This past weekend, Grace and I drove to North Carolina and spent three nights in a hotel along the beach.
Grace is starting a new job this week and I had an extra day added to the three-day Labor Day weekend.
My goal was to try paddle boarding, and I did.
I made reservations for 9 a.m. Sunday. The paddle boarding was at a nearby state park on Cape Fear River rather than on the Atlantic Ocean. Judging from the waves on the ocean, that was a good thing.
I didn't ask, but I assumed the lesson was about an hour.
Throughout the night, lightning flashed outside our window and thunder rumbled. The weather app on my phone predicted thunderstorms throughout the day. I feared my paddle boarding lesson would be canceled.
Since Grace was awake, I asked her to come with me. She could take some pictures from the shore.
Three of us showed up for the lessons -- me and a couple from South Carolina who had tried paddle boarding before on a quarry.
We put on life jackets and attached the board to our ankles with a leash.
We started out kneeling on the boards as we pushed off from the shore. I had a wide yellow board with some black rubber padding in the center where I would stand.
I wobbled a bit on the board as everyone moved into the river. We waited until we were all together to try standing up.
I feared I wouldn't be able to stand up, but I followed instructions, laying my paddle perpendicular to the board, putting up one foot then the other and moving to stand from a crouching position. "And remember to look straight ahead, not down," the instructor said.
And it worked. I was standing and paddling, although unsteady. Plus I had a shoe problem.
We needed to wear shoes because the bottom of the river from where we set off had sharp oyster shells. I wore a pair of maryjane crocs, and when I brought my feet forward, they kind of slipped part way off my feet, so some of my toes were in the shoe and some were sticking out. It was quite uncomfortable.
Behind me, I heard a splash. The one man taking lessons fell in as he attempted to stand.
Throughout the lesson, he probably fell in half a dozen times.
As we paddled toward an alcove where the water and wind were calmer, the instructor, Bill, and I chatted. I told him I'd been afraid that I wouldn't be able to stand up.
"Was that your biggest fear?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I'm nervous about getting back on the board if I fall."
My son Spencer, who has an impressive set of muscles and upper-body strength, told me that it's hard to get back on the board. If he had a hard time, I'd be doomed.
Just as I voiced these fears, I wobbled and fell.
"Fall away from the board," Bill called as I slammed straight onto the board and then rolled off the side into the murky river.
"Just throw your body over the center of the board," Bill said. And I tried, but something kept me from moving farther.
The life jacket had a clip on it, like a clothespin, caught on the handle of the board. It took me a few maneuvers to get that free before I could pull myself onto the board, then pivot so I lay flat on the board. Next I moved to kneel on the board. I removed my shoes this time and pinned them under some bungee cords at the front of the board.
Finally, I stood again.
I had done it. I'd fallen in and been able to get back up.Proudly, I can tell you that is the only time I fell.
The lesson continued as Bill showed us how to do turns. we ended up paddling to a cove off the river where the water is about 45-feet deep because they dredge sand from there. We paddled into shore and took a break.
Might feet were tired from standing on them for 50 minutes straight without shifting. It felt good to walk around on the sand, to stand on my tiptoes, then my heels.
That's when Bill told me the lesson lasted two hours. I felt bad thinking of Grace back in the parking lot waiting for me. But she had a magazine and a book and a coffee, plus I couldn't do anything about it.
At 9:50 a.m., we began the trip back to the marina.
The trip down the river had been effortless. The river ran that direction and the wind was at our back. The return trip was brutal. The wind picked up and whistled sharply past my ears as I paddled endlessly for an hour and a half.
Everyone else seemed to be able to move much more quickly than I did. My board was different, so maybe I had the equivalent of a mountain bike while everyone else had road bikes. Or maybe my paddling was as efficient as everyone else's. I soon fell behind. Bill would hang back occasionally to wait for me.
I tried to watch the others and keep up stroke wise, but my paddling didn't move me forward as quickly. The other guy fell off his board a couple of times and got back on but I still didn't catch up with him.
Here's a video Grace took. At the end, you can tell as she pans over to the marina, that she didn't have high hopes I would get there either.
At 11:30, I finally reached land. My feet felt numb and my palms were bright red with blisters forming along my pointer finger and thumb where I'd paddled.
Somewhere, during that two and a half hour jaunt, I felt a familiar sensation of wanting to be finished. I recognized it from the long runs I'd done, or even the overzealous bike rides.
Hot, sweaty, ready to be finished.
To add to the misery, I'd been on a juice fast and had eaten no solid food for two weeks. My body had no reserves to pull from. I made sure to eat some protein that day, trying to stock up on what had been depleted in the two and half hour exercise.
I'll definitely try paddleboarding again.
I can see how it can be a beautiful, contemplative experience, especially if I was by myself and could determine how far I went and how long I paddled. Being with a group and feeling like I held the group back made the experience not as fun.
And the trip itself was too much for the first time.
Alone though, I might have more fully appreciated the elegant white egret stalking its prey in the shallow waters; the gray waters flowing below me; the occasional fisherman throwing out a net to pull in bait fish; and the search for frolicking gray/black fins of dolphins that venture up the river.
Every Tuesday, Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea posts the first paragraph of her current read. Anyone can join in. Go to Diane's website for the image and share the first paragraph of the current book you are reading.
This week I hope to start Lisette's List by Susan Vreeland. You may know her from the novel The Girl in Hyacinth Blue.
Here's the intro:
1937 Amid the crowd of travelers darting in front of the Avignon train station, the delivery boys on ancient bicycles swerving between children and horse carts, and the automobile drivers honking their horns. Andre stood relaxed, eating an apple from a fruit stand. Meanwhile, I paced in a tight circle around our carpetbags, our valises, and our crates filled with everything we could take with us from our apartment in Paris, plus the tools from his workshop, plus the dream of my life sacrificed. "Are you sure we're in the right place?" I asked. "Yes, Lisette," Andre plucked a broad leaf off a nearby plane tree and laid it on a cobblestone. He touched my nose with his index finger and then pointed to the leaf. "He'll park right there. On that cobblestone. Just watch." He squeezed my hand. "In the south of France, things happen as they should."
Oh, did I mention that it is set in France? Another attraction for me.
Looking forward to seeing what everyone else is reading.
Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
Today, I went paddle boarding on the Cape Fear River in North Carolina.
You might be scratching your head about how this relates to Dreaming of France, but I realized that I've accomplished all of the things on my Dream List, except for moving to France.
We found out this week that Earl is keeping his job at the newspaper, so our plans to sell our house and take off for France have been put on hold for a while. I wrote about these worries earlier this summer in the post France Dreams Coming True.
Knowing my husband will keep his job is a good thing. We're more in charge of our destiny now since we get to decide when we move to France rather than moving because of a job loss.
We still plan to take our next adventure, but we are putting it off probably until next autumn. That will give us the chance to get a second kid through college.
With that in mind, we hope to visit France for the month of May next year to visit different areas and determine where we want to live.
Maybe we'll end up with a house like thin in the Vaucluse, near Provence.
I hope everyone else's dreams of France are coming true, and I do plan to update my dream list so that I can keep having new experiences.
Hey there folks! This is Grace guest blogging while Mom is in charge of driving Paolo the Fiat through West Virginia. We're traveling to North Carolina today so we figured we'd take you along with us on our fabulous adventures.
Dad helped us pack up the car, probably eager to see us go so he could watch tv that doesn't involve a wedding plot or fashion.
Tupi the cat was in charge of all preliminary checks on the stone blocks by the garage. It didn't actually have anything to do with the trip but he felt the need to do it anyway.
We're looking and feeling awesome!! Can't wait for a long weekend full of beachy fun.
And we're off! We'll post some new updates once we're sure Paolo can make it through the mountains.
Click on the picture above to go to the blog tour info.
Today I'm reviewing The Sisters of Versailles by Sally Christie for FranceBookTours.
Everyone knows about the Palace of Versailles and its sumptuousness, so setting a novel there insured that the reader would be steeped in French history. Some might expect a novel set in Versailles would focus on the Sun King, Louis IV, but this one centers on the time of Louis XV in the 18th century, and it's based on a true story about four of five sisters who became mistresses of the king.
The five sisters take turns telling their stories.
At the beginning, I worried as each sister told a similar story, but as the pages turned, their language became more individualized and in-depth.
They quickly moved from their childhood nursery to marriage and to Versailles where more adventures began.
Here's where the shenanigans with the king begin as told by Louise, the oldest of the sisters:
The music stops, and suddenly the meaning of this meeting becomes clear. "You wish my help in finding the king a mistress?" I say, looking between the two charmers.
Fleury looks at Charolais, who makes a small grimace, as if to say, I told you so. She turns back to me with a dazzling smile. "You are very perceptive, dear Louise. As always. It is true in a way that we wish you help, and who better to help us than the one we wish would help us the most?"
I am not sure I understand. At Versailles in such situations, it is always best to remain silent.
Fleury steps in: "I think we need to talk plainly, and simply. Clearly, Louise, we think you should be the king's mistress. For the king, and for France."
Louise is an innocent and falls in love with the king, but some of her sisters have other motives as they weasel their way into the bed of the king.
The novel definitely kept me reading and I'd recommend it to anyone who enjoys France or historical novels.
Make sure you scroll down to the bottom of the post to get a chance to win a copy of the novel.
SYNOPSIS
A sumptuous and sensual tale of power, romance, family, and betrayal centered around four sisters and one King. Carefully researched and ornately detailed, The Sisters of Versailles is the first book in an exciting new historical fiction trilogy about King Louis XV, France’s most “well-beloved” monarch, and the women who shared his heart and his bed.
Set against the lavish backdrop of the French Court in the early years of the 18th century, The Sisters of Versailles is the extraordinary tale of the five Nesle sisters—Louise, Pauline, Diane, Hortense, and Marie-Anne—four of whom became mistresses to King Louis XV. Their scandalous story is stranger than fiction but true in every shocking, amusing, and heartbreaking detail. Court intriguers are beginning to sense that young King Louis XV, after seven years of marriage, is tiring of his Polish wife. The race is on to find a mistress for the royal bed as various factions put their best feet—and women—forward. The King’s scheming ministers push Louise, the eldest of the aristocratic Nesle sisters, into the arms of the King. Over the following decade, she and her sisters—ambitious Pauline; complacent Diane, and cunning Marie Anne—will conspire, betray, suffer, and triumph in a desperate fight for both love and power.
The Sisters of Versailles is a treat through and through – the characters are witty and engaging and come together to create an undeniable page-turner. Sally Christie has a wonderful sense of pace and the book unfolds in front of you like a delicious gift. Even as the scandals pile up and the intrigue mounts, you can’t help but fall in love with these sisters and their competing infatuations with the King.
In the tradition of The Other Boleyn Girl, The Sisters of Versailles is a clever, intelligent, and absorbing novel that historical fiction fans will devour. Based on meticulous research on a group of women never before written about in English, Sally Christie’s stunning debut is a complex exploration of power and sisterhood—of the admiration, competition, and even hatred that can coexist within a family when the stakes are high enough.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sally Christie was born in England of British parents
and grew up around the world,
attending eight schools in three languages.
She spent most of her career working in international development
and is currently settled in Toronto.
A life-long history buff who wishes time travel were a real possibility
—she’d be off to the eighteenth century in a flash!
The Sisters of Versailles is her first novel.
Learn more about the sisters and the mistresses in the Versailles trilogy on her websiteBecome a fan to hear about her next novels!
Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it
Almost everyone headed to France, and other places too, land in Paris at Charles de Gaulle airport. If you're going on to other places in France or in Europe, you may take the long trek from the air terminals to the train station. They're all connected.
We pulled our wheeled suitcases behind us and weaved around groups of people who stood still, wondering which way to go to find a taxi. The same walk will take people to the local trains that ferry them into the heart of Paris.
When we traveled with the kids, we caught a bus that took us to the train terminal. Now, it's just easier to walk.
Once we got there, we saw this list of trains leaving Paris.
The trains from Paris go everywhere!
We had an hour or so before our train to Aix en Provence left, so we headed up to a local boulangerie, which is right there in the train station.
This is a chain now, and the food doesn't compare to what you might get at a local boulangerie anywhere in Paris or smaller cities around France. But to us weary travelers, what an opportunity to settle down and enjoy a few pastries.
This is a chausson pommes -- apples folded under that lovely sugary crust.
And this is a tart sucre. A sugar tart.
And these pastries say welcome to France. I wonder how long it will be before I get to try these kinds of pastries again.
Thanks for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave a comment and visit each other's blogs, too, so you can get your fix of France dreams.
I'm generally the kind of person who has big ideas, but thinks them through for quite a while. That means, that nothing may come of my big idea.
I can't explain it, but for a few months now, I have been wanting to try paddle boarding. Particularly, stand-up paddle boarding. Like this girl:
I don't think I'll look like this girl on the paddle board, but I hope to be able to stand up.
I'd been thinking that we should go to the beach somewhere to try it. But I work Mondays and Fridays starting next week and I get very little time off, which I need to save in case I'm actually sick. So we do not have time to drive to an ocean, 8-9 hours from here, learn to paddle board and drive back on a Saturday and Sunday.
But Labor Day is approaching. I know that Earl works, but Grace is starting a new job, so she can take a few days off in between.
I mentioned it to her, and, although she feels bad about leaving her old job early, I convinced her to come along.
I asked my cousin who lives in Charleston whether she would be home that weekend. No luck.
Instead, I booked a hotel in North Carolina for three nights, and I've already made my reservations for the stand-up paddle board lesson on Sunday morning.
It's so impetuous of me. I thought about it. I made the reservation without torturing myself.
I'm thrilled, and a little scared.
Now to find out what kind of exercise I should be doing to get ready for paddle boarding. I suspect I'll need to do more planks!
We've enjoyed a brief autumn-like spell here. Since I love the fall I'm thrilled.
The other morning, I let the cats outside, and I noticed the older one, the hunter, was lying on the grass with his paws beneath him. I thought he might have captured something, a bunny, a squirrel, a bird, so I walked out to see if I could save a creature from him. He didn't have an animal, but was just cold.
As I stood there in the grass beside him, I heard a honking noise. The younger cat and I both looked up at the sky. The younger cat definitely feared whatever made that noise. But after a few more sounds, I saw seven geese flying in formation and heading south.
Since it is still August, that made me worry a bit. It definitely gave me flashbacks to The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder:
"Not a goose nor a duck on the lake. None in the slough. Not one in sight. They are flying high above the clouds, flying fast,” Pa tells the family after coming back from what should have been a productive hunting trip in the fall. “Every kind of bird is going south as fast and as high as it can fly…And no other kind of game is out. Every living thing that runs or swims is hidden away somewhere. I never saw country so empty and still.”
But that chilly morning, the temperature was 55 degrees, gave me the opportunity to put on a new sweater that I'd ordered sometime since the spring. I had to walk to the post office to mail some books, so I put the loose knit sweater over a camisole, and enjoyed the warmth, until I got home and was too warm.
Then I put it away until autumn really and truly comes.
Every Tuesday, Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea posts the first paragraph of her current read. Anyone can join in. Go to Diane's website for the image and share the first paragraph of the current book you are reading.
This morning the library notified me that I had a knew download available. I love getting a library book through email. I clicked on the link then clicked on download and there it was on my Kindle.
This time I received The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George. Anyone who knows my obsession with France will know why I 'm excited about this book.
The bookshop proprietor doles out books like a pharmacist does medicine. He knows how to heal anyone's emotions, except his own.
Here's the intro:
How on earth could I have let them talk me into it?The two generals of number 27 Rue Montagnard -- Madame Bernard, the owner, and Madame Rosalette, the concierge -- had caught Monsieur in a pincer movement between their ground-floor flats. "That Le P. has treated his wife shamelessly." "Scandalously. Like a moth treats a wedding veil." "You can hardly blame some people when you look at their wives. Fridges in Chanel. But men? Monsters, all of them." "Ladies, I don't quite know what..." "Not you of course, Mosieur Perdu. You are cashmere compared with the normal yarn from which men are spun."
Sounds like these ladies are masters of figurative language.
Looking forward to seeing what everyone else is reading.
Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
As the summer wanes here, I figure the same thing must be happening in the South of France. The cicadas are buzzing and people are squeezing every bit of sun out of the days of August.
When Earl and I visited the South of France in March, people had already taken to the water to enjoy life on the Mediterranean.
We visited the Calanques, like fjords except located in the South of France rather than in Norway, and they aren't icy. The calanques are located between Cassis and Marseille.
As we hiked along the stone formations, we came up on a marina protected by high, rocky walls.
And we saw a young woman getting an early start on her tan. Earl took this picture so it would artfully hide the parts that many in the South of France have no problem exposing.
Hope everyone else in the Northern Hemisphere enjoys a warm and peaceful end to their summer.
Thanks for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave a comment and visit each other's blogs, too, so you can get your fix of France dreams.
Join West Metro Mommy for this weekly meme of photos people have taken and share on their blogs.
Friday evening, I went to the first same-sex marriage that I've attended. The Supreme Court ruling in June made same-sex marriage legal in Ohio.
Grace and Tucker had a swim coach in high school who lived with her partner. The two had been married before in another state, before a court had struck down that state's marriage law.
Now, they are married in Ohio and throughout the country.
The two walked down the aisle holding hands with their 12-year-old daughter.
On the way back down the aisle, with her parents married to each other, tears dripped down their daughter's cheeks.
I thought nothing else about the fact that two women married each other, until Earl and I were leaving, after eating, drinking and dancing.
We stopped to congratulate Leslie.
"You two have always been lovely to us," she said.
That's when it struck me that there must have been others who weren't lovely to them. People who judged them or shut them out because they were two women in love with each other.
That made me so sad.
I hope that one day soon, the expectation will be that everyone treats each other with respect, no matter what kind of relationship they're in .
Before I start to sound like a privileged whiner (after reading my previous post), let me just say how grateful I am to have my parents around.
I realize as I kvetch about petty details, that many of my friends no longer have their parents to complain about.
So last night, Dad and I took a ride around the golf course. Dad had made margaritas before dinner, so we both carried one along with us.
He usually plays in the golf league that was going on, so he searched for his cronies who were able to be on the links while he was laid up with a cast on his foot, trying to heal an infected sore.
Although the heat is nearly unbearable in most places in Florida, riding along the golf course, the grass and trees helped bring the temperature down, and rather than the usual afternoon showers, a nice breeze had kicked up.
I took a selfie of the two of us.
And I hope it helps me to remember how lucky I am to spend time with him and with Mom.
No matter my age, when I visit my parents, I'm a child. So I should have anticipated that there would be some resistance to a trip where I planned to help them out.
Dad has had an ongoing battle with a wound on his foot that won't heal. This follows on the tracks of sciatic pain and a bout of salmonella that sent him to the hospital. It has definitely been a challenging year for him at age 78.
The sore on his foot is a problem because he is diabetic. They're going to do surgery to unclog some arteries so he gets better circulation and meanwhile, he's spending two hours, five days a week in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber, or as I tell the kids, the chamber of secrets.
Mom and Dad are reluctant to accept my help. Dad wants to hold the door for me when we get in the car. Mom wants to make me a protein shake after I run.
They apologized a dozen times that I had to take the trash out.
I drove Dad to the chamber yesterday while Mom played golf. She was meeting us at the doctor.
Although Dad claimed he could get changed on his own, stretching his shorts over the cast and pulling on scrubs before putting the walking boot back on, he seemed agitated when mom showed up. He wouldn't let me help him get changed.
The one thing I've learned is that if I want to be helpful then I just need to do whatever my parents want. Church where the prayer includes comments about the election and "taking our country back" -- no problem. Switching to the lane Dad suggests and driving at the speed he usually drives at -- okay. Leaving an hour early for a doctor appointment that is 30 minutes away -- I'm ready.
Drink a protein shake, eat the melon they left out for me -- I'll try to just smile and go along with it.
Going to the oxygen treatment turns out to be a 4-hour odyssey. But they're both being fairly calm about it, and truthfully, they don't need my help. I just want to feel useful, as if I can take some of their burden away.
So while Dad was in the oxygen treatment today, Mom and I went to have our nails done.
And this morning after I ran, I enjoyed a dip in the pool.
I've gotten to spend good time with both of them, so maybe that's the most I can hope for.
Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
What do you do first when you visit France?
For us, on our last trip, we hopped right on the train to Aix en Provence. Our friend Delana picked us up at the train station and dropped us at our hotel on Cours Mirabeau and we agreed to meet for a drink in a nearby plaza.
The theme that night must have been red, because here I am, drinking a kir royale which is a lovely scarlet color.
Maybe the color rubbed off on the other pictures because the other pictures from the square there look red as well.
For me, this was one of our easiest transitions, probably because we were entertained by Delana and her friend Patrick. We stayed awake and entertained until late in the evening as we moved to a Moroccan restaurant and enjoyed a fulfilling meal followed by mint tea, instead of our usual arrival in France which finds us dragging along counting the hours until we can fall in bed.
What a lovely start to a visit in France. I hope that it is always this delightful.
Thanks for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave a comment and visit each other's blogs, too, so you can get your fix of France dreams
I'm on a short visit to my parents' house in Florida, and one of my favorite things is my first run. The scenery is so strikingly different from the my usual runs in Ohio.
When I woke up, late for me, at 6:41 a.m., I was surprised that the sun wasn't up yet. But I had to remind myself that during the summer, the sun is positioned in the north. I had time to get up and get dressed for a run as the sun rose.
I could hear the Sandhill Cranes calling out a warning and I looked around nervously for the big loud birds that travel in packs, but I didn't see any.
It's the time of year in Florida when thunderstorms strike every day, usually in the afternoon, but the way the clouds were building up this morning, I wouldn't have been surprised to see a thunder storm brewing in the morning.
As I ran on around the lake, I saw that some fishermen had gotten a jump on me that morning as they were already casting while the sun rose behind the clouds.
I followed my run with a dip in the pool, which is again, something that I don't get at home.
Lovely to spend time with my parents and to soak in the beautiful scenery.
So, I sat down to write a complaining blog about a recent trip to the salon, but I'd better start out with the positive news.
My youngest son has decided to return to college. He is re-enrolled and has an apartment. He just needs to firm up classes and get a job. Those of you who have listened to my worries on this topic, know it is a relief, or it will be once everything is settled and he moves to his apartment next Friday. Then we'll keep our fingers crossed until he completes the semester and earns passing grades.
Our other concerns, like whether my husband will keep his job as the newspaper reorganizes under its new owner, continue to hang over our heads, but we're feeling hopeful.
On to my hair debacle. I'm sitting here for an hour with a plastic bag over my head and a deep conditioner on my hair in an attempt to save it.
A week ago, I went to Aveda Nurtur to have my roots and highlights done. The hairdresser was new at the salon. She decided to do an all over color first. After she washed it, she did the highlights. The entire process took three hours, rather than the usual two hours. As I sat there, I got more and more fidgety. I had papers to grade and never got a big chunk of time to get them done as someone kept checking my hair or washing it or rinsing it.
When I finally finished the color process, another stylist dried my hair. As she laboriously pulled a round brush through my curly hair, trying to straighten it, I told her that a flat iron was really the only thing that took the curl out of my hair.
"Oh, I could do that, but it would cost an extra $10," the stylist said.
That pissed me off. Why shouldn't I leave the salon with my hair actually styled the way I want. I felt like I was on one of those airlines that charge extra for peanuts and seatbelts and carry-on bags.
I walked home from the salon and fixed it. That infuriated me, since I'd paid over $100 to have my hair done, coming home and to flatiron it myself felt ridiculous.
I thought about writing a note to the salon to complain, but as the days went past, I dropped it. Until I started noticing that the hair on my bangs and around my face that had been highlights were crinkly and breaking. The highlights had basically fried my hair.
I stopped at the salon yesterday and they gave me a tiny little cup of conditioner and suggested I try a deep condition which should take care of it.
And that's why I'm wasting another hour sitting with my hair in a plastic bag and determining that the price to have my hair colored and styled was a complete waste this week.
This family selfie is the only picture I have of myself after my recent trip to the salon.
But I did get a photo of two of the kids plus my husband dressed up for a wedding.
