Truth in Advertising

Found here

Years ago when I moved to Southern California, my sister and brother-in-law used to drive me through various towns to give me a sense of my surroundings. There were the desert towns that were very hot (and that left me cold!) and also quaint old money suburbs that were enchanting. I particularly loved going up to Oak Glen, or "Little New York" as it was called at that time. It smells like apples year round and it is much greener than down on these dusty plains.

To get to Oak Glen, one has to drive through Yucaipa, a bedroom community of the city of San Bernardino. It is in the foothills and until 10 years ago, it was not much more than a collection of disheveled little houses of older people. What always struck me were the little white signs that so many people had at the edge of their lawns on the street. These signs had Bible verses printed on them. A person could get nearly a full Bible chapter just by driving up California Street. We used to chuckle at the randomness of these verses, wondering what they hoped that passersby might gain from reading them.

I didn't think about it for years until we moved here two years ago. It is a wonderful little town now since hundreds of new homes, landscaping, and businesses have augmented this place. The other day though, I noticed some of those little signs sticking out of someone's lawn in an older section of town. As I drove I read, "He that believeth and is baptized will be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned." Down a little further, I came across this one: "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." I'm wondering what effect the homeowner hopes the latter verse will have on people driving by. How about this cheerful message: "Because you have rejected knowledge I also reject you as my priests; because you have ignored the law of your God, I also will ignore your children."

What kind of seeker after spirituality might be attracted to something like this?

I remember one of the members of my childhood church put up a billboard on the edge of the junkyard he owned. It read, "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life." This verse always struck me as rather ominous, but I suppose it depends on the perspective and needs of the people who drove by.

The sign down the road caught my eye this morning: "It is written, "I believed, therefore have I spoken."" What on earth can this mean to someone who is unfamiliar with scripture? Other than giving drivers a good laugh as they look over at it. What is the intended effect of this? What kind of representation is this of Christian beliefs for people who don't know anything about how Christianity? Will they have heightened ideas of the love of God? Will they be intrigued about Christian beliefs enough to go home and pick up a Bible and start reading? Or does it simply create a caricature of Christians?

Meaningless remarks, signs, and depictions can actually negate the positive witness of Christians. The sad thing is that we all do this: indelicate jokes, non sequitors in reverent settings, retaliatory remarks in response to strong comments of others. These things dilute what Christianity is and how others might perceive it. What impression do you give of Christianity and your walk with God? Is the message clear? Does it pique the interest of other people? I ask myself this every time I drive past these unusual little signs.

Our Boys--Update

This morning our cockapoo breeder sent us more pictures of our boys. We think they are terribly cute and can hardly wait the 15 days until we pick them up. Above is Baxter and Goldie, one of his female litter mates. This is probably their first time outside in the grass. It's been warming up here lately, so this was taken most likely over the weekend.

This is (fatso) Charlie in the background, with Baxter in the front. You can see that they're both variegated looking puppies. Their mother is a blue merle, which is a combination of grey, black, and brown variegated colors. Their father is a copper colored cockapoo.

Here is Baxter, sacked out in front of the puppies' kennel. You can see his colors a bit better in this picture. And just for the record, Baxter is my puppy and Charlie will belong to Sam. We are very happy expectant parents!

If you would like to see another half-grown puppy from these parents, you can see videos of Quica the Cockapoo on YouTube. Here's one that I like especially well. This one makes me laugh. It is of Lucy at Myrtle Beach (don't know who this is, but you can see something of the energy and delightfulness of these types of dogs). As my father would say, Lucy is a bugety-bugety-bug type of dog (Linda, you will understand this!). Enjoy!

Natural Beauty

Found here

For some time I have been trying to change my hairstyle. I have felt vexed by wearing the same style for nearly 20 years. The one reprieve during that time was in 2002 when I had just lost 35 lbs and had a thinner face with more defined cheekbones. My hairstyle had been what I would call short, spiky, and sassy. Now as a 'woman of substance' I look too full-faced with my hair brushed back from my face in that '80s look.My stepdaughters have commented that I should do this or that with my hair but I summarily dismissed their remarks because they are teenagers and I have pretty much resigned myself that whatever I do not be exactly right, including how I dress or what I do with my hair. But this year when we were visiting Stepdaughter #3 in Puerto Rico, she asked what I would do with my hair for her big sister's wedding in July. I didn't know. She suggested that I grow out my hair because she would like it (this is the same girl that suggested that I wear chartreuse nail polish). Why not? I've grown my hair since March.
I have almost shaved my head a hundred times since March.

It's hard to find a good hairstylist who can catch the vision that you don't really have yourself of how you might look with an updated hairstyle. It didn't help that we've moved in the last two years and I've been trying to find someone in our neighborhood to patronize. I went to several hairstylists and always came out unhappy. I either looked like my mother in 1963, or my hair would be flat to my head, or cut above my ears, giving me the appearance of an egg with fuzz on top. Sam's eyes would narrow as I'd come in the door and he'd ask in an agonizing tone, "Honey, why do you go to these people who do this to you?" After washing and styling my hair myself (back to that 1980s style--hair brushed back from my face, tucked behind my ears on either side, bangs curled and over my forehead), we'd both agree that it wasn't as bad as I'd looked walking in the house. But I knew I was about 20 years behind the times and Sam kindly never mentioned how outdated I looked.

Last Tuesday afternoon I met with Megan at a place called Salon Strut. Either I would come out strutting, or it would look like I just had my struts replaced. Both held possibilities. Megan is about 22 and had dyed orange hair that is folded over her head and held in place with a clip on one side. The back looks like it was dried with a high power fan--it stiffly shoots out in all directions. She could not have been nicer or more accommodating, however. I took her a couple pictures of hairstyles that I liked and she talked me into "something really easy and updated" that had elements of the look that appealed to me. It's an updated shag haircut.

It was fascinating to watch her style my hair after the cut. She suggested that I would look younger if I were to wear my hair with side bangs (bangs are not straight down, but swept over to one side) and the sides not tucked behind my ears, but moved toward my face on either side instead. As she talked, Megan flipped my hair up and out all around the sides and back, and dried my hair back and forth over the top of my head. "You have wonderful hair," she murmured as she jhuzhed my hair. "This is jhuzhing and you need to do lots of it with this hairstyle. No more round brush. Just use your hands to separate out your hair and then give it shape." It all looked simple, and I took note of the product she used. Phomolient and some kind of pomade to separate out the strands once it was dry. Yes, I could do that.

When she finished and I looked in the mirror I was amazed. My hair looked much darker (must be that pomade) and I looked 10 years younger. Sam would like this! I told her that I have lots of hair product at home that I have been using right along, and I think I could style my hair with that.

Sam got up off the couch when I came in the house and remarked, "Now that's pretty, Honey!" I fairly floated up the stairs to our room, where I set out the requisite products for Wednesday's styling. I could hardly wait for the Big Reveal at work.

I was so excited Wednesday morning that I leaped out of bed at 5:30 and took a shower. Couldn't wait to try the new styling techniques. But since Sam was still asleep, I just laid out my new clothes that I'd gotten so all of me would look different that day. When finally I did my hair, Sam stood by watching. "Is that how she told you to dry your hair?" he asked cautiously. "Yes," I replied with an air of superiority. "No more round brush. She said I can use my head as the round brush and dry my hair over the top using the curve of my skull." I leaned my head to one side and my wet hair fell to the left. "See?"
He seemed unconvinced but hurriedly kissed me and left for work. When my hair was dry (and standing on end), I put some hair pomade in my hand and even between my fingers, just as Megan instructed me to do. "Work it in at the roots" I said aloud, echoing her advice. I pulled my bangs over to one side and slid the pomade through them. Into my new outfit and one last look in the mirror. "Well, this isn't exactly what I looked like yesterday, but I'm not really used to the look yet, so maybe this isn't entirely right."
It wasn't even close. My bangs looked like a grease slick and my hair fanned out on the sides like my sister's prom pictures from the 1960s. I tried to ignore the hair pushed forward on my cheeks. That might drive me crazy, but at least I had a new look. Now I just needed to update my wardrobe to complete the look.
During the day I jhuzhed my hair and followed Megan's instructions to "use your fingers to jhuzh your hair during the day so the heat of your hands can reactivate the product and restore your style." By the time I walked in to my group therapy class at noon, my hair was flat to my head and looked like a staticky silk helmet in a style that made me look like a henchman. Mercifully, no one commented on my new look.

On Thursday, I tried again while Sam stood by to encourage, cajole, and then just plain annoy me with his helpful suggestions. "No Honey, that's not going to get you the right look. I don't think it helps to dry your hair with your head upside down." I fought back the words, "Oh really? Then let's see what you can do with it?" and continued on "giving body through postural elements." How could I have been so stupid to believe such a thing could happen? Postural elements? Either this girl was inarticulate or this was a term she had learnt in cosmetology school. There were no recognizable elements visible, postural or otherwise, as I stood back upright and surveyed the damage in the mirror. Bozo the clown was more like what I looked like now. Sam doubled up with laughter. "Honey, get back in the shower and start over." I was running late and didn't have time to do that so I hastened him on his way to work and tried to fight my hair into submission. The pomade, AKA "Hair Control Creme" was not working and I was about to forget myself. My hair shot out in all directions and my bangs wouldn't go to the side. They hung straight down limply--not even the '80s curl in them. I tucked my hair behind my ears and rushed out the door to class. Again, no comments about my new look. I tried to avoid mirrors and to act natural.
When I got home in the evening Sam took one look at me and asked, "Why did you get a style that is so hard to do?" My muttered comments about not wanting to look old and how easy it looked in the salon did not offer anything to the conversation and I quit the room. Perhaps I could go back to Megan and have her show me once again how to style this mess.

Friday morning found me sitting at Megan's station in Salon Strut. She had me dry my hair in front of her and then she "pieced it out" --put the Hair Control Creme in her hands, between her fingers, and she worked magic on my head. I just love how it looks when she does it. I left the salon feeling confident that I could recreate this look. What had I done wrong? I left out the teasing at the crown of my head, and I hadn't dried my hair right. I need to jhuzh everything except the bangs and then it would look how it should. My students commented enthusiastically about my hair and I called Mother triumphantly: "When you see me tonight, my hair will look the way it's supposed to." She couldn't wait.

I speak once a month at Mother's retirement center, so I was particularly happy to be able to walk into the meeting room with the new haircut. Mother's mouth fell open and her eyes widened as she came right over to where I was sitting. "What happened?" she asked in horror.
"What do you mean, what happened?" I retorted. "This is how it looks."Mother began laughing and wheezing. "Really?"
"It's not a style for the over 80 crowd, but it's an updated style that is supposed to look tousled and young."
Mother admitted that my hair looks darker and I do look younger this way. But when she returned to sit with her group, I could hear her whisper loudly to her friend, Evelyn, "It's supposed to look that way." There were giggles all around, even though after the meeting, several people said my new look was "very becoming."

Yesterday morning I washed my hair twice and had a meltdown before going out the door to church. The bangs aren't right and there was no amount of jhuzhing that could induce my hair to flip out at the sides as Megan could make it do. I pulled my bangs to the side and put more Hair Control Creme in my fingers to give it one last hurrah before I slunk out the door to the car. Suffice it to say, there were no comments about my hair in church. Sam and I sat near the back, and when Mother turned around to wave at us, she thought I was someone else sitting with Sam. I felt completely demoralized.
Sam and I went out for a hike in the high desert yesterday. There is a lovely spot called Whitewater Preserve where there is a beautiful mountain stream in the middle of nothingness. As we were wading in the ice cold stream, the wind came whistling down the canyon and caught us, nearly knocking us down. My hair flew in all directions and I could barely see where I was going. Sam shouted above the howling wind, "There! Now your hair is looking like the hairstyle."

Tomorrow I am going back to Megan for another styling lesson. Her comment, "If you can't style your hair, what good is my haircut?" is ringing in my ears. Other than getting a wind machine, I'm not sure what to do to get my hair to look right, but I'm not giving up.
Yet.

They're getting bigger!

This is the litter of puppies from which Baxter and Charlie hail. Baxter is at the very back, and Charlie is the brown merle right in front of him. It is difficult to get a clear idea of just how tiny these little guys are, so let me try to explain it this way. The mother is just 15 lbs, and there are five of these little guys. Each was about the size of a small ice cream sandwich. Not flat of course...but just saying.

We've been eagerly waiting to get our weekly pictures of our boys, and every time we receive one I print it off and put it up where we can see it. I know that when these babies get to us our lives will change dramatically. No more taking off on a whim or staying out all day or all night. We'll have to get home to take care of the dogs. We will be like the senior citizens we know who are always worried about feeding the cat or leeting out the dog. But I think this will be good for us, too. We've both wanted dogs for a very long time.



Here is Baxter after his first bath. What a little sweetie boy! You can see how little he is by the size of the woman's hand that is holding him wrapped in a hand towel. Only three more weeks before they come home to us. Can't wait!