Where Is The Sun?

For the last four days, there has been a blanket of fog and it is very cold! To make the most out of this weather, I have the fire going, lit the candle's and turned on all of my accent lights. I think it's time to make a hearty soup loaded with veggies, with a crusty loaf of French bread and afterwards, pop a movie in and get snuggled on the couch with someone I love.

Hell Hath No Fury Like A ....

Beautician Scorned!



There is this weird thing that happens, when you get your hair cut by someone other than the person who cut it last and then return to have it cut again by the original hairstylist. The conversation is cut and dry (no pun intended). They aren't as gentle when combing your hair out or it gets cut too short. I would say it takes about three cuts to feel the chill disappear.

When women see a hair style they like they ask that person who and where they got it cut. It's just the way it is. If I'm not happy with my hairstylist, I try someone else. I think that is what we all do or have done from one time or another.

Here are some little quirks I have:

* I don't like when it takes two weeks to get an appointment when I call to get my hair cut.
* I like when I bring a picture in to show what I am wanting, the beautician is honest with me and tells me what they think and what I can expect from it.
* I call when I can't make it way ahead of time in courtesy of the hair stylist's time when they could make money other wise.
* I don't like it when I ask for my hair to be cut a certain way, and they cut it the way they wanted to and I walk out of the salon with something totally different than what I asked for.
* If I am happy with my hair, I will take extra calling cards and give them out when someone asks me who cut my hair.
* I don't think my hair cut should cost as much as a utility bill.

In November, I got my hair highlighted a little teeny, tiny bit. I thought it was too much and then colored my hair myself. Over winter break, I made an appointment to get my hair cut. The problem is, and shouldn't be, I had it done by two different hairstylists. Three if you count me. Just like doctors, I think each beautician has their specialty: some who cut short hair, some style long hair better, and others who color it just right. Why shouldn't I be able to go to as many different specialists as I want? And why shouldn't they understand? Doctor's do!

I admired a girl's hair where I work and asked her who cut it. She referred me to Dora and explained to me she speaks very broken English. The first time she cut my hair, I was thrilled! It has been difficult for me to find someone who styles long hair well. I was so relieved I finally found someone with whom I am happy. She has been cutting my hair for over a year now. Needless to say, I don't think she liked that I got my hair highlighted by someone else. When she cut my hair recently, my hair was being pulled up over my head to get cut and all I know is I saw about 6-7 inches fall to the ground. I thought I was going to start crying. I didn't though. I talked myself through it; it was a new year, a new hairstyle. Hair grows.

I left the salon upset, although she never knew it. I've had time to think about it every time I run my hand through my hair or try to do something with it. I honestly believe my hair strand is in shock and wants to know where the rest of it is. It won't do anything. I feel naked and have realized how much I identify myself within my hair. I'm getting off the subject of what I was thinking. I thought about what it must be like being in their shoes. You see someone who you have done your work on, and know they have been with someone else. I'm sure their adrenaline spikes a little and then they are supposed to cut your hair? They probably feel like they have been betrayed. Where is the loyalty? It would be hard. I'm not upset anymore, well... not as much. I don't like my hair, and can't wait for it to grow.

I will go back to Dora. I think this time... I will bring her a peace offering. Learning some Spanish might help too.

; )

* Photo by Google images.

Building Bridges ~

Over winter break, my sister and I planned for my nephews to spend some time with me. I was so excited about their staying with me and also a little nervous; this would be our first time doing something like this. Although we missed each other like crazy, would they think their Tia was boring?

The first day was great! We played games, watched a movie, and made sugar cookies. The second day, Evan got the stomach flu. Poor guy. At one point, I called my sister and we were talking about how and what we should do. Evan listening to us, started to cry, telling me he didn't want to go home and how he wanted to stay with me. At that point, my heart melted and I knew whatever I was nervous about, also melted away. We did have to cut our visit short by one day. We were all bummed, but I felt worse for Evan. His stomach flu finally subsided by the next morning with his mom.


The boys were in the car for two hours and we needed to stretch out our legs so we decided to take a walk along the garden path and check out the plants and bugs. In the background, you can see a blue tarp which is the beach house Charlie is working on.


There was a break between the storms and when the boys dad showed up, we all decided to take a walk on the beach. The ocean was calm. I love this picture; my little guy, Evan, looking out into the great big sea. I wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.


Vincent loves taking videos of what is happening around him. He also likes taking pictures. Uh humm (clearing throat)... I had to delete a couple of me. You never knew where he was when you thought you were alone. Ha! Ha! As I looked at his video's and pictures, I loved looking through this young artist's eyes; I could see what he saw... through his eyes.


The sand was smooth as glass.


The boys were posing for their dad.

After the boys left with their dad, Charlie said it would be about another hour before he was finished, so I decided to take a walk on the beach again, this time alone. I thought about the boys and what a year this has been for them with their parents splitting up. I cried for this family and also felt my own grief; I wanted Eric to still be part of ours.

I'm glad that Eric and I took the boys for a walk along the beach. It gave Eric and I time to talk and show the boys, we still can be a family. When my parents split up, everything was divided; mom's side of the family, versus dad's side. It doesn't have to be that way and I won't be a part of that. Love can build a bridge.


Here I am alone... a la naturale, on the beach.