I Hate My Hair!

I woke up to a new-haircut-hangover recently. I could write a post about my hair but I'll spare you the details. The uncertainty of life-as-I-know-it has been bubbling over lately and I needed a release valve.

I was angered over every little thing that particular morning. Everything felt hard. I had no patience, coping skills were lost and I just wanted to be angry. So I picked on my hair.

I am feeling impatient as I want to fast forward through the next few years so I can be where I hope to be. 

I am feeling anxious about my ability to support myself for the rest of my days.

I am feeling frustrated about things that are out of my control.

I am feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities of my Monday to Friday life.

I am doing my best but I am not at my best.

But, as it was with my recent haircut, I will do the best with what has already been done and time will take care of the rest.

Owning the Age We Are At

I was delighted to discover that Jamie & Paul Buchman were dusting off their TV series "Mad About You" and allowing their audience a glimpse at their lives twenty years after the series ended. I was even more excited to discover a cable channel I have is airing this comeback.

I loved this show when it was new and fresh. Jamie (Helen Hunt) is only a few years younger than me and they were living the dream I was never able to attain. They were married, mostly happily and we got to watch this brand new marriage evolve over the seven years the series aired.

I read a book Paul Reiser wrote (Couplehood) and enjoyed every word. I liked the characters these actors portrayed and enjoyed Helen Hunt's movies  in the "after Mad About You years".

I couldn't wait to sit and watch the reboot of the old series.

The story line didn't entirely captivate me so I found myself scrutinizing the appearance of Paul and Jamie.

Paul (Paul Reiser) looked his age. A distinguished bit of graying, a little heavier than my memory of his appearance from twenty years ago. I watched Paul and enjoyed his look. He simply wore his age well.

Jamie (Helen Hunt), on the other hand, appeared (only from where I sat and I do not profess to be an expert on this subject) to encompass the way I feel about aging. If I could, I would like to look the way I did twenty years ago. I liked my weight back then, I enjoyed a face that had fewer crinkles, skin that was tighter and a hair color that didn't come out of a box.

Jamie's face was taught, her body looked lithe and youthful, she has good hair ... but (in my humble opinion) she didn't wear her age as well as Paul.

I relate far too much to Jamie. She looked the way I wish I looked. But she doesn't look natural. I admire how Paul simply "owns the age he is at" and wears it so naturally.

I have looked in the mirror a little differently since this revelation.

Yes, I like the fact that I can dye my hair and maintain the illusion I am in control of some part of this aging process. But how long do I really want to continue doing this?

My sister set the bar for me when she decided to "go natural". She looks good. She looks natural. She looks right. Her youthful outlook on life, the twinkle in her eyes, a ready smile and her natural good looks (oh, how I hope that I have inherited a few of the same genes) make her beautiful.

I want to own the age I am at. Presently I am gazing at the "root situation" in my hair. I have one box of hair color in the cupboard and wondering...am I brave enough to let go and let my hair color define me?

Same Old, Same Old

I live a bit of a "Groundhog Day" existence. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the sameness, the predictability and routine of a regularly scheduled day in my life but I wouldn't mind tweaking a thing or two.

I woke up this morning, made my bed, checked for rabbits, made coffee and wrote my morning pages at the table in front of the living room window. I made my morning smoothie, a second cup of coffee and worked through my regularly scheduled word and number puzzles. By the third cup of coffee, I was into perusing the Internet which usually leads me to stopping by and blogging for a bit before the demands of the day start to nag at me. Rinse and repeat. I do this over and over and over again. It never gets old.

It is the "nagging" part of the above scenario that is tiresome. I have to wash and tame my hair. Thankfully aging provides a reprieve there. If I don't sweat or get caught up in a dust storm, my hair will last a week between washings. The frequency between touching up my roots has sped up to every three to four weeks. The style I presently sport doesn't require cutting too terribly often but I'm feeling a tad shaggy at the moment so I believe my once-every-three-months hair trimming time has arrived.

All in all, can I just say I wish I had the hair of a short-haired cat? A cat's hair grows to a certain length, sheds and starts all over again. Their daily hair-all-over-the-body washing routine could be the downfall. I'm quite certain if I was a cat, I would be complaining about the maintenance of the above mentioned hair. But have you ever seen a short-haired cat having a bad hair day? I do stress the short-haired part. I have seen long-haired cats who could use a trip to the hair salon.

Then I got to thinking. If I was a rabbit, I could change hair colors with the seasons. It would just be part of mother nature's self preservation routine. Though if I was a rabbit, I can certainly hear myself complaining about the shedding required while my hair changed color on its own. The cat wins.

Yes, I should be washing my hair as I write. Then I should go outside and shovel snow. Another repetitive task which gets a little more tiresome as winter settles in to stay. But for today??? This last light snowfall revealed many, many rabbit tracks in our yard. Either our neighborhood rabbits keep coming back and back for more, or word has got out and rabbits from far and wide have heard of the rumor that there is food to be had under our fir tree.

Feeding the rabbits will never get old. Cleaning cat litter however? Just one more task to tend before I head into the day ahead of me.

I'm back on the hamster wheel again. Another day-in-the-life is about to unfold. I know nothing for certain except for the fact that I will head home at the end of the day and settle into the regular little routines that soothe my soul. So I can wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

Rabbit tracks! Lots and lots of rabbit tracks!!
This will never get old💖

Three Weeks

I colored my hair on the same day I borrowed some books from the library.

My books were due in three weeks. I looked into the mirror a few days before the three week deadline and saw my roots needed to be touched up.

Library books and hair color. Both needed to be renewed in three weeks.

Oh, how time flies when you color your hair!!

This can be filed in the "Things that really don't matter" ...

What If ...

What if that which you were complaining about the most was gone in an instant? No warning. No time to prep. Simply "poof"! And it was gone ...

Discontentment on the job? What if one arrived to work one morning and you were greeted with your final pay cheque and the statement, "We no longer require your services"? The end.

A child who was causing grief, worry, anxiety and general overall frustration? What if they were in a car accident and didn't survive? Your worries would be replaced by grief (and very likely a good dose of guilt).

A marriage/relationship that you couldn't see your way out of? What if they walked out the door and never came back? No room for discussion. Over.

Never ending maintenance on your home? What if it burned to the ground, taking all your worldly possessions (and maybe a cat or two) with it. No more maintenance required.

Speaking of cats, what about the (seemingly) infinite amount of cat hair you cannot keep on top of? What if the cat(s) died? Sure, you'd have cat hair for a while but wouldn't you feel completely different about knowing it was the last of its kind? No more cat = no more cat hair.

You can't find what you are looking for in a grocery store? What if the suppliers stopped supplying their wares and there was a shortage or rations over what was available to purchase?

The price of gas is soaring? What if that gas wasn't even available?

You wake up with a crick in your neck or back? What if you woke up in the morning and couldn't get out of bed?

A bad hair day? What if your hair started falling out and never grew back?

A disrupted nights sleep because of an excessive amount of noise? What if you couldn't hear?

I sit here and think of all the minor things which have been taking up valuable real estate in my mind and I can talk myself down off of every cliff if I think of of I ask myself the question: "What if this problem was taken away from me without warning?"

I had a very restless sleep last night. I kept waking up. I kept turning on Greys Anatomy to turn off my thoughts and tune into a fictional story line. I kept waking up. I kept turning on Greys.

I didn't have the ability to stay awake more than a minute and a half before I fell back into a light slumber so I kept rewinding and replaying the same episode. It was the episode where the hospital was in danger of being sold for scrap and the entire staff would be laid off. If that deal fell through "There would be no money for payroll ..."

It was like I was hit by a truck right in my own bed. What if I walked into work and was told exactly that fact. What if I was told "Effective immediately, your services are no longer required because [insert any reason here]"?

I woke up and my thoughts immediately went to the list of exterior house maintenance I am having taken care of this year. I have fast forwarded my cash flow situation so I can look at the long term and plan how to afford this endeavor. The ability to plan relies solely on the fact that I earn not only one pay cheque, but two. If my income was slashed in half, I may have half the stress I'm currently contending with but it would be replaced by new worries.

Would I rather adapt to the conditions in which I'm presently living with? Or start from scratch and be faced with an entirely unexpected set of troubles?

It happens every day. People get laid off. Accidents happen. People walk away. Houses burn to the ground. Pets die. Good health deteriorates.

We often take what we have for granted. It is good to remind yourself (and by "yourself", I am referring to "me") that things could change in an instant. What if ...

My Head's Too Heavy

My head feels as heavy as a bowling ball this morning. I think the stressors within my world are crawling into my head, neck and shoulders.

I could feel the stress in my bones as I drove home at the end of the day yesterday. I was cold. My entire body tensed up. I could feel the tension everywhere.

"Relax ... you will feel the heat faster if you just relax", I told myself.

I was almost at my destination when the heat started infiltrating my bones. It felt wonderful. 

Last night's goal was to stop and get my hair cut on my way home. I didn't want to end up with hair too short or a hair cut different than my last one, so I said I wanted a trim.

Big mistake. I have to go back and do this all over again.

Throughout my hair cut, I felt the tension ebb and flow. The hot water felt wonderful. The heat of the hair dryer felt soothing. I was warming up but still the tension remained.

Oh no! There are too many bangs. Oh no! It's too long. Oh no! She's blowing my hair dry without a part. "Relax ... she will feel my tension and it will affect the outcome of my hair. Just relax" I kept telling myself. But the refrain, "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no....." kept chiming through my mind.

I walked out of the salon with static in my hair that I was unable to tame. I felt like a kid who just took off their toque. Aaaack!

My hair doesn't look awful. It just doesn't look good. 

I didn't get home until after 8:30 last night. And now I must go back and do this all over again. 

I went to bed last night with tension wracking my body. No pain. Simply discomfort, distress and a wish for a relaxed and easy night's sleep.

I woke up with a bowling ball for a head this morning. For the first time in forever, I seriously considered seeking out someone who could massage my stresses right out of my neck. 

Instead, I took two pain killers and remembered the little handy dandy battery operated massager I bought a while ago. I sat at the computer and worked on my morning's puzzles as I waited for the effects of the pain killers to kick in, while using up most of the battery power in my mini massager. "Relax ... this will only work if you stop thinking and simply relax. Relax..."

I think it worked. I can carry on with this last work day of the week, which will end back in the hair salon begging them to trim a little extra length off my overgrown locks.

Yes, the stresses in life are all balling up in my neck. I'm taking it all out on my hair. I think my hair stylist felt it.

I just want to curl up with a nice, fuzzy blanket with a pillow that supports my neck in front of our living room window. All weekend. 

Side bar: The lyrics/music of "I'm Too Sexy" keep running through my mind. If you put that music to my revised lyrics, you'll know what I mean:

My head's too heavy for my neck

Too heavy for my neck

So heavy that it hurts

My head's too heavy for today

Too heavy for today

Yesterday, and the day before

My head's too heavy for today

Too heavy for my work

No way I'm working more

'Cause I'm ready for the weekend, you know what I mean

 I'll settle in and enjoy our home

Yeah, our lovely home

Our renewed home, yeah

I'll rest my big ol' head on a pillow...

And feel the stressors fall away.

Life Beyond the Renovation

Now that our renovations are taking up less real estate in my brain, "life" is catching up with me.

My hair - it is in dire need of a root touch up and trim. I look like an shaggy old dog. This look may pass on a 30 year old. But for a person in their late 50's, who wears their stress on their face? It's gotta go.

Speaking of hair - while glancing at my reflection on a differently lit mirror, I found a lone chin hair which needed to be plucked a week prior. It was so long, I had to measure it. It had time to grow an entire half inch. Oh dear. At least it was grey and didn't stand out TOO badly.

Income tax - I'm usually right on top of income tax at this time of the year. Thankfully I did a preliminary check of my taxes Christmas Eve, otherwise I may be in for the surprise of my life. I have at least three other people's taxes to tend to so I need to get back on top of that.

Prescription - I have a three month prescription which is lovely. Three months go by slowly enough that I can usually feel it in my bones when it needs to be renewed. Not this time. As I shook out my pill for the day, I was rather surprised to find only a few days left. I got on that one yesterday.

Blood donation - I let that one slip. When I ended up with a minor case of shingles days after my last donation, I immediately called the blood donor clinic and they cancelled the appointment I had booked for February. When I received their follow up call to re-book, I was in mid-renovation. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to commit a Saturday morning to the task. That still needs to be done.

Dumpster pick up - My son had the ingenious idea to rent a dumpster to handle the outgoing decor of our renovation. He estimated we would need it for two weeks. Add a weekend onto his estimate and he was right on the money. All I had to do was to call for pick up. I finally remembered yesterday. It was lovely to come home last night and see the vacant spot where the dumpster took up residence. It served its purpose very well. We filled it to the brim. We were glad to have it but I was more than glad to see it go.

Furnace cleaning - I have finally booked an appointment for a furnace cleaning which signifies "the end of our renovation mess" is complete (at least the dirty, dusty, messy part). The removal of the dumpster along with our pending furnace cleaning eases my mind. We will be living the good life very soon!

Front door - Now that every door on the main floor has been replaced, our old front door must go. I've spent my renovation budget so this is a hard pill to swallow. But I must. This comes with the benefit of asking my Kitchen Reno Guy (and painter and all-round contractor/fixer upper) if he would like to take on the job. He is coming by this week to start the ball rolling.

We still have half a basement worth of excess I must tend to in some fashion. I'm terribly afraid this could end up like "Mom's room" - the room where memories of Mom and all I received as we divvied up the contents of her house were laid to rest. Everything has now been relocated downstairs but I don't want it abandoned and forgotten.

I need to get back to Marie Kondo and deal with the excesses which are now accumulated downstairs.

I'm almost back to where I was January 1st. Starting anew. Rejuvenated and ready to move forward. But ... I now have the added bonus of having one entire floor under control.

This renovation has given me a new starting point. If only it came with grand finale. The list of things yet to do continues to grow. Thankfully my ambition levels have been rekindled. I need to keep the momentum going. If only in a Marie Kondo fashion, where it is not about the renovation but in the downsizing of what we already have.

I am finding great joy in our minimalized main floor. Now to move that energy downstairs ...

What Have I Done?!!

I have found a sure fire cure to the dissatisfaction I feel after getting my hair cut. I cut it myself.

I have no one to blame but myself if and when things go terribly bad. Trust me. When you take a pair of scissors into your own hands, bad things can and will happen.

I was bemoaning that very fact as I was getting ready for the day. I actually said it out loud. "What have you done??!"

I had just, minutes prior, tried filling myself up with positive, goal oriented, positive thinking videos. They obviously weren't working ...

Until I heard myself ask the next question. Again, it was out loud (talking to myself out loud must be tempered), "What do you do NOW?"

Words of wisdom came to me from the reflection of my bathroom mirror (it is no wonder I have an aversion to mirrors, when I seem to find myself talking to them!).

I parted my hair on the opposite side, clipped it into place and I came up with a solution to get me through the ordeal of growing out my badly trimmed hair.

Mistakes happen. The important thing is to learn from them. More importantly, is the ability to stop focusing on "What have I done?!" and refocus on the next question, "What do I do now?"

Even a good hair cut grows out and is it is hard to replicate what worked in the past. A bad haircut? It grows too.

Now, I just must remember this the next time I trust a hair stylist with my hair.

Enough about my hair already!! Right, Mom?

At Least I Like My Hair

I feel like I've been doing an awful lot of belly aching about nothing lately. The thing about complaining is, that I believe it does become a habit. I whine and complain so much that people ask me about what I've been grumbling about as an act of consideration. So I talk about it some more even when I know I shouldn't. My troubles aren't growing, only my perception of them is.

Mom called last night to see how I was doing. She takes on my worries like her own and I have been harping on my dissatisfaction and frustrations far too much lately. She called at the end of one of my better daycare days so I was full of joy and optimism about the day, explaining the day prior was the worst daycare day ever, so "this" was good. She replied, "I thought you said that before", to which I happily replied, "Yes I did, and they keep getting worse!" with joy in my voice and a smile on my face. She asked if I was going to quit this job and I said I really didn't have a choice. That is, unless I moved in with her. She laughed and said, "You may as well..." then went on to talk of her friends who have their 50-something children living back at home.

As Mom and I chatted, I was well aware that she had recently had a few "bad days" and wasn't feeling on top of her game all day, every day. She doesn't like talking about "stuff like that" so I didn't prod but eventually she told me everything I had heard from my siblings. Perhaps with the emphasis being more on too much coffee and too much heat. But she did tell me that "I" need to be around people more then went on to tell me she had called my brother at work and he dropped by on his way home. "Sometimes you just need to talk with somebody you know?" The value of that visit, my brother's ability to stop by on a moment's notice and the feeling of knowing someone was "there" to talk with and be heard was huge.

Mom doesn't complain. She may harp on some things more than is necessary but she doesn't complain about her lot in life, her health, her circumstances, feeling lonely or any number of things she has every right to feel.

I have much to learn yet from my mom:

• Stop complaining
• Just "do", accept and be content with all I have right in this moment
• Be around people, "everyone needs that" (she said from a deep sense of knowing)

Yes, I have much to be grateful for. Have I mentioned lately that my last haircut was a life changer for me? I have a "scrunch and go" look going on right now. Perfect for those mornings when I wake up and can't believe my hair didn't survive last night's shower better. I quickly washed my hair and carried on with my morning routines. No big deal.

Life is good. I not only have a head of hair, I have a style I can manage with ease. My hair is no longer dictating my life. And this is good.

Little Worries = Big Energy Drain

I have been stuck knee-deep in the land of limbo for the better part of this past week.

The inability to make snap decisions and let things go have had me frozen in one spot with the most inane of worries cycling through my mind on auto repeat throughout the day. Then I wake up in the morning and the answers I expect to find, through my subconscious thoughts directing me while I sleep, have not come to me.

I started the week with four places of business to call, so I could follow up on that-which-was-left-unfinished at the end of last week. I have forgotten what one of the items was, two have been dealt with and filed away. The last item (which has been haunting me for ten days now), is still pending.

Then "life" happened and I seem to be unable to make the simplest of decisions.

One of those decisions was taken out of my hands yesterday afternoon. It was as simple as asking. I hate asking the person who never says no. The same person who always goes out of their way to accommodate others. And while that person is going out of their way and accommodating your every need, they also go above and beyond the call of duty. I didn't want to ask "that person" because I am already so indebted to them.

But I asked. And the answer was (of course) "Yes!" and let us come out of our way to accommodate you and while we are there, we insist we take you out for supper. "No arguments!"

Aaaaack! You just can't lose with some people. They swoop in and give more in one afternoon than you give back within a lifetime.

With that worry off my plate, you will never guess what my biggest dilemma is now. "To wash my hair or NOT to wash my hair." That, is the question.

I have reached the wonderful age of not having to wash my hair more than once a week, IF I don't use any hair products OR work outside OR stand outside on a windy day OR run my hands excessively through my hair.

I washed and colored my hair on Tuesday. Today is Saturday. This means I have three more "good hair days" left in me. But I have two social outings. One tonight. Another tomorrow.

The math is, if I wash my hair this morning it may or may not look as good as it does at this very moment. But the chances of it looking better by tomorrow are good. My hair looks its best at about "Day 3" of this whole hair washing cycle. I am trying to move my hair-washing-day back to Thursday night or Friday morning so I don't have to face this dilemma over the weekend.

If I wash my hair, I may as well turn the clock ahead an hour and count it as "lost time" on a precious weekend where every moment counts.

"This" is why I don't like to wash my hair on a weekend. The emotional and physical drain on my resources is too much for me.

It is no wonder my sister insists they take me out for supper. She knows the pressure I am under. She understands bad hair days like no other. She knows me better than I know myself and she is trying to relieve all the pressure she can. Even when there is really no reason to feel pressured.

I feel like I have been living in a pressure cooker all week. Pressure is created initially by boiling a small amount of worry inside the closed pressure cooker (aka: my brain). The trapped emotional turmoil increases the internal pressure and temperature. After a week, the pressure is slowly released so that the door to the big, scary world outside can be safely opened and one can venture out and do hard things.

After today, I can finally wipe off the very last item on my things-to-do list on the whiteboard on our fridge. This will be the first time my whiteboard has been fully erased since August 5th. Yes, I know the date. It was a date I set another "date with destiny" and my calendar has not been empty since.

I don't have the energy to "save the date" any more. I like to wing it, go with the flow, say "yes" to spur-of-the-moment decisions. This whole "making plans" and committing messes with the natural order of things. One starts to worry and fret over all the wrong things when life steps in and throws you a curve ball. I think I'd rather be hit and knocked over by that curve ball than try to hit it.

I must move and do more hard things. Now, I must come up with two appetizers to bring along with me to tonight's date-with-destiny. I suppose the crackers that expired in 2011 are a no go, huh? Maybe I'll stick with the freshly bought cream puffs and Cheddar Jalapeño Cheetos instead ...

I Cried Because I Had Bad Hair

"I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet" ~ Author Unknown

It has not been lost on me, that I have been expending an extraordinary amount of time obsessing about things that really don't matter as of late - the fact that I have not been wearing my age well, the effort it takes to maintain "pretty feet and hands", bad hair and the list goes on and on, my friend.

I have been cringing each and every time I take a look in the mirror. I finally picked up the phone and made an appointment for a full hair makeover tonight. Cut, color, the works. 

I told my stylist, "There is absolutely nothing I like about my hair. Except the fact that I have it." She replied, "I can fix that! Or I will certainly try..."

I was actually very serious about the fact that I know my bad hair days are not the end of the world. 

I have hair. I have a lot of hair. The fact that I find it unmanageable is actually quite a good problem to have. The side effect of looking at said hair in the mirror and allowing it to affect my day is my problem. And a minor one at that.

I knew this, yet I still allowed myself to focus my attention towards it. Perhaps because there is something I can (try) to do to fix the problem at hand.

I am all about "doing what is within your power" to fix or adjust or adapt to life's frustrations. I do it all the time.

I google everything. I write out many of my thoughts and try to live a life where I will not regret what I have or have not said. 

If I invest enough energy worrying about something, I do my level best to try to do something to deal with the worry of the moment.

Life has been so terribly serious. Too many people I know are dealing with serious health issues. There is nothing I can do for anyone. Except reach out ...

Last night I did just that. The gift of reaching out in a quiet, one-sided manner, is that the person on the other end of that gesture can respond when they have the time, energy and ability to do so.

Lucky me. That person called me back last night. We talked like we have talked on many other occasions. She has an ability to laugh on the outside, even though I can only assume that it may be a case of "If I don't laugh, I might cry and I choose laughter".

She is a warrior. She is fighting the good fight and it has been an uphill battle. She is certain things are about to change. It is the only way left for things to go.

An intensive regimen of radiology is on her agenda and she is laughing about the fact that she no longer has to worry about the hair growing back from recent brain surgery. She laughed as she said, "It will probably all fall out any way, so I don't even have to worry about the gray hair that is showing!"

"I cried because I had bad hair, until I met the woman may lose her hair".

I worry about the little things because sometimes I feel like those are the only things that are within my control. 

Life is too full of things where we feel completely powerless. I spoke to my warrior friend and laughed along with her last night. And it was good.

Tonight I will go and deal with my unmanageable hair. And be grateful for what, I consider to be a frustration, is truly a blessing. I really knew this all along but it never hurts for life to remind me to keep my priorities in focus.

Dirty Work

This whole "cleaning up" thing sure dominates one's world once you open the door and enter.

It started small.

We shuffled the contents of three bedrooms. We moved a few beds. I designated one room for "office"; the other for "daycare"; and my son created room for a desk which would house "his future" (more on that, another day).

With this shuffling of contents, came the collecting and donating of some of our excess.

All of this began because I wanted a separate computer for my work. This somehow transitioned into cleaning up our existing computer and transferring only the cleaned up files onto my new laptop. And somehow segued into my son claiming ownership of the old computer while I have sole access to my new one.

With this transfer of computer ownership, came a massive deleting and organizing of computer files.

This was an onerous task. But at least it was a clean one.

Finally, I shifted my focus onto the garage. The garage has not been my own for about five or so years. My son moved in and back out of the house during that time and he took ownership of the cleaning and culling of the garage while he was a permanent resident here.

Then he moved out.

I realized this week, that he forgot to pack up the garage when he vacated. I knew I had moved an oil pan, full of dirty oil, from one side of the garage to a corner of its own. But I didn't realize he had also left an assortment of other "stuff". I think he forgot as well. Either that, or he knew it all along and was just waiting to see how long it would take for me to finally clean up the garage and let him know what I had found.

It took eleven months. But I finally did it.

I am not done, but I am close. What a dirty, dusty, gross and disgusting job it has been.

I only found a small amount of evidence that a mouse has been in the neighborhood. But at least this time, I didn't find a corpse or anything to indicate it moved its family in with it. I think it left for greener pastures a long time ago.

Even though the garage needs one last "heave ho", to rid it of what I deem is unnecessary, I can't quite believe how much lighter I feel every time I walk into it.

I have been putting off this dirty job for forever. I have every excuse under the sun to justify why it has taken me so long. Some of them are even good ones.

Now that the job is done, I just want to keep on going. Except for one thing.

This is dirty work!

Add that to regular lawn maintenance and the fact that it is so dry and dusty outside that you need a shower every time you invest any time at all to enjoying this fine spring weather and I am rethinking the whole "Dirty Thirties" thing.

In the thick of the depression, there was also a drought. Bathing was a once-a-week event at the best of times in those days. As I have felt the need to hop into the shower on a daily basis during this dusty season of minimal work (compared to the word that was done on a regular basis during the Dirty Thirties), I can't help but wonder how I would have survived without an abundant supply of running water.

At least these days, when we do have dirty work to do, the ability to clean off the grime is as simple as turning on a tap.

And I complain about having to deal with the aftermath of washing my hair after an eternal bad haircut. What does my brother's family refer to this as?? Twenty first century First world (thanks, bro) problems perhaps?

High Maintenance Season

It isn't even summer yet and I'm exhausted with the extra curricular personal grooming requirements.

My first order of business was to splurge (it is more about the time than the money) and treat myself with a manicure and pedicure.

The manicure was spurred on by my mom's passing comments about my hands. When she read my post about "Aging Disgracefully", she assured me the waitress was talking to her, when she pointedly asked me if I qualified for Senior Discount (age 65 and above). I disagreed. The waitress was gazing directly into my eyes when she asked the question. That's okay. It is what it is.

Mom, in an oh-so-serious voice said, "I wouldn't worry about your face so much. But have you had a good look at your hands lately?!?"

I laughed. What can you do? Waitresses think I'm eleven years older than I am. Mom thinks my hands are older than that. It comes with the territory. I'm 54 years old and apparently, I'm not wearing it well.

I have been slathering my hands with lotion ever since my conversation with Mom. And I decided a "mani/pedi" was a good investment for my mind, body and soul.

Besides, I couldn't be bothered to take the time to spiff up my own appendages. I get distracted easily and I can't remember the last time I filed all ten of my fingers in one sitting. I'm more of a "tend to it when it needs tending" kind of girl. Ragged nail? File it down. Try to make the others match. Then I need a cup of coffee or to get rid of that last cup of coffee or check my email. There is always something.

I took my pretty feet outside in sandals yesterday. At the day's end they obviously needed to be hosed off.

I thought I would take a few extra minutes and use a pumice stone to keep my feet silky smooth as I go along, rather than wait for the calluses to form. Instead? All I did was rough them up. They are already feeling like sand paper. And it has only been four days since my pedicure. What's with that?!!!

Then there is all this "going outside with the kids" business. We spend hours outside. A few hours in the morning and a few hours in the afternoon. Oh! My! Gosh! Cleaning up "said children" after a morning in the sandbox was an exercise in futility. I stripped them down, changed their clothes from top to bottom and scrubbed their hands and feet. And we still ended up with three sand piles in the house despite my efforts.

Apparently the kids weren't the only dirty ones. When I finally shifted my focus to myself, I could see I was in need of a change of clothes just as much as the kids. I come inside at the end of my days looking like I've been working in a sand pit.

Which means my hair and body require a hose-down as well.

Washing my hair makes me grumpy. It has been a godsend to turn as old as I have become because the oil glands in one's hair settle down and I can sometimes stretch out the hair washing torture to once a week. One week of not having to deal with the aftermath of washing my hair makes me happy.

Not lately though!

Mow the lawn? Wash your hair. Clean out the car? Wash your hair. Walk in the wind? Wash your hair. Sit/stand beside a sandbox? Wash your hair.

I think I've washed my last dye job out of my hair. Thus, I need to tend to my roots!!

Egads!! Where does this body maintenance end? Winter?!?

Hmmm. Maybe I'll quit my complaining and just enjoy summer for what it is. If it is making me shift my focus towards a little repair and maintenance on this aging body of mine, maybe that is a good thing.

Hair Drama

I tried. I was succeeding. I made a valiant effort not to complain about my hair. But this is it. This is the post that has been boiling up inside of me for four full months.

My hair is driving me crazy!!!!

There. I said it. I should get over it now. Right? Wrong.

I can't help but think of the last time I heard the voice of My Favorite Hairstylist. I hear the echo of his words now, "If you want an appointment before Christmas, I book up fast. Book your appointment early..."

That was in October. I tend to get my hair tended to every three months or so, so I bypassed the busy Christmas season and was looking forward to seeing my stylist in the new year.

There was hope and anticipation of a revived version of myself as I dialed his number. I was aghast and dumbfounded when I was told my stylist had to quit the hair styling business because he had developed carpal tunnel syndrome in his hands.

I hung up the phone and my mourning period began.

I was sad and upset. I was already longing to hear his voice as he worked his magic with my hair. He knew my hair the way no other person before him did. He was making my hair become less about the drama and more about acceptance.

We had plans together, my stylist and I. He never told me exactly where we were headed but I liked the route he was taking to get us there.

Of all the time we saw each other, there was "one bad haircut". I went to see him about it. And he fixed it. He truly fixed it.

After all of my stories about bad hair days, bad hair cuts and bad hair moods I started to trust someone with my hair again.

Sure, we only saw each other every three to four months but I was in it for the long haul. I was committed.

Then he quit.

After the sadness abated, anger set in. How could he do this to me?! I trusted him. And he left me!! How? Why? Where would I turn?

A few sad days later, I sent him a text message. I didn't know if it was right or wrong. But I did. In it, I asked him if he had anyone he could refer me to. He was very kind and said he was referring his clients to stylists he thought would best suit them.

I so wanted to feel that sense of trust again. I followed his advise. Twice.

The first time was not good. The second time was worse. That was four months ago and my hair has not yet recovered. For some odd reason (I believe it is the way my hair was cut), my hair wants to caress my face. It is too short in back. It is too long in front. I cannot do a thing with it. Everything I do turns out looking odd. My best look is the "mushroom cap" style which seems to appear every time I try to talk my hair into doing what I want it to do.

Enter my potential new stylist.

She inherited a client with chronic trust issues. I walked in that door with my head of untamed locks and begged her to cut it without washing it so I knew what I was dealing with when I walked out the door. She obliged me.

The cut was not a good one.

Not her fault. She did everything I asked but I am not schooled in hair styling so I was only talking about what I knew. What I knew, was what I didn't like. She tried.

I thought it was a great cut. Until I woke up the next morning. It was bad. It got worse. I washed it, styled it and tried to tame its ways. I looked like a mushroom.

I got brave and called again. It was the only way. I have to learn to trust again. I begged her to try one more time. She said she could and she would. But she would have to wash it and cut it wet.

Once again, I would walk out of a salon with hair that I did not style myself and I would not know what the cut was like until I washed and dried it myself. Or ... until I woke up in the morning.

I woke up today and growled long and hard at the reflection in the mirror. Despite my new cut and her styling, my hair is still insistent upon encroaching upon my face.

My face is old. And haggard. And angry. I do not want hair that brings focus to my face. I want hair that takes your eye up and away from these worn out old features of mine.

But no! There went my hair. Again!!

I soaked my head and hoped for the best. It wasn't good.

I heated up the flat iron and did my level best to try and convince my hair to move in an "away from my face" direction.

For this moment in time, I have (somewhat) succeeded. I am not angry any more. I am just bitter. A haircut from January continues to haunt me to this day.

It is hard to learn to trust again. I love the feeling of trusting someone implicitly and I will try, try again. It is the only way ...

It could be worse. I could be bald.