Tag Archives: Grandmas

Abandoned Apple Farm

My Facebook friends have already seen some of these pictures, so I apologize to them for posting stuff they’ve already seen.

When I was a little girl, my mother took my brother and me to this apple farm every year to get our Halloween pumpkins. It was awesome and the inside of the store smelled like apples. I’ve thought of it often over the years, so a few weeks back, my husband and I took a drive out to see if it was still standing. It was. Sort-of.

The store.
The store.
Old Mrs. Fagley's spot.
Old Mrs. Fagley’s spot.

Right next to the fireplace, beside that white pillar that you see, the grandma of the family sat. She reminded me of a Russian fairy tale grandma. She was always bundled up, and working on some kind of crafty thing. She never looked up. If I am remembering it correctly, she smoked a pipe. I was simultaneously fascinated and terrified of her. I wanted to talk to her, but I was too little to have the guts to do it.

Abandoned books and an apple sticker.
Abandoned books and an apple cider sticker.

If the books hadn’t been so moldy and gross, I would have liberated them from their depressing captivity. As it was, I had to leave them behind. A sad state of affairs for a book lover such as myself.

Freezer door.  Beautiful.
Freezer door. Beautiful.
What was BEHIND the beautiful freezer door.  Scary, scary, scary.  Didn't linger here...
What was BEHIND the beautiful freezer door. Scary, scary, scary. Didn’t linger here…

Speaking of abandoned books. I love this photo. So simple, so bleak.

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I think that’ll have to do for this post. I have a lot more pictures from this day. I’ll have to do another post with some of them another day. Don’t wanna bore ya.

Have a beautiful day, send positive vibes into our troubled world and be kind to someone. ūüôā

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Why Do People Look Younger Today Than Saaay, My Parent’s Generation

I have been trying to unlock the secret to eternal youth just like everybody else and I think I know where it lives.¬† In the Clairol¬†or Loreal Paris, hair dye box.¬† It also lies with well styled hair.¬† Whether it’s short or long, matters less than it having some layers.

Back in the day, I remember thinking my Grandma was about a hundred years old.¬† She lived in a tiny little Grandma house with a chenille bedspread and a black couch with little shiny silver, pokey threads coming out of it.¬† She baked cookies with too many eggs in them (yuck), her Thanksgiving stuffing was slimy and came out of the turkey’s butt (yuck) and her Christmas tree was silver with a rotating color wheel behind it (weird).¬† She was a nice lady, but between the cat glasses and the short gray hair that was fashioned into a fascinating hard-ish cap of curls, she seemed REALLY old.¬† I recently realized that she was only in her mid-fifties.

TODAY, when you see a woman in her mid-fifties, more often than not, she is in jeans, with beautifully styled and beautifully colored hair.¬† She is wearing make-up.¬† She is usually carrying some kind of fancy purse and wearing flip-flops.¬† My grandma would’ve died rather than wear jeans or flip-flops.¬† Women that age today wear pretty colors and sparkly stuff.¬† They go out with friends to bars and restaurants, not necessarily bingo at church.

My Grandma became a Grandma and immediately started playing the part.¬† Women today become Grandmas and go, “WOW, I’d better step up my game.¬† I have to keep up with these little kids when they come over and when they are gone, I’m gonna PARRTAAAY!!”¬† So they get a nice swingy¬†little cut and a lovely shiny new hair color, and suddenly, they look 30, 35 at the most and they start having fun again.

I started coloring my hair vigorously while preggers¬†with my daughter.¬† Yeah, yeah, it’s bad for the baby, whatever, she came out fine.¬† She was sucking me dry and my hair started to get gray.¬† Wasn’t gonna have it, so I started coloring it.¬† I am naturally a blondie.¬† I was a lot blonder¬†when I was a little kid and it kind of faded and darkened over the years (especially after the baby), so I experimented.¬† I have been really blonde, sort-of blonde, dark red, dark brown (those were bad), strawberry blonde, caramelly¬†blonde, blondish¬†with highlights, blondish¬†with low lights.¬† I am currently¬†strawberry blonde underneath, which fades to a light caramelly¬†blonde with blonder¬†highlights on top.¬† It’s pretty.¬† I get lots of compliments.¬† And it’s long.¬† And layered.¬† When a Mom I’ve known¬†for a number of years recently was having a conversation with me and I told her how old I am (forties) she said, “I didn’t know you were that old!¬† I thought you had your daughter as a teenager!”¬† HAHAHAHAAAA!!¬† “It’s the hair” I told her.¬† “Cut it off, get me a perm and let it go streaky gray and you’ll think I’m fifteen years old than I am.”¬† Her response?¬† “Damn, I need to get to the salon.¬† I haven’t done anything with my hair in years.”¬† She did it and guess what?¬† Instant fountain of youth.¬† Her eyes look brighter, her skin looks firmer and she is walking with a little kick in her step that I’ve never seen.

I also had a convo recently with my girlfriends about when, if ever to stop with the color.¬† My answer?¬† Never.¬† If Armageddon comes, expect to see me out gathering nuts and berries to combine into some sort of all natural color rinse.¬† Just because the world may be falling apart, doesn’t mean I have to.

SO, the next time you feel like you look like you’re old and dying, do your hair.¬† Don’t go straight to Botox or plastic surgery.¬† Get a new ‘do and some nice color and tell everyone you are ten years younger than you are.¬†¬† Oh, and don’t get 1950’s cat glasses.¬† Or a cardigan with a little chain.¬† Chins up!

Be kind to one another and have a great day!! ūüôā