This Orkut Thing

Oh, I’ll try it. Signed up for a few communities. Can’t bring myself to contact anyone and invite them (isssh! isssh! Social anxiety! Isssh!).

It was amusing getting a teaser but, hey, it was from my husband. I’m really glad I don’t feel the need to use the service for dating.

3 Questions Orkut Never Asked:

  1. Does your mom think you need to get out more?
  2. Are you a convicted felon? If yes, discuss
  3. Can you provide a note from your doctor? If no, we don’t want to know.

There’re some fun communities in the “other” category. There was at least one for people who are unable to join Orkut.

Ironically, the red hair community does not have an image for itself. Maybe we get too much of that in “real” life.

Early Redhood

Some more photos that my sister Timmy sent, mostly taken by my dad. Most of them appear to be taken when we lived in Albuquerque in the early 60’s

I was an early reader and fan of the comics

I was also a good eater, but sometimes required help

I was quite a snappy dresser, and also a rocker girl

But being without the blannie filled me with desolation and despair.

And yes, Mom still has the blannie.

My Tribe – the Redheaded Band

My sister has gotten into the act with a few embarassing photos. I’m told that I might need to start a blackmail fund to keep her from sending the most notorious ones.

Proof that I am indeed a full-blooded member of the Phaeomelanii:


This was when we were living in Albuquerque in the early 60’s.

Since I’m wearing the headress, I MUST be watching “Roy Rogers,”
although maybe I’m cheering for the Indians. Usually I wore a cowboy hat and rode my palamino pony, “Horsey Honey” in the living room when RR was on. HH was powered by springs, not hay, and went thumpy-thumpy instead of clop-clop. And I think I yelled “Hiyo, Horsey Honey” a lot.

Jeez. Nostalgia. All the thumping and “hiyo’s” must have driven my mom nuts.

I was one happy, contented kid then – the biggest problem in my life was what hat to wear when watching TV (TV watching was all about the accessories at that age).

My mom still has most of the furniture in the shot (some has been cropped from the image to avoid giving everyone an overload of 50’s Early American decor). My niece has the rest – when we visited her a couple of Christmesses ago, it was a very topsy-turvy maple-induced deja-vu experience for me.

Paul Carver Baker, January 16, 1968

My mother and my godmother Veda walked into the house on a cold January night 36 years ago. Another aunt on my mom’s side, Lucy, was also there.

They had been taking turns keeping watch with Mom at the hospital for almost two weeks, after an aortic aneurysm dropped my dad like a bale of old newspapers at the bottom of the stairs.

Extra, extra, read all about it.

In a coma after a risky and then-experimental aortic bypass, he had shown signs of awakening. But then the hospital called with that dreaded “please send someone as soon as possible to be with Mrs. Baker” call.

And so the women on both sides of the family gathered. Lucy went to the hospital. Pop’s maiden-aunt sister stayed with me.

“He’s gone,” Veda said.

Extra, extra

I was standing at the sink with Nibby. The news broke over us like a wave.

Her brother was gone, my father was gone, a husband was gone, a brother-in-law was gone, a longtime friend was gone. Gone.

A clump of grief formed in the kitchen, and we all got stuck in it for a long, long time. Some time later, I came back to myself and realized I had been wiping my tears, and theirs, with a dirty dishcloth.

It’s a very odd sensation, chuckling sadly while crying, but we all agreed that Pop would think… would have thought it was the funniest thing ever.

Read all about it.

“This train terminates at the next station. All change, please.”
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Carrot Tops are Green, Einstein

Realm of Redheads

GOD, I wish I’d had this T-shirt 30 years ago. And most of the others, too. If I had a nickel for every time I was singled out and ridiculed for the color of my hair, I’d be richer than Bill.

And for the record, I qualify for the “100% Genuine Authentic, Rare Hare, Since Birth, No Harmful Dyes, No Chemical Additives” T-shirt, so long as the chemical additives don’t include permanent wave solution and certain recreational molecules.
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