On Being a (Dumb) Blonde

I have been blonde most of my life, natural as a child and chemical in my adult life. My mother had very pretty light reddish brown hair, but she always wanted to be blonde, so she colored it when I was growing up. My father was a natural blonde growing up and was still blonde when he went to fight in Okinawa during World War II. But when he returned from the War, his hair had darkened to a dark brown.

Growing up, both my sister and I were blondes. Hers was towhead and as she grew older, it became a medium blonde. Mine was what could best be described as dishwater dirty blonde. Dishwater blonde is one shade lighter than mouse brown, so I started coloring my hair when I was thirteen. Since my mother was frightened to death that I would do something drastic, she was the one who added some spark to my dishwater blonde hair by highlighting it for me.

Premature graying runs in my father's side of the family. My grandmother who was originally a natural blonde, began graying in her twenties and was nearly white headed by the time she was in her early thirties. My father began graying in his thirties and was nearly totally gray by his forties. And my sister began graying at nineteen and was gray by thirty. I was the lucky one who did not get that gene.

In my late twenties, the woman who cut my hair suggested I go back to my natural color which was then a reddish brown. She asked me why I frosted my hair when she had clients who paid a lot of money to get what was my natural color. So I cut my hair short and let it go to its natural red brown color. At that point, my co-workers thought that I was coloring my hair reddish brown because they only knew me as a blonde. Some said that I looked more natural as a blonde too. The color was a very pretty color, but I did not feel as attractive as a brunette and often felt like I was looking at a stranger in the mirror. So after several years of experimenting being a brunette, I went back to blonde. Yes, blondes DO have more fun.

Now that the predominate color of my hair is gray, I am blonder than ever, or for at least part of my hair. A friend once described me as two toned. The top and front is blonde while the back and underside is my natural red brown. I kind of like it that way, having the best of two colors. While my husband does not care for it, surprisingly I get a lot of compliments from strangers on it, including once from a woman who was a professional colorist.

So I think I will stay blonde. It makes me feel up beat. But the best thing about being blonde is that I can always plead being a dumb blonde when I feel like it.

Rooting Out the Underground

When I decided to write this entry, the original title was going to be "The Roots of Evil." But then I decided against that title because it sounded too ominous.

When we bought this house, we had no idea the treasure of a yard we were getting because we first saw it in late November and closed on it in January during the dead of winter. However, on the day of closing, the previous owner stood on the back deck with my husband and told him that in the spring, the color would begin on the right side of the back yard and gradually progress around the perifery until it finished on the left.

What we found was that she had planned the azaleas by choosing varieties that would bloom in a sequence to create a wave of color that progressed from one side all around the back of the yard. It is truly spectacular and we are so grateful for her careful planning. In addition to the regular azaleas, there are rhodedendrons, dogwoods, native azaleas and trees in the same beds. She also planted daffodils and other bulbs underneath them that provide early spring color before the azaleas start to bloom.

We noticed this year that vines and trash shrubs had invaded that area and were choking the azaleas. In early April, we began a progam of clearing out the unwanted shrubs and removing some of the dead trees and azaleas. As we started to pull out the vines, we noticed literally thousands of runners going everywhere under the carpet of leaves that covered the ground. As we would pull up on vine, it would pull up many runners in all directions. It was like a network of evil invaders coming in from underground to take over and choke our beautful azaleas.

This Friday, we spent nearly the entire day pulling up vines and trash shrubs. My hands were raw from pulling them up and then having to hand carry the debris up the hill to where the city picks it up. Despite my hands being torn to shreds, I kept coming back to pull more vines. I was bound and determined to rid the undergound of these roots of evil.

(S) He's so Unusual

When I started to write this entry, I instantly thought about Cyndi Lauper's megahit album of 1983, She's So Unusual. I cannot believe it was that long ago and that Cyndi Lauper (top) is now in her mid fifties, and still looking great, I might add. Heck, I was not even a big fan of hers, but I did admire how she took chances with her music and her persona. So with apologies to Cyndi Lauper, I am borrowing the title of that album to describe my dog, Willie Bear (right). It seems like he even has the same expression on his face as Cyndi Lauper.

Willie Bear is a pomeranian unlike any that you have ever seen. Weighing in at twenty three pounds of pure muscle, he is nearly four times the size of a show quality pom. We knew he was going to be a big verson of a pomeranian when we got him, and purposely chose him because of that. His pom mother was 10 pounds and his daddy was 15 pounds. We wanted a more substantial dog than the show type, but also wanted the pomeranian personality.

Willie Bear's human parents had advertised their puppies in the paper and I called to inquired about them. They had three females and one male puppy. I was interested in the male, but the man I talked to said the male was already promised to a co-worker of his. I then called back a second time to ask if we could see their puppies anyway and the man said sure. We drove to to their home which was located off a dirt road in the woods near Havana, Florida.

My husband kept saying that he had a bad feeling about it all as we drove deeper into the woods. I kept reassuring him that the man I had talked to twice was the nicest man and that everything would be fine. As we drove up, I saw four doggie faces in the front window of the house. All four were happy pomeranians. That was a good sign.

But just as we walked up to the door, a huge mountain of a man with long hair, a bushy beard, and an earring in one ear opened the door. He was barefoot and dressed in bib overalls. At that point I was sure that my husband was hearing banjo music and would be running straight for our truck. But the minute the man spoke, my husband relaxed. This very intimidating man had a very soft spoken, kind voice. He introduced himself as William and asked us to come inside.

As we walked in the door, I noticed a full size piano and several guitars in the living room. William introduced us to his wife Linda. I asked about the musical instruments and they told us that they were musicians in a country and western band, in additon to their regular jobs.

They had four adult dogs, all pomeranians. Two of the dogs were fixed and were just pets. The other two dogs were the parents of the puppies that they had for sale. Then we got to meet all the puppies. They had given names to each puppy and the male dog was called Bear.

William and Linda turned out to be just the nicest people and we probably spent at least an hour and a half in their living room talking with them. We liked their attitude toward their animals. But since we wanted a male and Bear was already sold, we asked them if they would contact us if they decided to breed another litter. Linda said it would be at least a year, but she would take our name and keep us at the top of her list.

Bear was first sold to William's co-worker who was a woman who lived with her daughter and small grandchild. After having Bear for a little over two weeks, she called Linda asking is she could return him. She said that he was too much to handle with a small child in the same house. Immediately, Linda called us and asked if we still wanted Bear. Oh course we said yes, and we ended up with Bear when he was a little over three months of age.

We decided to change his name to Willie Bear to honor his human daddy William. The name fits. He is wild, weird, huge, and unconventianal. Like Cyndi Lauper and like his human daddy, William, Willie Bear is so unusual.

Friendships and the Internet

For a long time I have been asking myself if it is really possible to have an honest friendship on the internet. At one time, I even posed that question at an internet site that I went to and the answers I got back were varied. However, the consensus seemed to be that because the internet is one dimensional, in order have a true friendship, people would have to go beyond that dimension of typing words on a screen. That was my own opinion too.

I currently only post at two websites, both of which are devoted to auto racing. I am a NASCAR fan and I try to attend two races a year. One of the very first events I ever attended, I met someone from the racing site at the event and the experience was extremely positive. So now every race I attend, I try to meet at least one person from my racing websites if possible. Over the last several years, I have met 18-20 different people from my racing websites, some of them more than once.

Some of those people had become friends as far as I was concerned. We had exchanged Christmas cards and even phone calls over the years. But is this true friendship? I really do not know. What I do know is when you are able to put a face and a voice with a name and their posts on a website, you have a better understanding of that person and you tend to see them as a real person, not just a user name and an avatar.

So I go back to can you make friends on line? Two recent incidents have me questioning if you really can or what is a friendship. The first incident involves a person that I had known for over four years, whom I considered a friend. This person did something that was very hurtful and insulting without provocation on my part and for no apparent reason. Since then, I contacted that person, but have not heard back. So unless I get an apology, whatever friendship there may have been is probably now dead. Or the real question is was this just an acquaintship, and not a friendship? Afterall, is not friendship a two way street?

The second incident was something said to me in an email by friend whom I had known for a long time and greatly respect. This person's computer died about a year ago and he never bothered to get it replaced. This past weekend, he borrowed someone else's computer and left me the following note which really made me think about the value of friendships or acquaintanceships formed on the net.

"One thing I have discovered over the last year or so, is that there's a big old world out there, and life is fun again. I don't mean any disrespect to anyone, but I find that I'd rather be out in it, than be online."

Looking back over the years, I have traded the time I spent watching television for being on line. A lot of that time is spent reading, but also I do exchange a lot of instant messages and emails with my on line "friends." So perhaps what my second friend was saying IS very valid. It sure made me take a hard look at defining what is a friendship with others on line. Are these relationships really friendships or are they something else? Then I started thinking, if I wasn't on line, I might not have met some of these people whom I have come to care about. But I also might not be questioning if you can form real friendships on line, would I?

So the question still remains. How different are your relationships and friendships on the internet compared to real life? Or are they really that different?

Bluegrass and Salsa

This past Friday night, my husband and I went to our favorite Mexican restaurant, El Ranchero, for dinner. We love this restaurant because it is locally owned and the food is very good at a reasonable price. The two of us can eat a full dinner and each have a 33 ounce mug of Dos XX dark beer for a little over twenty dollars including the tip. As a bonus, when the weather is good, it is close enough that we can walk there from our home.

Nearly every Friday night, EL Ranchero hosts music night featuring mostly local talent. There is no cover charge but the customers generally tip the musicians. The quality of the acts on Friday varies greatly from pretty bad to excellent. This Friday night was a real treat because our favorite group was playing. They usually only come to El Ranchero twice a year and we make a point to be there to watch them play.

The name of the group is Blue Mountain Myst which is a trio of three women singers/ musicians/songwriters and their backup group is the Misti Mountain Boys. Two of the women are sisters and the third is a friend who has been singing and writing with them for about twenty years. The lead singer does not play an instrument, but her sister plays keyboards and the friend plays guitar and fiddle. The Misti Mountain Boys back them up with an acoustic bass guitar, regular guitar, banjo and manolin.

They sing country, bluegrass, and pop. About half of their music is original compositions of their own which falls into the country or bluegrass style and which is what I prefer.

My husband and I have become such a fixture whenever they come to town, that we are now on a first name basis with Bitsy, the lead singer. They were on break when we walked in and she immediately came over and gave us a hug saying how good it was to see us again. I laugh to think that we have become groupies of a blue grass group headed up by a woman with seven grandchildren.

So Friday night, we had a wonderful meal of enchiladas with pork, peppers and onions and a large mug of Dos XX dark while we enjoyed our favorite bluegrass band. Bluegrass and salsa. It doesn't get much better than that. Mmmmmm!

The Long Way Home, Part 2

This entry is a continuation of an earlier entry describing my trip from Tallahassee, Florida to Brevard, North Carolina in early April.

From Forsythe, I take 83 through Monticello and Madison. This is only about fifty miles total, but Monticello and Madison are two of the most beautiful historic small towns in this part of Georgia. Monticello (Courthouse Square pictured top) is the first town and is much smaller. It is the hometown of country singer, Trisha Yearwood. As I leave Monticello, I drive on the Trisha Yearwood Parkway towards Madison. Madison is a true historic treasure with a very lively downtown (historic Madison downtown pictured immediately above). Madison is located in the middle of dairy country. As I proceeded north on US 129 from Madison to Athens, sparkling dairy farms line my route.

Previously, I would pick up 441 in Athens and continue north to catch Interstate 85 all the way to Greenville, South Carolina. This time I continued northeast on US 29 to Roydston and then went north to Lavonia where I picked up Interstate 85. I was only in I-85 for about 25 miles or so before I hopped off and went north through Pickens and Pumpkintown, South Carolina. Just outside Pumpkintown, I was able to connect with US 276 which would be the road I would have normally taken out of Greenville. But I picked it up north and west of Greenville which allowed me to avoid the big city traffic and probably saved me 15 miles or more travel distance.

I love driving on US 276. It is probably one of the most scenic and curvy mountain roads around. Normally it takes at least one hour to travel forty miles , most of which is on Cedar Mountain, but the scenery is worth it and I never tire of it. The border between North and South Carolina is near the top of the mountain, but terrain is very different in the two states. In South Carolina, the mountain is mostly undeveloped, very steep and rocky with Table Rock, Caesar's Head, and Caesar's Table being major landmarks.

The road up the South Carolina side has much steeper grades with numerous switchbacks, many of which are 180* or more. My car is a five speed manual transmission and during most of the South Carolina section, I am traveling in no higher than third gear and for much of the mountain, I am in second gear.

Shortly after I enter North Carolina near the top of the mountain, the grades and turns become much less severe and there many places where the road runs along a flat ridge line. As I get within fifteen miles of so of Brevard, there are a few small commercial establishments and the community of Cedar Mountain. Then the road begins to descend into Brevard. It is still beautiful coming down the mountain, but the there are small homes and several pottery shops along the road. Just before I reach Brevard, I come to the French Broad River valley where there are farms and fields. I cross the river and it is only a couple of miles to home. Wow, what a beautiful way to end my journey on the long way home.

It's Snowing!!!

Spring is beautiful here in North Carolina. We have a large cherry tree in the back yard and it is just gorgeous in the spring when it is covered in white blossoms. As the blossoms begin to fade, they turn a pale pink before finally dropping to the ground. The rest of the year, the tree is not particularly noteworthy because the tent caterpillars get into it. But for spring, it is one of the showiest trees in the yard.

The cherry tree is nearing the end of its bloom period. Its blossoms have turned a pale pink and the petals are starting to drop. When the breezes pick up, the petals fall like showflakes. They are so light that they flutter to the ground like snow. It is so cool to be out in the yard and watch thousands of pale pink snowflakes falling all around me.

Negativity and Karma

I had not written in this blog for some time. A friend suggested that maybe I should pick it back up and so yesterday I published my first post in nearly one year. Since I have had very few comments on my blog in the past, I was not expecting to read one about my post yesterday.

When I logged on late this morning, there was a comment that was critical of my post. Since the comment was made anonymously, I could not respond to the person making it. True to wanting to please others, I edited my post to delete what that person found offensive.

However, I am now putting everyone who may read my blog on notice that I will no longer accept anonymous comments. This blog is supposed to be MY thoughts and the post yesterday was written with the intent of being positive. For some reason, the person commenting took offense to what I wrote. So here is the deal. If you feel that strongly about something that I have written here, then you must leave me your name or email address.

One of the reasons, I quit writing in this blog is because I have been mired in negativity for nearly a year. Last May, I was deeply hurt by a close family member and I have allowed it to continue eat away at my self esteem. Then recently someone that I thought was a friend did something for no reason that not only hurt me but also made me feel used. In the last year, I have been beating myself up way too much over things that I have no control over.

This morning I was talking to a friend who also has had a very bad year. I told him that I was tired of feeling so negative and that it had really affected nearly every relationship I have with the exception of my coworkers. I was concerned that if I did not turn my attitude around, I would be left with no friends or family to turn to when I needed someone. In fact this week, another friend told me that she wanted the "old me" (the fun and positive me) back into her life. It was then I knew I had to do something.

My first friend then said that he believed that you generate your own positive karma by having a positive attitude. He told me that he just recently come to this conclusion after something really nice happened to him last weekend. Thinking about that event kept him in a positive mood nearly this entire week. He said that he did not want to let positive feeling slip away so he kept focusing on the positive things in his life. He was right. My self defeatist attitude is creating negative karma and driving people away from me. And like my other friend, I want the "old me," the fun and positive me back.

It was after that conversation with my first friend about karma, that I logged on here and read the negative comment on my post of yesterday. Suddenly, I started feeling myself slipping back into my negative funk again. Then I remembered what my friend told me about creating your own karma. So I have decided to take charge of my own happiness. Part of that is to not let someone else's negativity drag me down. I need to accept that their negativity is THEIR problem, and not mine. I am an adult and I can no longer allow others dictate my happiness any more.

The Long Way Home, Part 1

The first week of April, I made a trip from my "home" in Florida to my other "home" in North Carolina. My husband had already gone to NC, so I was driving alone with our smallest dog, a 6 pound poodle named Missy.

In my travels, I always try to stay off the interstates and drive along the back roads as much as possible. One of the reasons that I do this is because it reminds me of when I was a child traveling with my parents. But the most important reason is that the interstates are so homogenous and you never get a chance to see the real America, even when you think you know it.

I have made this trip several times, but decided to try a different route for a portion of the latter half so that I could avoid most of Interstate 85.

Since our home in Florida is only thirty miles south of the Georgia border and our other home in North Carolina is barely over the border from South Carolina, the majority of my travel is within the state of Georgia. Aside from the megalopolis of Atlanta and a few other large cities such as Savannah and Macon, much of Georgia is covered with very pretty, historic rural towns which makes driving the back roads worthwhile.

In addition,although its land area is less than 10% greater than Florida, Georgia has 159 counties compared to Florida's 67. What this means to me as I travel along the back roads of Georgia is that I will see many beautiful and historic county seats, most of which are located in the center of rural Georgia towns with the road circling around them. Most of these county courthouses have changed little in appearance for the last 100 years or more. Along with a healthy agricultural base, these small counties and their courthouses are the glue that holds these rural communities together.

Georgia ranks first among all states in the production of pecans and peanuts, and second in cotton. My route takes me through the heart of the parts of Georgia where these products are grown. As I leave Tallahassee, I drive approximately 35 miles north through plantation country to Thomasville, Georgia. The plantations are located within northern Leon County, Florida and southern Georgia. After the Civil War, many of these plantations were purchased by wealthy northern industrialists and were converted from cotton plantations to winter quail hunting retreats. Over the years, the heirs to many of these plantations have either divided them or converted them to cattle ranching or pine tree production. Still, some of them do exist in their original post Civil War state. One of those is Pebble Hill (pictured above) which is open to the public and gives a glimpse into the very private and low key lives of the plantation people. I have taken this tour of both the house and grounds and it is very interesting.

From Thomasvile, I head along 300 towards Albany, Ga. through the cotton and peanut country of Meigs, Pelham, and Camilla, Ga. All along the highway, you can see fluffs of white cotton that was blown onto the shoulders from the baled cotton. As I near Albany, I pass through miles of pecan trees. The pecans are harvested in the fall by a machine that shakes the trunk, causing the nuts to drop to tarps spread on the ground to catch them. after passing through Albany, I continue north on 300 to Cordele where I am forced to take Interstate 75 until I reach Forsythe which is north of Macon.