And what do hair and hide have in common? Hide is what you want to do if you have bad hair. Hence, another h word, Hat.
Honestly (another h word) we can’t help but notice a person’s head, the majority of which is covered with hair. Regardless of culture, race, or gender humans have a lot invested in their hair. An African-American friend told me that when they get their hair done, spending considerable time and money on it, they tell even their husbands “don’t touch my hair!” It’s important stuff.
Lately I have been considering retirement and the necessity of cutting back on expenses. We have saved money the last 41 years by the husband enduring having his hair cut by me. He may have gone to a barber one or two times but I can’t remember when. So I am developing the strategy of saving money on my hair cuts by 1) not cutting it or 2) cutting it myself. In the past a good cut by someone I trust has cost me at least $50, so I’m going to save a couple hundred a year even by conservative figuring. Having considered this I approached the scissor moment a couple of times and then chickened out. Even being not too happy with how I look at present is better than having to hide under a hat for six months while a mistake grows out.
This morning, struck with sudden, irrational bravery I started in before I could change my mind. It’s only hair, right? It’s not like I’m deciding to cut off an arm or a couple legs. And I have to learn to do it if I’m going to retire (that might be a bit of an exaggeration). I looked at styles and how-to’s on the internet. If you want to convince yourself that we care about this subject just start looking – I found my target head of hair and a progression of how this person looked, season by season for years of her life.
This cut is not a radical change for me but it is four inches shorter and believe me, there is a trick to cutting something behind you in a mirror. Go ahead, try it.
“Gone Without a Trace” is the name of a TV show of course, but I have my own list of people who have disappeared from my life (without my permission). They were important people and I really didn’t expect to never see or hear from them again, nor do I believe they did this purposely. It’s possible they are still around but I cannot find a trace of them anywhere. On the outside chance that any of the missing ever reads this, please know that I’m just wanting to know that you are still alive and I don’t mean to be a bother.
First among the missing is my one and only maid of honor at my wedding! I spent a year and a half with Karel Schmitt in nursing school. We were roommates and partners in escapades of all kinds. A couple years later, she was the only close friend who could make it to my Wisconsin wedding in January (nice timing huh?) Karel was a cute, peppy blond with an infectious smile and a wonderful sense of adventure. Maybe that’s why, shortly after, she also got married and according to the last letter I had from her, moved to some southeast Asia country where her husband’s family was starting a chicken farm. It seemed a little strange to me at the time. And the letters stopped. She was from St. Cloud, MN and had a twin whose name was Karen, I think. Granted, this is a pretty cold trail, but I have looked for her several times over the 40 years I’ve been married. She’s pretty much gone.
The second mystery is the disappearance of a beloved youth pastor and his wife. They were a young, intelligent couple who cared deeply for the people in our church and served the young people, including my own two girls, with a passion. That’s why when the church went through a very tumultuous time of change, they had to leave to preserve their emotional and spiritual health. We helped them load their furniture and clean their apartment before they moved. They gifted us with their grandfather clock. It still keeps good time and has a beautiful chime. (Okay, they said they had never liked it because it was so noisy – just not their style. But we like it.) It has to be wound every week so I think of them often. He was/is a handsome, part Asian man named Sui Shia and his wife was Christine. She was a budding journalist and writer. They both wanted to move someplace to further their education and Sui probably changed profession. He had many interests.
I am not a professional people hunter but I have the internet. That’s where most of my searching has been. Will I find them? Do they want to be found? Good questions.
fingers that play (to the beat)fingers that work (and take a beating)adjusting and healingsteering in the right directionkeeping the truck on the roadum… oh well, you knowlearningproviding diversion and entertainmentkeeping up with events on the newsetching an award for a deserving teacherready to type the next post
Fingers – think of all they do. Think of what life would be like without them… Think of how awesome it is that they obey orders that start way up in your head without you even having to think about it. We are wonderfully made! Have you ever really looked at the hands and fingers of the people you love? These are fingers from my family and friends doing what they do for fun and for making a living.
This would have to be ecology of the yard, not the university classroom or workplace. And although this subject would seem to have nothing to do with my evolving theme of “family”, it does. It’s really meant to be a torture diversion for my family up north as they savor their 10 inches of new snow. (he he he, you could have stayed down here longer.)
Ecology defined: the scientific study of interactions among organisms and their environment, such as the interactions organisms have with each other and with their abiotic environment. Topics of interest to ecologists include the diversity, distribution, amount (biomass), number (population) of organisms, as well as competition between them within and among ecosystems.
In other words, looking at the yard to see what grows well and what doesn’t, and taking care of it so it doesn’t completely bury you in vegetation. I’ve been working on this for years in the oneacrewoods. And this is the time of year where I stage for the growing season to come. Plants aren’t mean on purpose but they are. Mean.
This morning I spent four hours and got about 1/8 of the way around the house, cleaning gutters of leaves and flowers from the oaks, raking, pruning, and washing dirt and pollen off everything. Everywhere I look there is a plant needing attention and I could just keep at it for days but for the sake of a more balanced life, I’m breaking it down into sections.
As I’ve said before, we do have fall in Florida – we have it in the spring. My oak forest drops tons of leaves on the lawn, house, driveway, and garden beds. Some people like to rake, bag and send their leaves to the landfill. And then they buy mulch to keep their soil moist and protect their plantings. I’m just not going to do that 1) because I don’t have that kind of money for labor, bags and mulch and 2) ecology tells me that there has to be something good about leaves falling on the ground around trees or the trees would all be dead by now. I use the leaves as mulch and most of the time it works.
Another ecological move on my part is to quit fighting nature and grow only things that like living in my yard. Ferns love my yard. Flowers, most of them, do not. They are slug food and it’s pitiful to see them disappear one bite at a time. I also have bromeliads everywhere because they multiply like rabbits and like to grow around trees where it’s hard for me to mow anyway.
Okay, northern friends, come in and have a look at my green, growing, sunny, warm Florida yard.
Prune me, pleaseMe tooBromeliads move from here……to here.One of several mega fern bedsa huge plant finds its favorite spotRoses? not so much.
A friend of my daughter, a thirty something business associate, lost her mother last week. In an email to my daughter she said “go call your mother, now”, and that’s why I got a nice, long chat with my eldest girl. I couldn’t help but think how blessed I was, at 60 something, to have my mother and dad visiting me for the past month. I went and gave my mom a hug and a good chat as well.
And this morning in the dark I drove the parents to the airport and watched them depart to their flight. Departures. Whole lists of flights going to everywhere. I wanted to go with them because their carry-ons were really heavy and Dad’s shoulder isn’t good. I wanted to be there to help hold things, find things, zip the zippers, turn off the devices, settle them in. But sometimes departure means you don’t get to go. Then there’s that final glimpse as the tram doors close. I have that fleeting thought “what if something happens and I never see them again?”. No one else thinks morbid things like that, right?
Back at home I have to look at the places where they sat at the table, the closet where their clothes were hanging. I have to change the bedding and put the bedroom back the way it was before they came. The pain of missing them has it’s very vivid moments when I can’t avoid the fact that they’re gone. It’s a little like rehearsing for the last, big departure we’re all going to experience, not that rehearsing will make it any less sad, or easier – but maybe more familiar. It’s ok to be sad. I’m giving myself permission to miss them, for a while.
Fortunately, departures are only half of what’s on the board at the airport. We get to have arrivals too! If the snow ever melts up north, the husband and I are planning a car trip to Wisconsin to help Mom plant her garden. We’ll take Dad to Walmart to walk the aisles for exercise. We’ll help clean the attic, play us some Mexican Train, look through old letters and work on the memoirs, probably have a picnic and cook hotdogs in my brother’s yard. We’ll enjoy being a family! I am already looking forward to it with anticipation! Now that I think about it, I’m might be rehearsing something there too… Yep. Just sayin’.
I like many poems, but this poem about poetry explains to me why many people just don’t get it.
Introduction to Poetry
I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room and feel the walls for a light switch. I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose to find out what it really means.
Cambodia starts with C It’s not a country we hear very much about. Any time I had heard about it prior to my first visit three years ago was in conjunction with the Vietnam war – Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. I’m still not an expert but I know enough to have developed a love for […]
Birthday (not what you were expecting?). The one day of the year when a person should do something bold, rejuvenating, uncharacteristic of normal activity, all in an effort to offset the fact that another year has come and gone. I have no idea what to do this year, except I’d like to avoid eating being the focus. I’d prefer activity at little or no cost – the perfect combination – with a token of remembrance of some sort. Other years it’s been kayaking, or an epic hike or bike ride. So far there is nothing on my schedule for that day except semi-annual AC tune up by the Cool-It Man. I don’t know what I was thinking when they called.
one more memorable birthday NOT
I was doing something memorable on April 2 thirty-two years ago. It had to do with “birthday” as well, but not my own. On that day our family went from three to four in number. As much as we could, we were trying to keep you (you know who you are) from life-long April Fools jokes, and there you were a few minutes after midnight, cooperative as usual. Today my heart celebrates you and EVERYTHING you have added to my life. All my love and Happy Birthday (!!), Mom
There was something white on the trees, and on the ground in Atlanta this week – and it wasn’t snow, it was petals from the flowering dogwoods and other gorgeous trees.this also is not snow Atlanta was wet, cloudy and lit with a subdued daylight that made the grass and trees fairly glow with green-ness. Rain makes Atlanta smell fresh and woodsy in spite of the thousands of cars emitting fumes on it’s frighteningly busy throughways. The parents and I were there this week for the graduation of a special niece who now holds a doctorate of chiropractic degree from Life University. Kudos for sticking it out girl, and creating another do-able family event for those of us within driving distance.
We journeyed there by car on Thursday and met at the motel that evening. Family breakfast on Friday morning sustained us through the graduation ceremony in the afternoon. The after celebration at Darwin’s Burgers and Blues introduced me to the Memphis Burger. Who knew that putting bbq sauce and coleslaw on a burger would make it that good? Watching my brother and his family celebrate their eldest daughter’s accomplishment was a heartwarming family experience. Someone who not too long ago was a crazy kid is now an adult with a plan and a purpose.
Okay, and here is what really proved that to me. Being in the “older” group of celebrants, I and the parents didn’t stay up for the 2 am (and later) partying but went back to our motel to prep for our early morning departure. Elissa asked us what time we were getting up and when we were having breakfast before leaving town. She wanted “family breakfast” again and said she would be there at 7:30 to have it with us. Mind you, I was not sure this could be accomplished… the girl is not typically a morning person and I wouldn’t really have blamed her for crashing in the wee hours. Was she there? WAS SHE THERE! She was there!
Yes, yes she was!. Family breakfast was eaten and a good time was had by all, even the sleepy ones. Thank you Smiths for a meaningful, family memory of celebrating in Atlanta, beautiful Atlanta.
I Just Have to Say... 