You can't see them clearly, but there are some silvery threads in here amongst the red... does that mean I have to grow up? Nah... that can wait until I am OLD(er).
But underneath that hair is a memory box, and it's strange how memories someone else is making can bring back some of your own. Katie, for instance, was telling me about an outing to Oban, and this took me back to being 13 and on holiday there with my parents. We stayed at a small hotel, outside the town centre, that was all blue tartan carpets I remember, and had the most awful scrambled eggs. I now know this is how you are meant to eat them, runny, but I wasn't used to them and hated it. Now I still have my eggs overcooked in most people's eyes, but it's how I like them. I remember too, looking in a shop window at jewellery with natural stones in them, red and green and although I didn't know the name, I thought them so grown up and pretty. I wanted to have one, but as usual didn't say so.. such a good girl was I, never one to whinge and say I WANT ONE in a loud voice that carries for miles... I am sure we've all heard them in the supermarket and the ensuing screams from mother and child when said request is denied. I never did that..if asked I would say what I wanted, but never thought to ask unprompted.
Anyway, years later I went out with a Chippendale-esque drummer, leader of a small group which consisted of drums, guitar, piano and female singer, who played Carpenter-type music at a posh eaterie several nights a week. He was originally from Oban, though now living in this small Lancashire seaside town, and when he went home to visit his grandparents, he went into that same shop, without my telling him anything about it, and bought me one of the lovely heavy silver bracelets with red and green stones, that I had admired years before. I still have it, somewhere.
And speaking of music, my day was started on a good note... BOYZONE were on the GMTV sofa. And... it was raining outside. This may not seem much like something to celebrate really, but I love rain, and have never outgrown splashing in puddles, to my other half's embarrassment no doubt, at times! But to sit in the conservatory with a window open, hear the rain dripping off the eaves onto the terrace, splashing into the pond, where the fish happily play 'miss the splashes', was a lovely accompaniment to my breakfast.. along with the sight of Boyzone of course.
My day will end on a high as well, as we are replacing the old printer with one of these all singing, all dancing pieces of kit that scans, photocopies and does everything bar make you a cuppa it seems to me. I shall not be sorry to consign the old one to what will be my other half's own little den - he gets the old kit and the smaller room as he rarely uses the computer at home and I need so much space for all my crafts, and books. It reminds me of the old adage about dogs and cats, you know the one.... dogs come when you call them and cats ask you to leave a message and they'll get back to you? Well, this old printer hiccups, groans, bits move about making clunky noises, things slide back and forth, and eventually a piece of paper will be taken in, sniffed at like an old dog sniffing a lamp post - and that reminds me of an old dowager I was interviewing once who had this awfully old smelly dog who tried to have it away with first my leg, then the basket I had on the floor, before giving up and going back to its favourite hump which was an old, and rather smelly cushion - and finally... VOILA, it prints. Or not, as is sometimes the case.
I shall be so happy to print off letters to friends in an instant for one thing... my letters tend to be long you see, and take forever on this old printer. But that's another thing... I miss letters. I know technology is fine and the way to go and so on, but don't you think there is something wonderful about opening a letter and sitting down with a cup of tea to read it? I love getting long letters, and have a few friends from the seventies and eighties who won't use computers, or don't even have one, and so still handwrite reams. Sometimes I reciprocate with a handwritten letter, carefully choosing pretty paper and a favourite fountain pen, often with coloured ink... more often than not, lazy old besom that I am, I use the computer. I still decorate the paper with stamping and stickers, but the computer is the best way these days, for my hands to keep up with my brain as the thoughts and comments and answers to questions in the letters spill out, tumbling one after another. But these days the postie rarely brings letters... back in the 80's though it was a different matter altogether, as I had about two dozen, or more, penfriends, all over the world and so most days brought a letter from one or other of them, from home or abroad. I miss that.
Do you see how words lead you from one thing to another.. so that what began as a blog about hair ended up with humping old dogs and slow printers and a dearth of handwritten letters.
I have mentioned I am doing creative journaling, and one journal I have begun using a website called www.inspiremethursday.com where each week there is one word to inspire you, either in words, prose, pictures, anything you like. This one word is the starting point.... just one word each week, on a Thursday, strangely enough! This week's is PETALS, and I have decorated the page in the journal with flowery stickers, dried rose petals from some pot pourri, and written lots that came to mind when I thought of the word PETALS. The week before it was FAMILY, so of course this has pictures of family on the page. It's an interesting exercise in creative writing, if nothing else.
As is a blog, dear readers... thank you for reading. Enjoy your weekend.