New opportunities await at the end of every road.
NaBloPoMo Friday, November 29, 2013
You’re almost done! Tell us how you feel about endings.
Some endings are sad and others are a relief. Many are unexpected and a few are long-anticipated. But overall, my attitude about endings is best summed up in the words of Semisonic’s “Closing Time“–every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.
Cooking, eating, cleaning, eating, shopping. There’ll be time for sleep tomorrow (maybe). Happy Thanksgiving!!
NaBloPoMo Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Tell us about the last thing you hid.
Just this morning, I hid my roots.
Again.
Second time this month.
It’s a never ending battle. One that began twenty years ago. One that, out of sheer vanity, I’m not ready to concede.
My grandmother, the family member whose genetic patterns I seem to most closely follow, had absolutely gorgeous silver hair. Some day I’ll be proud to have hair as beautiful as hers.
But not today. Not at 41.
So until the time is right to lay down my coloring gloves and embrace the enemy, you’ll find me in front of the mirror every two to three weeks, armed with a bottle of 118.
NaBloPoMo Monday, November 25, 2013
Tell us about the last thing a person or advertisement convinced you to buy.
During my first stateside haircut in five years, my new stylist gunked up my freshly shampooed hair with four different leave-in products before she removed my plastic cape. She talked up the virtues of each in a slick, well-rehearsed QVC-type spiel as she combed, snipped, dried, and styled. I hate high pressure sales during an experience that is supposed to be relaxing, so I was ready to refuse them all on general principle.
Until she sprayed my wet locks with a product she claimed would cut my blow dry time in half. I was doubtful, though admittedly hopeful. Normally, by the time I finish blow drying my thick curly/wavy hair into some semblance of straightness, the under layers are curly and frizzy again because I’m sweating like a pig. It never seems to take as long for the stylist to dry my hair as it takes me at home, and I never leave the chair sweaty, so I wasn’t sure how I was going to accurately judge the effectiveness of the product.
However, she was still pushing all four products as I was moving toward the register, and as much out of hope for a true styling miracle potion as a desire to make her just stop talking, I muttered, none too enthusiastically, “Give me the blow dry stuff.” I returned home with a wallet $20 lighter and a determination to take the bottle back the next day if it didn’t live up to her ebullient promises.
Dang if the stuff doesn’t work. I’m not sure my blow dry time is cut precisely in half, but it is significantly reduced. To the point that I no longer need a second shower after I switch off the dryer. In fact, some days I can even skip the flat iron because I’m not so overheated that I stop concentrating on pulling the brush smoothly through each layer as I dry it. On those days, my overall styling time IS cut in half. A true miracle.
I’m due for a haircut in the next couple of weeks. I’m so impressed with this blow dry stuff that, while I’m at the salon, I’m actually considering buying a second bottle to keep in my gym bag. Because eventually I’m going to forget to pack it, and I’ll show up late for work, cranky because I’m overheated, sporting a head full of frizz and a blouse clinging wetly to my back. That’s never a good start to the day.
Many would argue that a familiar smell can stir up more memories than the most vivid photograph. But since it is exceptionally difficult to collect fragrances as mementos of one’s travels, taking a photo whose subject captures the source of the scent can be the next best thing.
Ailsa at Where’s my backpack? thinks so, too, and invited her followers to participate in her weekly photo challenge, Travel Theme: Fragrant.
Having a home means there will always be projects. Home ownership is a great privilege, but it comes with great responsibility. This weekend’s project is the master bathroom shower. It is looking kinda rough after five years of tenants’ questionable cleaning routines and haphazard caulking attempts. I am grateful that I have some mad DIY skills and Google in my corner, because it looks like the original plan of attacking the hard water stains with heavy duty grout cleaner and replacing the mildew-stained caulk are not going to suffice. Four hours of cutting and scraping today revealed that the sloppy caulk job was covering up great huge cracks and gaps in the grout. Since I could buy a car for less than it would cost to cover the existing tile with low-maintenance composite Sentrel panels, I’m off to Home Depot to purchase a reciprocating saw with a grout blade and some unsanded grout. By Tuesday, barring some disaster, it’ll be like standing in a whole new shower.
NaBloPoMo Thursday, November 21, 2013
Describe an outfit that makes you feel good. (It can be from any period of your life.) Double points if you post a picture of yourself in the outfit.
Does a swimsuit count as an outfit?
This blue bikini was the first two-piece I’ve worn since I was a toddler splashing around the wading pool in Grandma’s back yard. I felt really daring when I ordered it online eight years ago. One, because it came from Victoria’s Secret, and I don’t have the right curves to pull off much from their catalog. Two, because I’m pretty modest; never had so much of me seen the light of day in public.
The swimsuit made me feel good the second I put it on. It had laces I could adjust on both the top piece and the bottom to get just the right fit. Not too tight, not too loose. No weird bulges. No cheeks hanging out. A little padding so I didn’t look like a boy. I’ve never had a great deal of body confidence, but it shot up considerably in that bikini. Doubly so when the hubby registered his approval. So much so that I was willing to walk the Jamaican beaches without shrouding myself in an oversized cover-up.
Eight years have passed, and two years of over-indulgence in Carb Heaven England (every piece of lasagna comes with a side of chips and garlic bread) mean that no amount of lace adjustment is going to make it okay for me to set foot on a public beach in my bikini now. Too tight. Weird bulges. Cheeks everywhere.
But the little blue bikini is tucked away safely in a drawer, because in my mind’s eye I see myself wearing it again. A little more time in the gym, a little less pasta. I just can’t let go of something that made me feel so good.
Things I See and Know 