Hair Raising?!

A good question raised the other day by my Bloggypal Pearl, started me thinking. I suggest you hop across to read her entertaining take on the subject of her hair in its many ' incarnations', as you might say.
I was tempted into sharing the following personal information:-

I have little choice in the matter of hair. It grows in a certain way, and a wash and a shake of the head is its usual routine. So although it has gone up and down like a Venetian blind over the years, and I have streaked or straightened it in the rash days of my youth, now I'm only too glad that a fair number of hairs have opted to stay in the same place. Many others decided to take residence in my plughole or hairbrush...

And I realised, that no matter what I've done with mine, it grows in a certain pattern that has remained the same since this photo was taken. There is no point my denying it.

I wonder how many other lady Bloggers have discovered, as they age, that their attitude to hair has altered.? After passing through a multitude of experimental alterations inflicted on their 'crowning glory', do they finally stop fighting nature and opt for an 'au naturel' look as regards colour and style?

I can't wait to read your thoughts on the subject!

Named & Shamed?

In my early morning Blogland wanderings, I happened upon a fellow Blogger - Bjorn. He was issuing a challenge over at The Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, and I couldn't resist a little ditty to capture his given idea. What's in a name? At least, as far as the meaning thereof relates to the person who bears it.

And as ever, my thoughts landed on the lighter side of life. So with no more ado, here is my take on the matter. It's no secret, my name at birth...nor is this hideous photo, taken some time after...

Penelope was a weaver,
according to the myth...
I could have been a weaver
if I'd studied, and then with
Dame Fortune standing by my side
I might have made a mint.
But I weave dreams, not threads of yarn
and thus I am quite skint!

My second name at birth was Jinks,
and Hi(gh) Jinks dogged my path.
I'd be the first one to admit -
I do like folks to laugh.
I don't mind being dubbed a nit,
if it is kindly done,
and hopefully this little rhyme
will disappoint no one.

With Anne, my humble middle name,
comes the meaning 'full of grace'.
Without that, I'd perhaps be sad.
But a smile comes to my face.
I cannot help but realise,
thanks to its neat addition,
that it leaves me with abiding hope -
it might save me from perdition!

Thanks to Bjorn and his IGWRT's post this fine Monday.

Flown Time

From the back end of last year until Mother's Day 2015, time zoomed...in the sense of speeding along, not magnifying to 150% of the norm. THAT might have been useful, eh?  Imagine...each day could have been thirty six hours, which would have allowed us six hours to fit in all the things we know we should have done, in hindsight, but didn't.

My computer, which No.1 Son dubbed 'Sparkle' when he first gave me the Magic Box (you can tell, I'm no Technophobe!), took it into its head to Sparkle less. This resulted in many hours of frustration on my part, as the screen took longer and longer to live up to its name.

Blogging became more of a hassle than a fun playtime, so I switched my creative urges to the world of wool and whimsy, and knitted, crocheted and sewed  to my hearts content.

But now I've invested in a new, super slim, all singing, all dancing hp screen which Sparkle rejoices in as much as I, and the call of Blogger has been heard loud and clear. "Jinksy! Come back, all is forgiven!" So here I am. Older, little wiser, but in the mood to carry on waffling again.

Must have been the delicious perfume of those white hyacinths that's gone to my head, or perhaps it's simply that Spring is in the air, and the sap is rising...