Foggy morning and the drama of picture day

I was born, not to the manor, so to speak with hair of curls, but with straight as a board hair. Now some boards are not exactly straight, but warped. Daddy hated warped boards. I hated straight hair.

Anyway, we took what we were given and ran with it.

Mama put my hair up in curls on Saturday nights using rollers cut from strips of two ply paper grocery bags hoping for Sunday blessings on her little undainty daughter. My hair was Saturday night fresh washed and rolled into little torture knots while we listened to the Grand Ole Opry. Saturday nights were not for sleeping heavenly peace, but li...