I'm a very normal person. I don't do adventurous, risky things like bungee jumping or skydiving. There is very little in me that might intrigue other people.
However, there is one exception, and its ability to captivate folks absolutely baffles me.
I have curly hair. Very curly hair. In and of itself, that's no big deal, right? Right. The attention comes when I decide to straighten it.
You see, all of my life up until I was in graduate school, I straightened my curly hair. Every day. The guy I was dating at the time liked it that way, for one thing, but mostly it was because I figured that if I looked like everyone else, I'd fit in better. In the South, high schools are full of beautiful girls with long flowing straight hair, and I wanted to be no exception.
Several years ago, as I got more confident in myself and began to value individualism, I started to let my hair go the way it had wanted to for 22 years. It took (and is still taking) experiment after experiment to figure out how to NOT look like Ronald McDonald. However, gradually, I've begun to figure out how to manage the twists and turns that so badly want to go their own way as they dry in the mornings.
Every now and then, on a whim and when the air outside is very, very dry, I'll decide to straighten it for old time's sake. My normally coarse curls are transformed into a completely different head of hair. It's suddenly softer, blonder, and longer. I can run my brush or fingers through it without the danger of creating a frizzy poof the size of Texas. (*Tip of the Day: Once they are dry, curls should never EVER be touched, if you want them to keep their shape. Still working with Cal, who's fascinated with the novelty of them, on his learning that one.)
On these days when it's straight, I get exclamations from nearly everyone who sees me, all somewhere along the lines of, "Oh, when did you get you hair done?" or "Is it permanent?" or "Ooooh, Miss Terry, your hair is beauuuutiful!!" I then always decide that I should wear it straight more often, and thus begin a period of time when I never let it go naturally. Two weeks or so will pass before I go curly again.
What happens next? People ask if I've gotten a perm. Seriously! And what's aggravating is that it is the SAME EXACT PEOPLE who were so captivated by it when I straightened it to begin with. Are memories really so short?
All of this is on my mind, as I've completely straightened my hair today for the first time in over a month and am getting all of the predicted comments. I'm amazed at how long it's gotten (shoulder-length!) and also by the still-unfamiliar feeling -it's new in the last couple of years or so- that I like it better curly.
A sign that Cal is different from the other guys I've dated? He likes it better curly, too. Yeah, he's racking up big points on that one...
11.30.2005
11.29.2005
Baby, it's cold outside!
Top 10 things I love about winter, my favorite season, in no particular order:
-- The smell. Whether indoors or out, it's good. Burning wood, pine, pumpkin pies, cinnamon. I love it all.
-- The clothes. Nothing better than bundling up in soft, cozy fleece or a delicious sweater, topped off with a colorful scarf, hat, and mittens.
-- Twinkle lights!
-- Christmas music! (Partridge Family takes the cake, of course.)
-- School holidays!
-- Wood-burning fireplaces in full blaze, framed by a mantle decorated with poinsettias, candles, and, perhaps, a Nativity Scene.
-- Hot chocolate with marshmallows!
-- The burst of energy that you get when you've just come in from only a minute or two out in the frigid, frosty air.
-- The anticipation (albeit merely anticipation) of the tiniest possibility of it maybe snowing at some point even if it doesn't stick or is in the middle of the night when no one sees it.
-- Family traditions that would seem silly at any other time of the year, but which are perfectly acceptable during this particular season because, heck, it's Christmas*.
*See album choice in my fourth entry, for an example. Also reading tales of barnyard animals who get a visit from a goat clothed in red long underwear and pretending he's Santa Claus. Yeah. More of that later in the year, I promise.
-- The smell. Whether indoors or out, it's good. Burning wood, pine, pumpkin pies, cinnamon. I love it all.
-- The clothes. Nothing better than bundling up in soft, cozy fleece or a delicious sweater, topped off with a colorful scarf, hat, and mittens.
-- Twinkle lights!
-- Christmas music! (Partridge Family takes the cake, of course.)
-- School holidays!
-- Wood-burning fireplaces in full blaze, framed by a mantle decorated with poinsettias, candles, and, perhaps, a Nativity Scene.
-- Hot chocolate with marshmallows!
-- The burst of energy that you get when you've just come in from only a minute or two out in the frigid, frosty air.
-- The anticipation (albeit merely anticipation) of the tiniest possibility of it maybe snowing at some point even if it doesn't stick or is in the middle of the night when no one sees it.
-- Family traditions that would seem silly at any other time of the year, but which are perfectly acceptable during this particular season because, heck, it's Christmas*.
*See album choice in my fourth entry, for an example. Also reading tales of barnyard animals who get a visit from a goat clothed in red long underwear and pretending he's Santa Claus. Yeah. More of that later in the year, I promise.
11.28.2005
Two weeks later...
... and nothing much to say. I'm here, though, still, and I'm not giving up on this blog thing.
Things are happening in my life. Good things. Really good things. None of them, though, are blogable, if you know what I mean.
Back to the Monday grind after a week of play. Loved seeing all the folks in Athens last weekend. Carrie -- you look incredible; music was great at Redeemer last Sunday. Bryan, Thomas -- good to see my boys, as usual. Glad y'all got to meet Cal.
Off to rummage through the cafeteria options. Diet starts back today. bigtime.
Things are happening in my life. Good things. Really good things. None of them, though, are blogable, if you know what I mean.
Back to the Monday grind after a week of play. Loved seeing all the folks in Athens last weekend. Carrie -- you look incredible; music was great at Redeemer last Sunday. Bryan, Thomas -- good to see my boys, as usual. Glad y'all got to meet Cal.
Off to rummage through the cafeteria options. Diet starts back today. bigtime.
11.14.2005
If ever I wanted to place an ad...
SWF seeks SWM. Hobbies include reading, writing, and travel. Comes with an uncanny ability to take advantage of all that automobile insurance companies have to offer, and is able to deal remarkably calmly and efficiently with all involved parties (insurance, rental car companies, police departments, etc.) should the need ever arise. And it will.
Applicants must have sense of adventure. Worriers need not respond.
Say hello to my new (to me) 2005 Camry!
11.11.2005
11.10.2005
Disaster comes in threes. (I hope.)
Uh, did someone pick my family up and move them to Baghdad? Or the mountains of Afghanistan? It seems we're under attack.
Not only did I have my nasty wreck on Sunday afternoon, but Beth's beloved dog, Disco, got sick and had to be put to sleep yesterday and my mother slipped on our kitchen floor and busted her lip (2-3 stitches) and broke off her two front teeth this morning.
I'm feeling very shaken up. Emotionally and physically drained.
I got a call from the Liability Claims agent with my insurance this morning during my planning period, and by the time I got off the phone I was so flustered and upset that I was on the verge of tears. I felt like they were trying to trap me into admitting something that didn't happen. The other guy is adamantly accusing me of running a light, so much so that I'm questioning myself. What if I did run it? What if I'm crazy? What if I lied without realizing it in my recorded statement on the phone this morning? Can they take me to jail if they prove that the light was red?
The most distressing part of all of this is the question of my integrity, and that's a pride issue. I hate that people think that I'm lying in order to save my own skin. And I'm scared to death that I'm wrong and actually HAVE been lying this whole time, as everyone will then think it's all been intentional from the beginning.
God is sovereign, even in all this. How? I don't know. But He is.
Not only did I have my nasty wreck on Sunday afternoon, but Beth's beloved dog, Disco, got sick and had to be put to sleep yesterday and my mother slipped on our kitchen floor and busted her lip (2-3 stitches) and broke off her two front teeth this morning.
I'm feeling very shaken up. Emotionally and physically drained.
I got a call from the Liability Claims agent with my insurance this morning during my planning period, and by the time I got off the phone I was so flustered and upset that I was on the verge of tears. I felt like they were trying to trap me into admitting something that didn't happen. The other guy is adamantly accusing me of running a light, so much so that I'm questioning myself. What if I did run it? What if I'm crazy? What if I lied without realizing it in my recorded statement on the phone this morning? Can they take me to jail if they prove that the light was red?
The most distressing part of all of this is the question of my integrity, and that's a pride issue. I hate that people think that I'm lying in order to save my own skin. And I'm scared to death that I'm wrong and actually HAVE been lying this whole time, as everyone will then think it's all been intentional from the beginning.
God is sovereign, even in all this. How? I don't know. But He is.
11.09.2005
A Wreck, a Proposal, and a Root Beer
A couple of you have sent concerned emails, questioning whether or not I got lost (or met with some other painful demise) at Rock Eagle. I did not. I am home... but not without a story.
Upon returning to Macon on Friday after my 3 days at Rock Eagle, I decided on a whim (kind of) to head down to Florida for the weekend. 25 miles into my return trip on Sunday afternoon, the driver's side of my car was slammed into by an ornery old man who swears up and down that he had a left turn arrow at the intersection that I was crossing. I beg to differ, as my light was green. Someone's wrong. Hmmmm.
My car is not driveable. $12,000 worth of damage, actually, and I'm waiting on the word about whether or not it's totalled. It's in Florida, 300 miles away.
In spite all of this, God was good. I was only 20 minutes from Cal's house, and he was still home (he had talked about going for a long bike ride to the beach), so he came to pick me up. A nice old man named Buck stayed with me and kept me company until Cal could get there, and both forcefully stood up for me when the cops (and other drivers) were far from friendly. I wasn't in the middle of nowhere.
I'm unhurt, except for some seatbelt bruises. And we all know how I love bruises! Hurrah!
I returned to Macon yesterday, two days later than originally planned. Enterprise couldn't hook me up with a rental until 6 pm Monday night, so that ruled out traveling back for work on Tuesday. As one of my students just pointed out, though, there are certainly worse things than being stuck in Florida with your long-distance boyfriend for two extra days. Too bad he was at work, though, and I was dealing with insurance companies, rental car places, and dirty old men.
What's that? I haven't told you about the dirty old men part?
Yesterday, on my way back to Macon, I stopped by the salvage yard to clean out my car in case it's totalled. The owner of the place, Ray, confirmed that I was a "Georgia Peach", proposed, set the wedding date for Saturday at 12:30, then promptly sealed the deal by buying me a root beer for my trip. I'd have preferred a diamond, of course, but, hey, a proposal is a proposal, right? Beggars can't be choosers.
By the way, Ray is 75 and already married. He also said something about checking out of the hotel Sunday morning and sending me on my way, as he can't be tied down too long. Gross.
Here's the photo documentation... I'm adding to the story, right?
A special thanks to Cal for his hospitality: allowing me to stay and throw off his work-week, cooking eggs and bacon for breakfast in the mornings, giving up his supper-break to get me to Enterprise, and being supportive and encouraging throughout the whole ordeal. I'm so glad I wasn't alone!
Upon returning to Macon on Friday after my 3 days at Rock Eagle, I decided on a whim (kind of) to head down to Florida for the weekend. 25 miles into my return trip on Sunday afternoon, the driver's side of my car was slammed into by an ornery old man who swears up and down that he had a left turn arrow at the intersection that I was crossing. I beg to differ, as my light was green. Someone's wrong. Hmmmm.
My car is not driveable. $12,000 worth of damage, actually, and I'm waiting on the word about whether or not it's totalled. It's in Florida, 300 miles away.
In spite all of this, God was good. I was only 20 minutes from Cal's house, and he was still home (he had talked about going for a long bike ride to the beach), so he came to pick me up. A nice old man named Buck stayed with me and kept me company until Cal could get there, and both forcefully stood up for me when the cops (and other drivers) were far from friendly. I wasn't in the middle of nowhere.
I'm unhurt, except for some seatbelt bruises. And we all know how I love bruises! Hurrah!
I returned to Macon yesterday, two days later than originally planned. Enterprise couldn't hook me up with a rental until 6 pm Monday night, so that ruled out traveling back for work on Tuesday. As one of my students just pointed out, though, there are certainly worse things than being stuck in Florida with your long-distance boyfriend for two extra days. Too bad he was at work, though, and I was dealing with insurance companies, rental car places, and dirty old men.
What's that? I haven't told you about the dirty old men part?
Yesterday, on my way back to Macon, I stopped by the salvage yard to clean out my car in case it's totalled. The owner of the place, Ray, confirmed that I was a "Georgia Peach", proposed, set the wedding date for Saturday at 12:30, then promptly sealed the deal by buying me a root beer for my trip. I'd have preferred a diamond, of course, but, hey, a proposal is a proposal, right? Beggars can't be choosers.
By the way, Ray is 75 and already married. He also said something about checking out of the hotel Sunday morning and sending me on my way, as he can't be tied down too long. Gross.
Here's the photo documentation... I'm adding to the story, right?
A special thanks to Cal for his hospitality: allowing me to stay and throw off his work-week, cooking eggs and bacon for breakfast in the mornings, giving up his supper-break to get me to Enterprise, and being supportive and encouraging throughout the whole ordeal. I'm so glad I wasn't alone!
11.01.2005
Looks like a Penguin to me...
Every year about this time, the morning air gets a little crisp, the leaves start changing into a beautiful array of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns, scarves and mittens get pulled out of their hiding places in the depths of dark closets, and the question, "Excuse me, Miss Terry, is that an eagle... or a penguin?" echoes through the hills of Northeast Georgia.
Huh?
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's that time again. Time for the 6th grade's annual jaunt to the exciting town of Eatonton, GA, where we will spend three days joined at the hip with 76 12-year-olds at Rock Eagle 4-H Camp. We take classes with the kids, we eat with the kids, we SLEEP with the kids.
Oh yes. It's a trip that every 27-year-old singleton dreams of. You know, that nightmare where she's suddenly old enough to be a mother 76 times over? Where she's all of a sudden not only required to teach her students 8 hours a day, but to also remind them to take their medications, make sure they're eating balanced meals, and tuck 16 of them into their lumpy bunkbeds on two consecutive nights? Yeah. That one.
I should clarify that I'm exaggerating. The trip isn't that bad. We get to be outdoors for three days and break up the monotony that hits this time of the schoolyear. We hold snakes and turtles and pet the feathers of live screech owls and hawks. We take night hikes in the pitch black darkness of the Northeast Georgia wilderness, using only our hearing and fumbling feet to guide us. We eat delicious meals like fried chicken and mashed potatoes, made specially for the teachers, while loudly poking fun at the kids' nasty-looking meals of chicken patty sandwiches and tator tots. It has its highlights.
On the other hand...
My first year, when Amy and I were sharing chaperone duties in one cabin, a child decided that she couldn't sleep and, therefore wouldn't let us sleep, either. Every 20 minutes, she'd appear at our door to inform us that she was still awake. Finally, Amy just about lost it and told her that if she came back one more time, she'd need to have her shoes on and her sleeping bag in hand because we'd be marching her over to Mrs. Hattaway's cabin to let her sleep in her room. (Mrs. Hattaway is the traditional, strict, AWESOME teacher that all the kids are scared to death not to respect.) We didn't hear a peep from the kid the rest of the night. Go Amy!
Anyway, we leave tomorrow. Praying for good weather, a lot of patience, and a Divine intervention that slips Tylenol PM into the girls' drinks at supper time...
Huh?
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's that time again. Time for the 6th grade's annual jaunt to the exciting town of Eatonton, GA, where we will spend three days joined at the hip with 76 12-year-olds at Rock Eagle 4-H Camp. We take classes with the kids, we eat with the kids, we SLEEP with the kids.
Oh yes. It's a trip that every 27-year-old singleton dreams of. You know, that nightmare where she's suddenly old enough to be a mother 76 times over? Where she's all of a sudden not only required to teach her students 8 hours a day, but to also remind them to take their medications, make sure they're eating balanced meals, and tuck 16 of them into their lumpy bunkbeds on two consecutive nights? Yeah. That one.
I should clarify that I'm exaggerating. The trip isn't that bad. We get to be outdoors for three days and break up the monotony that hits this time of the schoolyear. We hold snakes and turtles and pet the feathers of live screech owls and hawks. We take night hikes in the pitch black darkness of the Northeast Georgia wilderness, using only our hearing and fumbling feet to guide us. We eat delicious meals like fried chicken and mashed potatoes, made specially for the teachers, while loudly poking fun at the kids' nasty-looking meals of chicken patty sandwiches and tator tots. It has its highlights.
On the other hand...
My first year, when Amy and I were sharing chaperone duties in one cabin, a child decided that she couldn't sleep and, therefore wouldn't let us sleep, either. Every 20 minutes, she'd appear at our door to inform us that she was still awake. Finally, Amy just about lost it and told her that if she came back one more time, she'd need to have her shoes on and her sleeping bag in hand because we'd be marching her over to Mrs. Hattaway's cabin to let her sleep in her room. (Mrs. Hattaway is the traditional, strict, AWESOME teacher that all the kids are scared to death not to respect.) We didn't hear a peep from the kid the rest of the night. Go Amy!
Anyway, we leave tomorrow. Praying for good weather, a lot of patience, and a Divine intervention that slips Tylenol PM into the girls' drinks at supper time...
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