Don’t Be A Pin-Up Girl

While a stylist was cutting my hair the other day, he swung the chair around and, as he did, I caught a glimpse of the stylist in the next booth. Having nothing to do other than observe, I noticed that the black slacks she was wearing had been hemmed using safety pins.

As often happens in various situations, I heard my mom’s voice in my head chiding, “Don’t be a pin-up girl.”  Mom believed that after a girl passed the diaper years her clothing should be held together with buttons, snaps, hooks, zippers, and stiches. A broken bra strap meant a trip to the sewing box and the use of needle, thread, and scissors. She did not care if every other teen-aged girl in the world mended her clothing with pins. Her daughter would not be doing that. The rule was simple: “Mending with pins is not allowed."  

Over the years I’ve come across many women who apparently do not own needles and thread. I’ve seen dress fronts pinned behind buttonholes, entire side seams of skirts held together with spaced-out safety pins, straps of things held together with large safety pins bulging beneath outerwear, and various sizes of safety pins securing the hems of dresses and slacks.

Since hemming and sewing on buttons involves such a short amount of time and very little effort or skill, I have to wonder why this tacky method of holding clothing together is so often used (although I do understand the occasional emergency fix).

My mother would have been horrified at these earrings. Combine her belief that the body is not intended for adornment with her dislike for safety pins and . . .   . I can’t even imagine.

~ Earrings - unexpectedboutique


Be Very Afraid

A lot of wild animals came into our condo complex in Colorado and I was never afraid.  But I no longer have that same level of comfort with wild things.

When it finally stopped raining and the sun arrived here in our neighborhood, the shadow of a very large animal appeared on the side of one neighbor’s house. The size of that guy left me a little shaky. I took a picture though the window screen because I didn’t want to risk going out there and being attacked.

It would seem that I can no longer claim we don’t have wildlife in our Kansas neighborhood.



We have both Internet and telephone service through Centurylink. As much as I didn’t think I would ever long for Comcast when we moved to an area not served by that company, I now realize how wrong I was not to have loved them and their very expensive service.

Our new service has my searches and posts ping on a rotating basis from several locations. My IP address floats between the Kansas towns of Gardner, Topeka, Junction City, Leavenworth, and St. Mary’s. So while I sit at the same desk in Olathe, KS, every day, my blogger friends are under the impression that I’m on the move. No biggie unless maybe it gives the impression I’m on the lam.

I have become accustomed to Internet side bar advertising from multiple cities, but Centurylink’s customer service has transported me to a whole new level of frustration. After our Internet and phones went down this past week, Hubby located the company's number in our paper files and, using a cell phone, reached the company's 800 number. At the other end of the line a digital voice asked a series of yes/no questions. Then, when it was finally determined that Digital Voice could not solve our problem, a customer service representative was summoned. Within seconds Hubby handed the phone to me saying he could not pick up what she was saying with his hearing aid.

At “hello” I knew we were speaking different languages. I tried hard to be nice, and kind, and all of the things that might get a repairperson to our home. But with me speaking English and her speaking only God knows what, we were having a hard time with meaningful communication.

After quite some time, I thought a repairperson might soon arrive at our house. There was a catch, however. Before the rep could access our account to schedule service, I needed to provide one bit of information. The conversation went something like this:

Representative: “Say the last four numbers of your soseck.”
Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you need.”
Representative: “Soseck numbers.”
Me: “Do I find that somewhere on my billing information.”
Representative: “No. It’s not mine.”
Me: “I'm sorry. I don’t know what soseck is?”
(Long silence.)
Representative: “So-sool se-cur-ty.”
Me: “Oh!”
(I provided the last four digits of Hubby’s Social Security Number.)
Representative: “Now I see in your account.”

I’m sure this rep is telling all of her friends that she talked with a stupid U.S. citizen who doesn’t even know about SoSec numbers.

Life used to be much more simple.

Image from pics box.biz


Snips and Snails?

Last week I wrote, “Pretty in Pink,” which was about our four great-granddaughters. This week I'm devoting a post to our two great-grandsons. These little boys each have an older sister. I won’t detail the potential problems with having an older sister, but Shawn Binder in Thought Catalog highlights one advantage. He writes, “As a younger brother you’re able to see just which topics set your parents off and which things you’re able to get away with. It’s easier to be seen as, “the golden child,” when your sister has already given you the blue print as to where the parental land mines are located.”

As I was growing up I liked rhyme about little girls being made of “sugar and spice and everything nice” and little boys being made of “snips and snails and puppy dog tails.” However, as a great-grandma, I know that our little guys are made of everything nice.

Sawyer Brent Walker loves playing outdoors, being an Avenger, going on weekend outings, and helping bake cookies.    

Greyson Quinn Fuller loves toys, his bath, rides in his stroller, warm spring weather, and playing with his dog, Cody.

Love these precious little boys!