I have been promising crafty night pics for a while, but I keep forgetting. So here's one - I took this about a month ago. Usually we all bring whatever we feel like working on to crafty night - knitting, crochet, beading, scrapbooking, whatever. But sometimes we arrange a group project. This was the last group project we did - fuzzy flip-flops! They were easy and fun, and they're pretty comfy to wear, even in the heat.

It was 95 degrees yesterday (Memorial Day), and, like an idiot, I was out in it. I went to my parents' house about an hour away to go out strawberry picking with my mom. There's a small farm on the outskirts of town where you can go pick your own and pay by the pound. Those of you who know that strawberry season is about over know that it was a little harder than usual. When strawberries are at their peak, you can fill a gallon bucket in a few minutes out of a couple square feet of patch, but at the end of the season, it becomes more like an Easter egg hunt. The ripe berries are still great - even sweeter now than before - but a little harder to come by. By the time we got out to the strawberry farm, it was almost noon. Twenty minutes of picking and I had to sit down from the heat. Another ten minutes and I called it quits. Between the two of us, we still managed to pick 13 pounds in that time, but I think I almost got heat stroke from it. I'm sure the headache I had for the rest of the day was from that experience. I was smart enough to put sunblock on my arms and face ( I wore a t-shirt, jeans, socks and shoes because I was worried about the bugs, but I didn't think about that adding to the heat), but I didn't think about the fact that I'd be bent over the whole time - I have a strip of bright red skin on my lower back where my shirt rode up. Luckily, it doesn't hurt, but it is very funny looking.

I was hoping to come home with the motherload of strawberries to freeze - we've become obsessed with smoothies - but as it turns out, it's better that I didn't. I can't even fit all I got in my freezer.

Bridal Hair Bliss

I am a very bad blogger. I just can't stay in the habit of posting. So for those of you who actually read this, if you haven't given up on me already, I am very sorry. I will try harder to post regularly. It's all Farm Wife's fault really. When she was posting daily (sometimes two or three times a day), I felt the need to constantly check her blog in order to stay in touch with her life. Once I started on her blog, I had to read others, and then I felt the need to write my own. So you see, if FW would just get her internet back, all would be back to normal and my blogging would become regular again. But until that happens I'll try to stand on my own two virtual feet.
Plus, I got tired of writing about nothing but work. Now that I'm not working as much, I should have more interesting things to write about, which should help as well. Such as this weekend. I went to a wedding. Out of all my dear friends who have gotten married over the years, this was the first time I was asked to be a bridesmaid AND actually able to do it. As a matter of fact, I was Maid of Honor at this wedding. This was good practice for me because I have some serious planning to do - yes, HB and I are actually making plans for our wedding now, so I can start talking about it. Anyway, this wedding was mostly a family affair. In fact, besides the minister and the organist, I believe I was the only person there not somehow related to the bride or groom.
I could spend hours relaying the details which are still very fresh in my mind, but I'll spare you. skip to the important part - the hair appointment. Now this is a very big deal, seeing as I haven't stepped foot into a hair salon since my senior prom (it may have been junior prom - one way or another, it was a nightmare I chose to never repeat). So I made the sacrifice for my darling friend the Bride and faced my doom in the adjustable chair. I have very long hair, so I requested an updo. Since I forgot to bring pictures and didn't think of the books in the salon until it was too late, I left my fate to Ruby, Bride's mother's haristylist for who-knows-how-many decades. [Let me now insert that this was not a city wedding. No, this wedding took place in a small town in the hills of East Tennessee.] Luckily for me, Ruby had just completed several young styles for prom, and she had mercy on me. While my hair added a good six inches to my height, it wasn't too crunchy or teased, which are the two main factors that have kept me away from such places for many years. Everyone assured me my hair was cute, and the pictures came out okay, so I was sufficiently satisfied.
On to the golden moments. After all nuptial activites were over and the church was restored to normal, I got on the road to head home. I didn't bother to take my hair down, but I did change into a comfy t-shirt, pants, and clogs. Stopping at the gas station was priceless. I got one strange look that I quickly replied with a "don't even try it" look, and no one else bothered to wonder. I stopped at Wild Oats once I was back in Nashville, and I'm not sure anyone even noticed that my hair and outfit didn't match. For all I know, in this country music town, they went together beautifully.
There's something very empowering about an updo. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's simply the good feeling that comes with a nice haristyle. Many women walk around with Great Hair Confidence on a daily basis. Don't get me wrong - I love my hair. I know that it's healthy and naturally pretty. But I have never had a good hairstylist, so the closest I've come to that feeling before yesterday was when I occasionally had a good self-imposed dye job. Never has the style of my hair been the source of my confidence. I don't even dye my hair anymore.
I guess this means I should start looking for a hairstylist. But I have to be cautious - I've been badly burnt in the past. And, in this town, there aren't many good ones I can afford. I guess I could justify the search for a good one because I'll need someone when it comes time for my wedding date.