been such a lacklustre blogger lately that I thought maybe I should just stop. Feck the header. Feck the blog. Just stop.
And then I remembered Hilda. She of the wide smile and the wide hips and the wide, wide love for life. She was perfect.
Welcome to Cold Lake Cathy. Because life isn't on the Muskoka River anymore and it was beyond time for a change.