Katsumi and I went to Applebee's for dinner and then afterwards, shopping at Ross, where we looked for some new pants for him. He ended up with socks and I got new shoes. He is always so good at helping to pick things out. He also chose some new drinking glasses for me. They are crystal with a gold rim. Beautiful.
We went for ice cream and then on to the movies. We saw Beverly Hills Chihuahua. It was pretty funny! I hope you will go see it, too.
Sunday
Hope Esperanza
Laurie has designed many finely crafted pendants. Hope Esperanza was named after a dear family friend, and has a unique and dramatic style. It's natural beauty demonstrates the kind of hope that we all can have. It can be worn for daytime casual as well as night time elegance.
Saturday
As Distinctive as you are.
..your source for jewelry that's as unique and distinctive as you are.
The Laurie's Handcrafted Jewelry can only be purchased from home. She has the most creative and extensive selection of handmade jewelry anywhere online. Shop for appealing, affordable, uniquely valuable designs for yourself or as a gift. If you would like a showing of her jewelry, Laurie can accommodate you from the comfort and privacy of your own home.
The Laurie's Handcrafted Jewelry can only be purchased from home. She has the most creative and extensive selection of handmade jewelry anywhere online. Shop for appealing, affordable, uniquely valuable designs for yourself or as a gift. If you would like a showing of her jewelry, Laurie can accommodate you from the comfort and privacy of your own home.
Hope Esperanza
This piece, Hope Esperanza, was named after a dear family friend, and has a unique and dramatic style.
It's natural beauty demonstrates the kind of hope that we all can have.
It can be worn for daytime casual as well as night time elegance.
/THUID JEWELRY COMES FROM NO WHER ELSE ON EARTH IT COME FRO M THE HEART OF A WOMAN WHO HAS GROWN AND HAD LOSS, SHE HAS THE MULTITALENTED OF ONE WHO KNOWS. SHE IS ABLE TO IMPART THIS BEAUTY THROUGH THE GIVE OF THE ANBELS
Wednesday
Fiddle Sticks 1957
Whenever Mr. Banks, the art teacher, entered the classroom, my whole world became illuminated. He was the only teacher who made me feel valued. One time a pretty young lady named Miss Strauss came with him to class. She set up a record player to play music while Mr. Banks handed out our drawing materials. We were to draw whatever the music inspired in us. Some kids scribbled, some sat, unmoved, not knowing what to do. I drew a big bee hive with bees flying all around and lots of flowers. Because of this, I was chosen to participate in a new music program being offered to only a few. I couldn’t understand how drawing a picture of the bees qualified me for that special distinction and questioned Mr. Banks about it. His eyes twinkled as he reminded me of some aptitude tests previously given in which I had shown a gift for music.
“The drawing experience was just the icing on the cake.” He said. I wanted, so much, to tell him that he was my icing on the cake. But, I never did.
Shortly after that, I was given a violin and allowed to skip class two hours every Monday to attend the special lessons. I loved music, but I hated the squeaking sounds I produced on my instrument. So, I began to come to school on Monday mornings without it. I told Mrs. Rae, my sixth grade teacher, I had forgotten to bring it. She firmly said that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for exposure to the special classes and sent me downstairs to, at least, be in the room where the music was being taught. As it turned out, Miss Strauss, was the Music Teacher and she definitely did not feel there was any benefit for me to be present. She was disgusted with me for my lack of commitment to her program, and imperiously pointed me out of the room with instructions to report to the Principal’s office as punishment. Dutifully, I obeyed. It just so happened that Miss Johnson, the principal, was never there on Monday mornings. Her secretary, who was the mother of my friend, Cheryl, let me sit in Miss Johnson’s office until it was time to return to class. This went on week after week. I enjoyed getting out of regular class and was glad I didn’t have to stay in the room with Miss Strauss and the other “lucky virtuoso” students sitting through the squawking violin torture. Instead, I got to chat with Cheryl’s Mom and laugh at her funny stories.
When she had work to do, I listened to the classical music playing on Miss Johnson’s radio while I drew pictures. Sometimes, I poked around in her bookshelves investigating the latest on Childhood Education. As weeks went by, I grew a bit concerned, somewhat guilty, and very curious about how much longer the situation would continue. It was obvious to me that neither teacher was communicating with the other. And Cheryl’s mother apparently was keeping mum, or perhaps she was in the dark about the miscommunications. So, afraid of getting in trouble, I began to bring my violin to school again, even though I hadn’t practiced it. Mrs. Rae was very happy with me as she sent me off for my lessons. Miss Strauss, on the other hand, was not happy. I was so far behind the other children’s expertise in violin caterwauling, that she lost all patience with me. Every time I entered the music room with my violin in hand, Miss Strauss stopped me at the door.
“Did you practice this week? Do you know the piece we are working on?” I hadn’t. I didn’t. She wouldn’t even look at me. Just pointed. Obedient, yet perhaps a little bit smug, I headed for Miss Johnson’s office to enjoy my punishment! At the end of the allotted time, I went back upstairs with the other “music geniuses” and we all headed to our separate homeroom classes.
One warm lazy Monday, spring morning, I dawdled to school admiring all the daffodils along the way with the ever-heavy violin case whacking against my sore calf. I was surprised to see Mrs. Rae standing outside the door of school, arms folded across her ample bosom, high-heeled foot a-tapping. She scowled at me.
“Where have you been?” She didn’t really want an answer. “Get over here right now.” She grabbed my hand and pulled hard as she led me toward a big yellow bus full of kids I had never seen before. I balked, trying to hang back. I did not understand what was happening.
“Don’t give me a hard time, now, girl.” my teacher snapped. “You have held everyone back with your tardiness. Now, get on that bus and behave yourself. Make 79th Street School proud of you. Remember we will all be watching you.”
That made me feel really uncomfortable! I was so confused, I had no idea what she was talking about. Reluctantly, I entered the bus, climbed up the steps, awkwardly carried my lunch box, book bag, and violin with me.
“Give me THAT!” Mrs. Rae Barked as she held out her hand. Red faced with embarrassment, I began to hand her my violin.
“No, silly, I mean your book bag.” she said with a tight little smile, “You are not going to need that!” Then she scared me to death with the friendliest look I had ever seen on her face, as she said “ Don’t be so nervous. You will do fine.”
Suddenly I was overcome with a plethora of emotion, fear and trepidation beyond anything I had ever felt before., My body crawled with the cold fingers of shame. My mind locked down and froze with confusion. I was unable to move. The bus driver shut the door and revved up the engine.
“Go sit down!” He commanded. “I don’t have time to be waiting any longer for you.” The other children on the bus laughed. I hung my head and jolted my way to an empty seat as the bus swerved out onto the street. I could hear the bus driver mumbling under his breath as he raced through the traffic to take us to our destination while my stomach churned sickeningly whenever the bus lurched around another corner I could feel the other kids staring at me and was acutely aware that they were all dressed up in their Sunday best. And I was not. I just knew that all the talking, giggles and guffaws were about me. I kept my eyes downcast until the stinging in them began. I knew that if I started to cry, it would be the worse thing ever. So I moved over as close to the window as possible and glued my face to it looking out as far into the sky as I could see and imagined myself floating silently on a distant cloud, until the bus came to a stop in a big circular drive outside a large auditorium.
I didn’t recognize the building but I had a vague feeling that I had previously been in this part of the city, perhaps some years before, when my mother had taken me to visit my old playmate, Denise Fairchild. I hoped she would be around somewhere. Maybe I could ask her to take me to her house so I could call my Mom to come and get me. Obviously, there was some kind of terrible mistake!
The kids began to pile out of the bus. I waited until they were all gone and sat there quietly hoping the bus driver would realize the mistake and take me back to my school.
“Well, your highness,” He said, “Your pumpkin has arrived. You may disembark at your leisure!” I knew he was kidding and perhaps trying to make up to me for his curtness earlier, so I smiled politely, got up and headed down the aisle with my head up trying to play the part he suggested.
“Don’t forget your stuff!” He chided. I turned back and grabbed my violin, and my lunch box. A woman was standing in the open doorway of the bus. I was astounded! She looked exactly like Barbara Billingsly, the woman who played the mother on “Leave It to Beaver” on TV! I felt so disoriented, I began to think I was lost in the Twilight Zone.
“HURRY UP!” she commanded. I ran down the aisle and jumped out of the bus as she herded me and the other kids through a huge doorway, down a long hallway, up a winding staircase, until we came upon a stage filled with folding chairs,. It seemed the other kids knew exactly what they were doing and where they were supposed to sit. I hung back, dazed, confused, watching, and trying to figure out if I knew any of these kids.
The lady leaned toward me, “You’re from 79th Street School, aren’t you. Your group came way ahead of you. They’re sitting up near the front.” she said. “Come, let me show you.”
I had finally caught on! There must be some sort of performance! I tried to get her to listen to me. “But, I haven’t practiced!” I protested. “I don’t know the music. I don’t even know how to play the violin.”
“Nonsense! You’re going to do just fine,” she responded, as she guided me to my seat. She thought she was reassuring me. I was breaking out in a cold sweat! The other kids from my school turned and glared at me, just like Miss Strauss would have, then one by one, they lifted their noses and looked away. I wished Miss Strauss was there to point me to leave for my punishment. As soon as “Mrs. Cleaver” left, I got up and started toward the direction from which we came. She quickly interceded and put me back in my seat.
“Get your instrument out,” Beaver’s Mother admonished. “We’re about to begin!” The curtain opened as she slipped out of sight. The audience applauded as I, mortified, reached down to open my case. I picked up the violin, tucked it under my chin like the other kids and pretended to play along, as the whole group did a simple introductory piece. Again applause, and we all sat down. Then, small groups began to get up, go to the front of the stage, and play. I could see it was taking a normal progression, that my group would be coming up soon, and I could no longer contain what little shreds of dignity I had. The stinging in my eyes etched their way down my crimson cheeks. Tears careened off the tip of my chin. My body shook. Keeping my head low, I hunched down behind the student in front of me. I could only hope that no one in the audience would see me or, worse yet, be able to hear the strangled snuffling sound escaping from my tightly pursed lips.
Finally! During the next round of applause, Beav’s Mom scurried over, grabbed me, and quickly whisked me off stage, leaving my violin and lunchbox behind. I was so grateful I could have kissed her. But, by that time all I could do was great wracking, heaving, sobs. All the adults, packed like sardines backstage, opened a pathway for us. “Stage Fright” I heard someone whisper. I wanted to scream! They all looked upon me with great pity as she hurried me into the further recesses of the building.
She took me into a little room where she poked around until she came up with a box of tissues, gently wiping my eyes, encouraging me to blow and helping me to calm down. As far as I was concerned she was an Angel from heaven. I was very relieved when she had to leave me in the room by myself for a while. I was away from all the lights, noise, and attention. She discovered where Mrs. Rae was seated with the rest of my classmates and brought me to them. Mrs. Rae smiled and motioned for me to sit beside her. We sat through the rest of the performance, got on a bus and went back to 79th street school without my lunch box or my violin. Shortly after that, I took up listening to Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Little Richard and Bill Haley and the Comets. But, I still love Classical Music, especially if Itzhak Perlman is playing his violin.
“The drawing experience was just the icing on the cake.” He said. I wanted, so much, to tell him that he was my icing on the cake. But, I never did.
Shortly after that, I was given a violin and allowed to skip class two hours every Monday to attend the special lessons. I loved music, but I hated the squeaking sounds I produced on my instrument. So, I began to come to school on Monday mornings without it. I told Mrs. Rae, my sixth grade teacher, I had forgotten to bring it. She firmly said that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for exposure to the special classes and sent me downstairs to, at least, be in the room where the music was being taught. As it turned out, Miss Strauss, was the Music Teacher and she definitely did not feel there was any benefit for me to be present. She was disgusted with me for my lack of commitment to her program, and imperiously pointed me out of the room with instructions to report to the Principal’s office as punishment. Dutifully, I obeyed. It just so happened that Miss Johnson, the principal, was never there on Monday mornings. Her secretary, who was the mother of my friend, Cheryl, let me sit in Miss Johnson’s office until it was time to return to class. This went on week after week. I enjoyed getting out of regular class and was glad I didn’t have to stay in the room with Miss Strauss and the other “lucky virtuoso” students sitting through the squawking violin torture. Instead, I got to chat with Cheryl’s Mom and laugh at her funny stories.
When she had work to do, I listened to the classical music playing on Miss Johnson’s radio while I drew pictures. Sometimes, I poked around in her bookshelves investigating the latest on Childhood Education. As weeks went by, I grew a bit concerned, somewhat guilty, and very curious about how much longer the situation would continue. It was obvious to me that neither teacher was communicating with the other. And Cheryl’s mother apparently was keeping mum, or perhaps she was in the dark about the miscommunications. So, afraid of getting in trouble, I began to bring my violin to school again, even though I hadn’t practiced it. Mrs. Rae was very happy with me as she sent me off for my lessons. Miss Strauss, on the other hand, was not happy. I was so far behind the other children’s expertise in violin caterwauling, that she lost all patience with me. Every time I entered the music room with my violin in hand, Miss Strauss stopped me at the door.
“Did you practice this week? Do you know the piece we are working on?” I hadn’t. I didn’t. She wouldn’t even look at me. Just pointed. Obedient, yet perhaps a little bit smug, I headed for Miss Johnson’s office to enjoy my punishment! At the end of the allotted time, I went back upstairs with the other “music geniuses” and we all headed to our separate homeroom classes.
One warm lazy Monday, spring morning, I dawdled to school admiring all the daffodils along the way with the ever-heavy violin case whacking against my sore calf. I was surprised to see Mrs. Rae standing outside the door of school, arms folded across her ample bosom, high-heeled foot a-tapping. She scowled at me.
“Where have you been?” She didn’t really want an answer. “Get over here right now.” She grabbed my hand and pulled hard as she led me toward a big yellow bus full of kids I had never seen before. I balked, trying to hang back. I did not understand what was happening.
“Don’t give me a hard time, now, girl.” my teacher snapped. “You have held everyone back with your tardiness. Now, get on that bus and behave yourself. Make 79th Street School proud of you. Remember we will all be watching you.”
That made me feel really uncomfortable! I was so confused, I had no idea what she was talking about. Reluctantly, I entered the bus, climbed up the steps, awkwardly carried my lunch box, book bag, and violin with me.
“Give me THAT!” Mrs. Rae Barked as she held out her hand. Red faced with embarrassment, I began to hand her my violin.
“No, silly, I mean your book bag.” she said with a tight little smile, “You are not going to need that!” Then she scared me to death with the friendliest look I had ever seen on her face, as she said “ Don’t be so nervous. You will do fine.”
Suddenly I was overcome with a plethora of emotion, fear and trepidation beyond anything I had ever felt before., My body crawled with the cold fingers of shame. My mind locked down and froze with confusion. I was unable to move. The bus driver shut the door and revved up the engine.
“Go sit down!” He commanded. “I don’t have time to be waiting any longer for you.” The other children on the bus laughed. I hung my head and jolted my way to an empty seat as the bus swerved out onto the street. I could hear the bus driver mumbling under his breath as he raced through the traffic to take us to our destination while my stomach churned sickeningly whenever the bus lurched around another corner I could feel the other kids staring at me and was acutely aware that they were all dressed up in their Sunday best. And I was not. I just knew that all the talking, giggles and guffaws were about me. I kept my eyes downcast until the stinging in them began. I knew that if I started to cry, it would be the worse thing ever. So I moved over as close to the window as possible and glued my face to it looking out as far into the sky as I could see and imagined myself floating silently on a distant cloud, until the bus came to a stop in a big circular drive outside a large auditorium.
I didn’t recognize the building but I had a vague feeling that I had previously been in this part of the city, perhaps some years before, when my mother had taken me to visit my old playmate, Denise Fairchild. I hoped she would be around somewhere. Maybe I could ask her to take me to her house so I could call my Mom to come and get me. Obviously, there was some kind of terrible mistake!
The kids began to pile out of the bus. I waited until they were all gone and sat there quietly hoping the bus driver would realize the mistake and take me back to my school.
“Well, your highness,” He said, “Your pumpkin has arrived. You may disembark at your leisure!” I knew he was kidding and perhaps trying to make up to me for his curtness earlier, so I smiled politely, got up and headed down the aisle with my head up trying to play the part he suggested.
“Don’t forget your stuff!” He chided. I turned back and grabbed my violin, and my lunch box. A woman was standing in the open doorway of the bus. I was astounded! She looked exactly like Barbara Billingsly, the woman who played the mother on “Leave It to Beaver” on TV! I felt so disoriented, I began to think I was lost in the Twilight Zone.
“HURRY UP!” she commanded. I ran down the aisle and jumped out of the bus as she herded me and the other kids through a huge doorway, down a long hallway, up a winding staircase, until we came upon a stage filled with folding chairs,. It seemed the other kids knew exactly what they were doing and where they were supposed to sit. I hung back, dazed, confused, watching, and trying to figure out if I knew any of these kids.
The lady leaned toward me, “You’re from 79th Street School, aren’t you. Your group came way ahead of you. They’re sitting up near the front.” she said. “Come, let me show you.”
I had finally caught on! There must be some sort of performance! I tried to get her to listen to me. “But, I haven’t practiced!” I protested. “I don’t know the music. I don’t even know how to play the violin.”
“Nonsense! You’re going to do just fine,” she responded, as she guided me to my seat. She thought she was reassuring me. I was breaking out in a cold sweat! The other kids from my school turned and glared at me, just like Miss Strauss would have, then one by one, they lifted their noses and looked away. I wished Miss Strauss was there to point me to leave for my punishment. As soon as “Mrs. Cleaver” left, I got up and started toward the direction from which we came. She quickly interceded and put me back in my seat.
“Get your instrument out,” Beaver’s Mother admonished. “We’re about to begin!” The curtain opened as she slipped out of sight. The audience applauded as I, mortified, reached down to open my case. I picked up the violin, tucked it under my chin like the other kids and pretended to play along, as the whole group did a simple introductory piece. Again applause, and we all sat down. Then, small groups began to get up, go to the front of the stage, and play. I could see it was taking a normal progression, that my group would be coming up soon, and I could no longer contain what little shreds of dignity I had. The stinging in my eyes etched their way down my crimson cheeks. Tears careened off the tip of my chin. My body shook. Keeping my head low, I hunched down behind the student in front of me. I could only hope that no one in the audience would see me or, worse yet, be able to hear the strangled snuffling sound escaping from my tightly pursed lips.
Finally! During the next round of applause, Beav’s Mom scurried over, grabbed me, and quickly whisked me off stage, leaving my violin and lunchbox behind. I was so grateful I could have kissed her. But, by that time all I could do was great wracking, heaving, sobs. All the adults, packed like sardines backstage, opened a pathway for us. “Stage Fright” I heard someone whisper. I wanted to scream! They all looked upon me with great pity as she hurried me into the further recesses of the building.
She took me into a little room where she poked around until she came up with a box of tissues, gently wiping my eyes, encouraging me to blow and helping me to calm down. As far as I was concerned she was an Angel from heaven. I was very relieved when she had to leave me in the room by myself for a while. I was away from all the lights, noise, and attention. She discovered where Mrs. Rae was seated with the rest of my classmates and brought me to them. Mrs. Rae smiled and motioned for me to sit beside her. We sat through the rest of the performance, got on a bus and went back to 79th street school without my lunch box or my violin. Shortly after that, I took up listening to Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Little Richard and Bill Haley and the Comets. But, I still love Classical Music, especially if Itzhak Perlman is playing his violin.
Friday
Midnight Gold
This dazzling necklace was designed with with you in mind. It features midnight colored beads dripping from golden thread. A carefully crafted treasure, it will grace your neck with beauty.
Wednesday
Native Dancer
This piece has already been sold. A gentleman from another country saw Laurie's jewelry and bought this piece to take back home. His wife was fascinated with the design, and wondered at how it was crafted. Laurie's art is mysterious isn't it?
Monday
Merry Mary Crochet Necklace
This lovely necklace Laurie made and presented to me last year. Each piece she creates has a name. This one is called Merry Mary. It is named for the Joy of life and the sadness of life as both names indicate in their folklore. Therefore this necklace is a representation of the balance that those two attributes bring us.
Laurie crafted it with genuine SwarovskiⓇ Austrian Crystals. The lovely mauve fiber is so soft and gentle to the touch. You hardly know it is there upon your neck. The faux pearls accent this lovely piece of jewelry to perfection.
Laurie crafted it with genuine SwarovskiⓇ Austrian Crystals. The lovely mauve fiber is so soft and gentle to the touch. You hardly know it is there upon your neck. The faux pearls accent this lovely piece of jewelry to perfection.
Tuesday
LOL Cupboard Cat
I made this one tonight.
It already had a good caption:
details r unimportant plz just get me out
But, I couldn't stop looking at how the cat appears to be intently reading the label on that box.
What do you think?
moar funny pictures
It already had a good caption:
details r unimportant plz just get me out
But, I couldn't stop looking at how the cat appears to be intently reading the label on that box.
What do you think?
moar funny pictures
Monday
My LOL Cat
Today, I experimented with .
You know...
I can has Cheezburger?
There was another caption that came with this picture...
It said: "I tured fan off for u"
But I like my idea better.
What do you think? If you like it, click on the picture and make a comment at LOL cats, please
You know...
I can has Cheezburger?
There was another caption that came with this picture...
It said: "I tured fan off for u"
But I like my idea better.
What do you think? If you like it, click on the picture and make a comment at LOL cats, please
Sunday
Warrior Couples
This one is for Breanna, who introduced me to the most awesome Warrior series of books, originally authored by Erin Hunter. I couldn't put these books down, read them voraciously until they were all finished, and I had to wait until the next one was published, and the next, and so on!
.
Here is where you can read more about the inspiration behind this video created by a 12 year old 7th grader, who to this date has created 42 other videos. This is where you can see those other videos and the incredible artwork that goes with them!
.
Here is where you can read more about the inspiration behind this video created by a 12 year old 7th grader, who to this date has created 42 other videos. This is where you can see those other videos and the incredible artwork that goes with them!
Thursday
Victoria Gardens
The Rancho Cucamonga Grape Harvest Festival was, unfortunately, a bust. Apparently the organizers did not advertise sufficiently.It was held in a local mall, a lovely concept called Victoria Gardens. Yet, there were no signs posted letting customers know where the vendors were located. How sad!
Several visitors to Laurie's table mentioned that, and a few just happened upon them, saying they had not even been aware of the festival.
I suppose some people don't realize what one has to do to be an independent artist attempting to present your creations, and get them out to the public. Laurie actually had better sales selling off the curb the previous weekend at a local boutique sale.
There is not a mercenary bone in her body. But, at least one would like to have enough income from sales of craft items to cover the expense of creating them and have enough left over to make it worthwhile.When you consider that the requirements for the privilege of being allowed to be a seller in the Grape Harvest Festival, are stringent and expensive, one would hope that the organizers would have made appropriate arrangements for making it worth the efforts.
It took a lot of paperwork and another exhorbitant and unexpected amount of cash up front. Then, the seller is required to be on the premises about 10 plus hours a day, that is asking too much, without equal return, if you ask me. I would be exhausted.
Still, Laurie, with the help of her youngest son, and his supportive girlfriend managed to help hold down the table throughout that long weekend, keeping Laurie company and giving her a chance to take rest breaks.Festival attendees who were able to find them, were at least interested in her crocheted jewelry items, and some also bought the decorative seasonal glass block lighting Laurie had created.
Also, Laurie was able to make networking connections with other sellers. The stack of Laurie's Forever Sierra Rose business cards were all taken as well. She has already received a couple inquiries regarding special requests for custom jewelry, and one for a hand crochet shawl like the one pictured.
So, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, I always say. I can't wait to see that motif in one of her jewelry items. Lemons, that is.
Monday
Award Winning Hand Crochet Jewelry
I'm proud to mention that Laurie won third place in the Crochet Guild of America's 2008 Design Contest. You can see the complete winner's list at the CGOA site.Laurie is a member in good standing of the Crochet Guild of America.
Heather's Necklace is made of goldstone and light topaz swarvoski crystals, and chocolate and gold glass beds. Has a pretty brass or antique gold flower clasp.
Friday
Do it yourself carbon footprints
Tonight, after I washed my hands, I reached for some moisturizing cream as my skin has been dry. It was then I noticed one of the first ingredients was mineral oil. Hmm, I thought, I never noticed that. Another ingredient: Petrolatum, another: Lanolin. I looked at another moisture cream, same thing, then another.... same thing. Well, what would I expect? I buy the cheap stuff. So maybe I could save a lot more money by making my own cheap stuff. Buy a bottle of mineral oil, a container of petroleum jelly. Where would I get lanolin. Isn't that the fat of lambs?I never heard of ecology as a kid. It wasn't taught in school. Though, by about tenth grade a science teacher suggested something toward it when he explained that the earth was eroding away. The wind, the water were going to erode the soil away and we would be left with nothing. Science Fiction as good as the books my father read, I thought. I didn't get it.
By the time I was in college there were rumblings on the street about leading a greener life. We didn't call it that. We were just terribly aware of pollution and felt quite self-righteous that others didn't seem to want to do anything about it. So, a group of students protested on the Quad, and we spoke to the powers that be, and suddenly we had a "recycling program". Trash bins were placed all over campus and we were to make sure to pick up any garbage and put it there. Cans, bottles, plastic, though there wasn't much plastic beverage containers then as there are now, and all our papers and banana peels and so on. Getting the students to take over the jobs of the custodians must have been worth the cost of the extra receptacles!
About ten years ago in conversations with various people there was a lot of ridicule towards people like me who still believed in fairy tales, those science fiction myths of global warming and pollution. After all, Lost Angeles had cleaned up it's act and now Indiana was dirtier than it had ever been. But, with only two Air Quality Control Officers for that state, it was hard to prove. My asthma proved it and I moved back to California.
Well, I am way off the subject of beauty products now, aren't I. Let me get a little closer. In trying to reduce my own personal carbon footprint, I have had at least a commitment for the last 35 years in this direction. I did little things along the way. Using less harsh chemicals in my life, buying cars with less gas mileage and so on. Having soil recycle bins for my garden. But, not a big concerted 100% effort. Since Gore made things more clear and the dissenters in my life began to quietly think about his message, and more importantly their children brought the message home to Mom's and Dad's, there are changes afoot.
I long ago stopped buying chemical laden cosmetics, then stopped buying them altogether. Except once in a while if there was some thing I had to go to where people would stare if I didn't have a face on. Or, more realistically, I would feel stared at and reviled if I didn't. Old insecurities die hard, sometimes! But keeping emollients in my house is not necessarily about beauty. I've lost what I had to time. It is now about comfort, and skin health. And I am just as lackadaisical in my commitment to using it. I just go with the flow, let my body tell me when I need to rub me down with something gooey.
So there I was with the big moment of understanding about moisture cream ingredients and reached up for that one very special expensive container, thinking that perhaps that was the best deal on the shelf. It must have the good stuff in it. Wrong again. It had the same as the cheap stuff, only in different order, then a whole bunch of chemical names, and some Red dye and yellow dye whatever their numbers. I paid $18 dollars to put that stuff on my face? Yikes. No wonder my cheeks burn!
So now I sit with the dilemma. What's the best way to get rid of this product? I don't know. In some cities they collect cooking grease from restaurants to be rendered down, and then what, make topsoil conditioner? I don't quite know. But, would doing the same with this stuff, even if my city had such a program, be in good conscience? I don't know.
Well, I can admit to having made some good changes, I think. I have stopped buying cleaning supplies. You know the one for the floor, the one for the wall, the one for the bathroom, the kitchen, the oven, the patio, etc. etc. etc. Plain soap, like that green product, which I am still very suspicious of, the one laundry detergent I can afford that is "almost" green enough. Still hunting for easy access and affordability in this category. But no more fabric softener products. What is in that stuff anyways? More Mineral Oil? For rinsing the soap product out of my clothes, I use Vinegar. I use it in the kitchen for cleaning too. Kills germs, and it's proven. It's what our great grandmothers used.
So lately I have been looking at my hair. No more hair dryer. 1500 watts of electricity to fry my bleach blonde look into a haystack that needs more product washed, rinsed,
and rubbed into it before it will lay down and almost look like those models on TV. But, no shiney curtain to swish against the lights. Just a limp rag of hair, that at least isn't standing out, but still dried out. So, after having stopped the hair dryer use, letting my hair air dry. Really it is not that inconvenient. By the time I arrive where I am going it's dry. Gently use a towel for the at home dry job. Okay, so that brings me to the vinegar again. Squeaky clean rinse job. Now got to find a shampoo that doesn't have all that POO in it.So tonight I find a website article called Top Five DIY Eco Hair Conditioners. DIY, for those of us who are as clueless as I am means Do It Yourself. Somewhere among my dark roots I am still a ditzy blond.
The article was authored by Jeannine Ouellette of Minneapolis, MN, USA. She says that hair conditioner is "whatever you put in your hair to make it smoother, shinier, or just easier to comb through," Makes sense to me, and I'm willing to bet that Mother Earth finds most of the products we are coerced into buying is not nice to M.E.
Ouellette says, "Some of it, like palm oil, does its damage through the way it's harvested and produced. Other ingredients, like many of the fragrances in hair conditioners (especially musk ketones) remain stubbornly in our water even after treatment at sewage facilities.
I can attest to that. My ex husband used to work for the wastewater treatment plant and came home smelling musky... I mean mucky... okay that's my joke for the day.
Some of the alternative options that are suggested in the article start with good old vinegar, which by the way is good for dandruff! Then, would you believe? Tea. Yeah, I like that one, especially if I want my hair to turn green. But, seriously, some dark tea might take care of that old bleached look that's been needing a touch up for so long. Then, I love this idea... Olive oil. (That sounds so much better than mineral oil. What have I got against Mineral Oil? I don't know. Minerals are supposed to be good for us aren't they. But, I guess I just want to know from where the minerals are derived.) I use extra virgin olive oil in my kitchen. this would be no big change for me. The last two suggestions are Rosemary Oil. I have that stuff growing in my garden. Would love to try making my own. Love the fragrance. And last but not least, the most ancient hair dressing product in the world (that I am aware of), Henna.
Go take a look at the article and find out more interesting details, how to create and use your own future DIY hair conditioner, while you and I are shrinking our carbon footprints. Or would that be feet prints?
http://planetgreen.discovery.com/fashion-beauty/cider-vinegar.html
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