Monthly Archives: November 2011

Gray

“There are no salons where you’re moving,” said my hair stylist of 10 years.

model hair

No salons?”

“No salons that carry our line of coloring,” she said.

“Oh, Lord, have mercy,” I said with all reverence.

Women spend more time finding a new hair stylist than they do finding a new gynecologist.

“Our line is pretty exclusive, but I couldn’t believe it,” she said. “There are no salons with our products anywhere near Wichita. None.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said.

“There are other lines I can recommend,” she said and rattled off the secondary choices. Then she scurried away to pick my poison.

Ten years of successful haircuts and six years of spot-on color. All about to be sacrificed on the altar of corporate relocation.

pick your poison

She returned with my color in one hand and a small piece of paper in the other.

“This,” she said handing me the paper, “This is your recipe.”

“My recipe.” Cue Indiana Jones.

“And here’s my card,” she said. “Any good colorist should be able to translate your recipe. Have them call me if they have any questions.”

Whimper. What have I done?

“This is the last time I see you before you move, right?” she said.

“No!” I said. “I mean, no. I think I have another appointment in December. If I don’t, I’m making one. I must see you again before we move!”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” she said and slathered on the magic.

My mom colored her hair over the bathtub. She had her cosmetology license and her nursing license. All the bases were covered from peroxide to triage. She could bleach your hair, splint your sprain, curl, crimp, suture or stitch.

image from freefoto.com under creative commons license

The thought of me coloring my hair myself terrifies me more than going gray.

There would be no one to blame if I turned my brunette sherbet orange like an apricot poodle. Or platinum blonde like a towheaded surfer. Or jet black like a black, black sheep. Baa.

Look younger, longer,” reads a Clinique tagline.

Look younger, longer? So at what point after longer am I to concede it’s a lost cause? When do I give up and go gentle into that good night?

what happens at the salon stays at the salon, unless you blog about it

One of my friends is a decade older than I am. She’s in better shape and runs faster now than she did when she was my age.

Her hair color? Vibrant, luxurious auburn.

There’s hope for me yet.

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Luke 12:6-7 NIV

You gotta keep your head up, and you can let your hair down.

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Linky Poos & Free Christmas Blog Button

as seen at Gardenland Express Holiday Flower & Train Show, missouribotanicalgarden.org

Been tidying up a bit in anticipation of the December rush. A quick post to keep you apprised of where to find things around here.

The Social Network has moved from the sidebar to the top menu. Check out these links to blogs I know and love because of their authors, their content, or both. Watch for more jewels to be added to this crown.

Also new to the top menu is the Buttons page. Grab and use any of these buttons on your social media, including the newest button featuring silver Christ-mas ornaments. Helps to remember the reason for the season.

Finally, a couple months ago in a post called Linky Dos, I boldly declared I would throw a Linky Party. That’s what happens when one is in love, as I am with this blog and with you readers. One makes promises.

Well, darlings, I found out my free WordPress platform doesn’t allow for the Linky Party plug-in. Nor does it allow for Google Analytics.

I’d still like to throw a Linky Party for you and use Google Analytics for stats. But I’m not moving back to Blogger. And I’m not ready to self-host on WordPress.

Or am I?

Maybe WordPress will come around. Maybe I’ll catch up with the technology. Guaranteed we’ll all learn together. Stay tuned to see how this drama plays out in the weeks ahead.

Back in a jiffy with another hair-raising post. You can count on it.

For Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom.
You rule throughout all generations.

The Lord always keeps His promises;
He is gracious in all He does. Psalm 145:13 NLT

I couldn’t keep myself from making promises. Indigo Girls. Brilliant.

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Hills of Heaven

My husband and I traveled to the California wine country for a work conference last November. The things we do for his career.

One afternoon, our group had lunch at Kuleto Estate situated high on a steep, rocky hill. Looked out over vineyards afire with fall color. The sky seemed larger. Our feet lighter.

our view from Kuleto Estate

Dined outdoors on the side of the mountain at a long table. Ate vegetables picked fresh from the gardens that morning, delectable meats and desserts prepared by the resident chef. It was so perfect, I kept looking for Martha Stewart to step out from behind a tree.

Couldn’t help but think this must be what heaven is like. Friends, food, fresh air, mountains, vineyards, olive trees.

That day left me longing for a place where I’d be with everyone I loved, eating and talking and laughing. Savoring each moment, followed by ten thousand upon ten thousand more. Finally safe. Finally home.

On the way back to our bus, we passed a pen of poultry. It was there I came face to face with a most majestic creature.

Heaven is filled with laughter that satiates the soul. I just know it is.

The best of the now is a hint of what’s to come. An assurance of the place He has for us.

Meet me there. One day, meet me there.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. Revelation 21:4 NIV

Going Home by Sara Groves: I’ll meet you at the table.

mr. potato turkey

Happy Thanksgiving, Dear Readers.
I am thankful for you.

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Filed under faith, family & friends

Squash on the Lamb

Tis the season of pies.

season of pies

Should come as no surprise

pumpkins to the left

To spy these fugitives hanging around
Behind the church where I found

pumpkins to the right

Them shivering in the chill and shaking.

sidewalk pumpkins

Alas, they’re not the type for baking.

The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Psalm 9:9 NIV

You don’t have to take the broken road.
You can turn around and come back home.

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Cranberry Mary

We finally gave in and purchased a second vehicle for me to drive.

cranberries, crystal & concrete

Did our research, saved our down payment, visited the dealership. Decided to buy the exact same make and model SUV we had before.

Newer year though. More bells and whistles. Like talking navigation and backup sensors to help me avoid kissing the guide poles at the drive-up ATM.

Even wanted the same color we had before. But Galaxy Gray wasn’t available.

If we waited, we’d miss the financing deal. And we’d continue sharing the truck.

“Isn’t there another color your wife would like?” the salesman asked my husband.

“Okay,” I said deflated. “White Diamond.”

I’ve only, always chosen neutral-colored cars. Black, white, gray. The maroon and gold Camaro was my dad’s idea and the Sahara gold truck was my husband’s.

“Or Dark Cherry is nice.”

The dealer couldn’t find White Diamond, but did acquire Dark Cherry. A red car. Maybe I could do this.

The day came. Dark Cherry arrived. “You’ll fall in love with it!” said the salesman.

I saw it. One word: burgundy.

“It looks burgundy,” I said.

“No, no,” said the salesman. “It’s red.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s more red than brown,” I said. “But it’s not true red.”

“Oh, that’s just dirt,” he said. “Let me have it washed and you’ll see it’s red.”

While we waited, I discussed the dilemma with my husband.

blue undertones

“You know I’m a Winter. Brownish-red is not my color. I would really feel more at home in gray.”

“Honey, Dark Cherry is your color,” said my husband. “It isn’t brown. It has blue undertones.”

I wanted a car. I didn’t want burgundy. Maybe it wasn’t burgundy. But it wasn’t red either.

“See?” said the salesman. “It’s red!”

Freshly-washed Dark Cherry glistened in the sunlight, casting out any hints of brown.

This is silly, I thought to myself. Grow up and be content with Dark Cherry. So I did.

Still, the whole color thing ate at me. Had I compromised too much? Gone along to get along? The stars were aligned: I was there, my husband was there, the car was there. How could I walk away?

In other news, one of my BFFs gave birth to her third child. She’d entered no man’s land—the first weeks of an infant’s life when you take care of baby and not much else.

Armed with my package wrapped in pink gingham, I drove to her house to deliver the gift. She cradled the baby while we caught up.

“And you got a car,” she said as she peeked out the window. “Look at the color!”

life is a bowl of cranberries

“Yeah,” I said. “I wanted gray but they didn’t have it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said. “I love that Cranberry.”

Yet another reason why she’s my BFF. How I’ll miss her when we move.

Hadn’t mentioned my angst over the intricacies of brown, burgundy and true red. Didn’t matter.

She saw the best and called it out. Named it. Reframed it. No more neutrals for me.

Now I’m quite taken with Cranberry. Decided to call her Mary. She has a bike rack for Cindy so the girls can be friends.

Cranberry Mary Momma Mobile. Watch out. Here she comes.

Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a ruling rightly given.
Proverbs 25:11 NIV

Linger awhile longer and enjoy The Cranberries with me. Anyone else think it’s ironic a group called The Cranberries filmed a music video in black and white?

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The State of Food

carts

“Thank You for this food,” says my father-in-law when he prays over our family dinner table. “And bless the hands that prepared it.”

Today as I sit down to a simple lunch of tomato soup and tuna melt, I think of the hands that prepared it.

Of course there are the farmers and ranchers. Vegetable growers and harvesters of the tomatoes for the soup and the cucumbers for the relish.

Dairy farmers whose cows produce the milk I stir into my soup and the cheese that makes my tuna melt. Poultry farmers whose chickens lay eggs for the mayo.

produce

Wheat growers who give us grain for bread. Fishermen who harvest albacore on the open seas.

It would be enough to stop there in the bread baskets, victory gardens and teeming waters of our world. But that would only be part of the story.

Equipment, machinery, tires, and fuel run modern farms. Veterinarians and animal health products shield livestock from disease.

Inputs like fertilizer boost plant health and production in our cropland. And yes, there are chemicals to keep our food from being infested by insects, ravaged by disease, or starved out by weeds.

cheese shop

There are ecologists and extension agents to watch over natural resources. Agronomists, biologists, chemists, soil specialists and a host of other scientists to improve and develop technologies.

Bankers, accountants, and lawyers are involved. Marketers too. Farming and food production are expensive ventures.

There are processing companies like the one that canned my soup. Planes, trains and big rigs with 18 wheels to transport the food to my town.

There are farmers’ markets and grocery stores. On-premise butchers, bakers, and chefs. People to work the checkouts, collect carts, or clean up on aisle seven.

checkout

Managers to manage it all. Administrators, human resources professionals, and thousands of other employees, plus federal, state and local government agencies.

So many people, so many hands take part in preparing my food and yours. We are free to buy, cook, or order up nearly anything we can imagine to eat.

Food prices have risen a bit lately. Yet last week I spent more money on clothes for my growing child than on groceries to feed him.

This is the state of food in America. The abundant, affordable state of food.

The pilgrims would fall to their knees if they could see it now. We’d do well to take their lead.

The eyes of all look to You in hope;
You give them their food as they need it.
When You open Your hand,
You satisfy the hunger and thirst of every living thing. Psalm 145:15-16 NLT

Thanksgiving Song by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

A special thank you to the friendly folks at the Richmond Center and Ladue Schnucks grocery stores for lending their smiles to this post.

#foodthanks

This post is part of FoodThanks, a forum sponsored by AgChat where people can give thanks for those who produce our food. To read more perspectives or to link up your own, go to AgChat.com or click on the #foodthanks button here.

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Pho for Joy

Joy at My Universe is Still Coming Together loves the Vietnamese soup pho.

So do I. My husband and I have developed quite an appetite for Vietnamese food during our tour in St. Louis. From Mai Lee to Little Saigon Cafe, I’m convinced there’s an addictive ingredient in the recipes. Crave.

Joy loves her pho so much, she featured it on her blog. Twice.

Wonderfully, wickedly creative idea. So in a huge me-too must-do, I’m posting photos of my pho.

pho good :)

pho gone :(

Here’s to pho, to Joy, and to savoring every drop of life while it lasts.

Show me, LORD, my life’s end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting my life is. Psalm 39:4 NIV

Blink by Revive hits this home. The video link by DavidsDanceProd inspired this post’s verse.

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Filed under family & friends, life