Adventures on the High Seas

Okay, maybe not the high seas, but how about a high mountain? 

A few days ago I was the guest author at a book club. All these ladies, save one, drove what my granny would have called "a fer piece" to get there. 

You see, one of their members moved here a few years ago. I spoke at an event, she heard me, bought a book or two and loaned one of those books to the president of the book club she had belonged to when she lived south of Atlanta. 

Madam President like the book, suggested to the book club I might be a good candidate to speak at their book club, and they all agreed. Plus, they could come to their friend's house that sets on the river, eat some good food, buy some apples, and have a jolly good time. 

I was honored and happily agreed. Since I haven't been released by the doctor to drive yet, Husband had the honors of driving. Luckily, the hostess had a husband and the men folk entertained each other during lunch.

Let me back up a little. There was a car load of folks and I believe a van load. The van followed the car. Well, they were supposed to. The trip is already two and a half hours. The van full of women looked up around Ringgold and figured something might be a little wrong. Well, yes. There certainly was. 

Someone finally answered their cell phone and our hostess told them to exit in Ringgold, go to Dalton and come to Ellijay that way. Her husband would meet them at the Dairy Queen - after waiting forever at CVS, hauling the first load of women in, and taking back off to wait some more.

When the ladies finally  arrived, they explained how they  missed the turn to  Hwy. # 575. A. They were talking and didn't see their friends exit. B. They were talking and didn't like the GPS voice interrupting, so they turned it off. C. They were talking and forgot to turn their cell phones on. 

Did I mention when all these ladies got out of the car, they were all blondes, down to the last hair?

Anyway, we had a great time, I sold a bunch of books and we laughed like crazy. 

Thank you, ladies.

Blondes, unite!

Accidents Happen

Like brown hair.

My hair is brown. Oh, the agony.

My hairdresser was talking to her hairdresser about the white on each side of my head. My hair is not blonde there, it is white. What do you expect, I'm sixty-one years old.

Anyway, her hairdresser said to use a stronger tint; which she would supply, and that would cover up the white.

I reckon so.

My natural blonde is that lovely shade that they call dishwater or dirty blonde. She lightens it up by a shade, which gives me a bit of brightness around my poor, pale face.

Alas, no more. The stronger tint made my hair brown.

Not natural brown, where there are blonde, or red highlights. Just mud puddle brown. They ain't nary a white hair in sight, neither.

I will say I've washed it eleven billion times, because I read that dye fades after each wash. And now I can see a little bit of lighter hair on the tips on top, which helps some.

A lighter shade has been ordered to try to get me back to me, but who knows? I may be platinum next time you see me.

I hear there are a lot of lovely winter hats in the department stores now.

Meanwhile, I'll wear a name tag so I recognize myself in the mirror.