• Get Off My Lawn, Hair Edition

    Having enough hair, with nicer layers cut in it, is a novelty still.

    I invested in a Cricket 1.5-inch round brush. It is okay. Just okay. 

    I stand by the old-school curling iron method for my layers. A round brush is not a substitute.

    It will be fine on days I am lazy, frankly. Or less interested in actually highlighting my layers. Or some variation of lazy and wanting big, one-movement hair. 

    Round Brush vs. Curling Iron: Which is better for layered hair? The curling iron wins every time. 

    Why in the world are people more averse to old-school curling irons these days? Why have we lowered our standards? I get that we’re to the point that pajamas are real clothes beyond just trips to Walmart. But why? 

    The exact 1-inch Conair curling iron I used, purchased probably ten years ago now, is still available on Amazon (affiliate link).

    It is perfectly servicable, people! I’ve used it on setting 5 for most of the time I’ve owned it. I did recently learn that the turbo boost doesn’t actually help it warm up faster— it just makes it a little hotter. It goes to 25 but there is zero need in my case to fry my hair. 

    But seriously….setting it between 5 and 9 won’t kill your hair, and it’s perfectly serviceable.

    I guess doing crazy bangs between 1989-1994 on myself at formative ages paid off. Because I did learn how to use an old-school curling iron without the dreaded crimp and without frying my hair. 

    I do feel a bit like the “get off my lawn!” old woman, preaching the wisdom of tasteful versions of late 90’s and early 2000’s hair. 

    But you curling wand and flat-iron people, I don’t get you. Really. More trouble than it’s worth, and now that the curling under techniques are coming back in, apparently people don’t even know how to use old-school curling irons or fear the easily-avoidable crimp too much. 

    And as for that round brush, it feels intuitively more damaging to my hair than the curling iron, really. Can’t control the heat in the metal as well from the blow dryer, and the bristles are much harder on my hair than the straight up stationary metal from the curling iron.

    It wasn’t even that much faster a process to accomplish the look I settled on today with the brush. And for sure, the top layers are not nearly as accentuated. It’s not worth taking a photo. 

    To be fair to the brush: the brush in question that I purchased is absolutely fine quality. I will keep it.

    My point is more obvious with my stylist who cut the beautiful layers. When we were discussing styling, she didn’t ask if I had a curling iron. She asked if I had a round brush. And worse: she used a flat-iron on my hair when she styled it herself, which did nothing but make my already mostly straight hair straighter. It did nothing to accentuate her beautiful work, which I promptly came home and re-styled myself. 

    But, she was mid-20s. She likely never used a curling iron on herself, much less clients unless doing a formal up-do or something.

    Back to my question, which I find myself asking in all kinds of situations, not just hair-related:

    Why have we lowered our standards? 

    When Styling Layered Hair:

    1. Curling irons are perfectly serviceable, easily learned products.
    2. Round brushes curling wands, and flat-irons “reinvent the wheel” and make hair styling so much harder, especially for old-school blowouts. 

    And, in 2026, it happens that I do pay attention but my own tastes are frequently ahead of the curve by a few months: old-school polished blowouts are coming back in. 

    Get your curling irons out, people.

  • My Cheese Definitely Moved

    I don’t care that it looks like a ten-plus year-old blog, something out of 2013. I like it. It’s not 100% done, but it’s good enough. I spent most of the day redesigning the whole thing today.

    And best off, I’ve kept myself occupied today. Abby is doing okay, but not stellar. She should probably go back to the vet and I am afraid of what they are going to say, even if she was really, really happy to see us when we got home yesterday. My dear friend of a decade passed yesterday. We made it home from Austin, and we’re back to real life. I did a load of laundry– sort of. I only cried a little today.

    It is Friday night, which means Oliver and Jared in the pressbox and Carrollton football. Fall routines are grounding right now.

    And yes, the blog looks like something out of about a decade ago, except not. And just for another day, I’ve got a screenshot that keeps my recently gone friend’s gorgeous Japanese tulip tree photo at the top of my blog for yet another day.

    But, I kept myself busy today. I didn’t spend any money, I didn’t buy any themes, and I occupied my time.

    It is difficult to figure out this season of life. It feels slightly odd: I know we have been the grownups for a long time.

    But all of a sudden, mid-life feels like we’re the grownups and there’s no one else.

    And my parents are fine. They’re independent and mostly loving life and I am definitely still an only child, with all that entails. Despite having children of my own, I am still very much a baby of my family.

    But, something is shifting. With pets we’ve had over a decade, and a friend we’ve had for a decade, going, it feels like a new season is upon me, without warning. I should be more prepared at my age for life changes like this.

    I knew life would be different this school year. Both Porter and Liam are gone to college, both thriving in their own ways. My main responsibilities for Oliver are to make sure he eats, make sure he gets some sleep, and make sure he brushes his teeth, make sure he takes his medicines. Jared mostly makes sure he is doing his schoolwork.

    No one warned me that the entire landscape of life would shift, like sands beneath my feet, all at the same time. I was not ready. At all. My coping techniques are helping by a thin margin. This blog is one of those coping mechanisms.

    I turn 47 years old next week. 47 sounds old. It’s not even early 40’s anymore.

    Maybe my midlife crisis is hitting late. I don’t know. I mean, at least it seems that the worst I’ve done is downgrade from a photography business and sell off half my gear– which I am not missing so far, by the way.

    But if life would just slow down, I’d appreciate it. Just a little. Please let me just get a breath.

  • Heartache is Adventure, Too

    I came to Austin intending a writer’s retreat while Jared did his Jared things.

    And I got some things done to this end.

    I think Austin was as much about me getting away from what’s hard, as anything else.

    Abby is still not doing super well. I personally think the end is near.

    We received terrible news about another dear friend today, someone we’ve been close to for a decade.

    I’m still recovering from losing Trixie, truthfully.

    And, home life is different because Porter and Liam are off at college now.

    I think I really came to Austin just for the change of scenery and to have a minute to breathe.

    Tonight’s adventure sees backroads to Vidalia, Louisana.

    I have actually been to Vidalia, Louisiana before. I have even been through one of their drive through liquor stores, which served open container drinks, actually.

    I remember a gorgeous view of the bridge between Vidalia and Natchez, Mississippi, over the Mississippi River.

    So, we are staying in Vidalia tonight and I hope to get a photo of that bridge in the morning.

    Then it will be backroads of Mississippi up to Laurel to I-59 before returning to being a grownup, to come face what we will find at home.

    I’m not overly religious, but I do think God looks out for us sometimes. In this case, I think this is one of those times, for me. I needed to get away to think.

    Abby is stable, but I do not think she has very long, truthfully.

    And I spoke to my dear friend of over a decade for the last time yesterday.

    Nobody ever said adventure is without heartache. I think that is part of the point.

  • Marry the One Who Will Be a Good Parent and Adventure (and a Solid Marriage) is Guaranteed 

    It’s just like Jared Price to turn down an offered free flight in exchange for an extra night in a hotel just so I can tag along for a drive. Forget that said drive was fourteen hours long. 

    The twenty-four-hour drive from Carrollton, GA to North Platte, NE is pushing it for us. Fourteen hours is nothing. 

    Well, it used to be nothing. Now, it does take a minute to think about. 

    And so, Jared is off doing Jared things and I am in a nice, roomy, eighth floor hotel room in Austin, Texas. 

    I used to think about old-fashioned matchmakers, or people who met their spouses after being matched on their wedding day or shortly thereafter, and think, “I could never do that.”

    And while I didn’t– Jared and I met on Lavalife in 2003– but Jared had been on dating websites for about three years and he had a specific set of search criteria on several sites that I fell into about two weeks after I created my own profile.

    Early 2000’s dating websites sort of felt like their own versions of matchmakers, though, with their mysterious algorithms.

    Jared seduced me on the phone in 2003, before we’d met in person, with talk of his time in Israel from the 1990s. He talked about visiting friends in Canada. He lived in Grinnell, Iowa, and he, with less than a week’s notice, made plans to come see me. 

    And so, I knew: getting involved with Jared would mean adventure. 

    In the early days, adventure meant picking him up at the airport in Atlanta after he’d hopped a 5 AM flight from Moline, Illinois on AirTran to Atlanta, to spend the weekend with me. 

    Sometimes those visits ended us up in St. Simons for the visit.

    Or it was me traveling: a late Thursday night flight to Moline or Des Moines or Omaha, depending on whether we were staying at Jared’s house in Grinnell or headed to some family gathering with his family in Nebraska. 

    I’ve seen more of the United States because of knowing Jared Price than I ever thought possible before I met him in 2003. 

    Jared appealed to me because of my perhaps naive ideas of adventure. I married him because I knew he’d be a stellar daddy: the only one of the men I dated I knew without any shred of doubt would be a good father. 

    Marry the one who would be a good parent even if you never plan to have kids. It’s about emotional intelligence, trust and stability, and unselfishness and resilience, not strictly about raising a family.

    Adventure doesn’t hurt. Chemistry gets deeper as time goes on. Trust is far more important than superficial chemistry, at first. I met Jared online and I knew I could trust him before I met him in person. I was right. 

    In fact, I’d go farther to argue that initial sparks are built over time, not found magically on day one.

    I’m pretty sure it’s not the norm for people to marry their spouse because of their parenting potential. Most people marry because of chemistry or because of proximity or because of any number of reasons unrelated to parenting. But I knew if he could be a good father, he’d be a good spouse, too. 

    And, I was right about that, too. 

    For much of the past eighteen years, our adventures have looked a little different: drives around the back roads of Carroll County, GA, or sometimes up through Haralson or down through Heard Counties. Or, in more recent years, a jaunt into Atlanta just because. Kids keep you close to home. 

    The kids need us less these days though. And having reason to go to Grinnell, Iowa twice in two months, along with Austin, Texas now, reminds me:

    The adventure never stopped. 

    And, if I am completely honest: raising three boys that are exact mixes of both me and Jared in their own wildly unique ways, that has been an adventure, too.

    We’re in an interesting season of marriage, now. In some ways, and not just because of the recent travel, it feels like we are dating all over again. 

    Some people get the kids raised and realize they stayed together because of the kids.

    We’re finding that the old us that fell in love in 2003 is still there: the us to hop in the car and go wherever; the us that holds hands walking down the street.

    The us that frankly, doesn’t have to say much out loud to say what has to be said. Even if I am chatty a lot of the time. 

    On our 20th anniversary trip to St. Simons, we came up on some sorority girls on Spring Break one of which snapped a candid photo of us they wanted to share. While we were exchanging contact information another girl asked what advice we would give after 20 years of marriage and I said, “Go to bed mad.” 

    She kind of laughed and looked surprised at that statement, but I stand by it. I would go back to add the “marry someone who will be a good parent bit,” but oh well. It’s true: Go to bed mad and you’re much more likely to actually get some sleep when you need it. 

    I’ve officially known of Jared Price for twenty-three years. Almost half my lifetime. A week and four days from now is the twenty-third anniversary of the day I picked him up at the Atlanta airport for the first time. I can still see him coming up the escalator, beyond the barrier. 

    Our very meeting in person was an adventure in itself, come to think of it. 

    So, this week it is Austin. In two weeks, it will be Grinnell again. Who knows yet about the holidays; there are several options.

    So. In my case, I married the man who offered adventure and a solid, steady partnership. 

    And it is 100% okay that sometimes these days, adventure means grabbing a spoon from the kitchen and heading off to Ingles to pick up a pint of ice cream apiece and sitting in the Ingles parking lot, people-watching. Or, heading off to Aldi for some chocolate, to do the same thing. 

  • Clarion Pointe Hotel in Shreveport West Has the Best Coffee I Have Had in a Long Time

    Adventures…. I did not have to wait for long since Savannah. Or Grinnell.

    Friday I got layers put in my DIY mostly-blunt-cut-with-scattered-ends-hair.

    Since then I have pulled my old trusty old-school curling iron out of retirement.

    I forgot how walking around with a finished look can feel. I prefer the old-school curled-under look I grew up with to the spiral waves of recent years— I would not begin to understand how to operate a flat iron or a curling wand; never owned one and do not plan to make the investment now.

    Jared has a work event in Austin, so I am along for a writer’s retreat.

    We made it as far as Shreveport, Louisiana Sunday night after deciding late Saturday night that getting an early start might be prudent.

    Jared did a search and hit a home run: for less than $100 he found Clarion Pointe at Shreveport West: clean, recently remodeled, close to the airport but with a major police precinct literally next door: our first floor room faced the back side of the station. Probably safest spot in that part of Shreveport. Right off I-20.

    I have been to Austin once; when I was two years old, my parents drove to Austin with me in tow after visiting our Missouri family, to see my Dad’s best friend from high school. I remember arriving late at night, climbing steps to an apartment, and setting up camp on the floor.

    I remember Missouri from that trip too; I remember a cousin a year younger sitting in a high chair at my aunt’s house. It seems like there was a cookie we weren’t happy with each other about involved.

    Memories are strange.

    I nearly stayed home and perhaps should have, but a month ago when Jared made these plans he opted out of the offered flight to drive so I could come.

    We had no idea Abby would get sick.

    Abby is sick. First she refused her regular food. Then she was lethargic and stopped drinking much. She was just not her normal energetic self, so I took her to the vet last Tuesday.

    She snapped at the vet tech, so I asked for something and was given acepromezine, which exacerbated things after I gave it to her for grooming on Wednesday.

    She had a UTI, and has been on her antibiotic since last Tuesday. Friday she went back and was given a special canned GI food, a probiotic, and gabapentin for stress instead of the acepromezine, and we were told she could also have canned chicken if she wouldn’t eat much else. She had pretty well emptied her bowels with normal poop Thursday night but there was a lot of it.

    She downed a half can of the GI food Friday and decided she was done. She grazed at chicken until Sunday morning, when she finally had a normal poop again. She’d eaten well, taken her meds well, and had a normal poop and seemed comfortable, so we left her in the capable hands of our house sitter.

    This morning it was reported she’s had diarrhea in the night and was not interested in food today.

    If she is not better by morning, my mom is taking her back to the vet.

    Elderly dogs are hard. Abby is 13 years old. She is in good attentive care but I hate that I, her person, is not there for her.

    I dared not let Jared do a 14 hour drive by himself though. So the decision to proceed with the trip was made.

    So, adventure. But dampened with worry for my therapy dog, as her therapy person.

Hi there– I write daily about midlife, parenting, photography, long marriage, mental health, and everyday adventures.

Two-thirds of my kiddos are off at college, and I am figuring out life by processing out loud.

read more here.

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