A Hairy Tale

I am not a big fan of primping and pampering. The faster I can get through the ritual it takes to get ready for a day, the better. I would prefer a wash and wear hair style over anything else in the world ... which is making this growing-out-my-hair-phase a rather painful ordeal.

Six months ago, I got the shortest-hair-cut-known-to-my-locks. It was frightening. I got accustomed to blurring out my reflection in a mirror but any time my face/hair combo made it to a photograph I quite literally cringed. Take an aging, lifeless looking face (that rarely smiles) and place it smack dab in the middle of an ultra-short haircut and you have "moi".

Two months ago, my bangs finally reached my eyebrows again and I was feeling overgrown and shaggy. So I made my way to a hair salon (shaking all the way), not knowing what I dared to ask for. I did not want my hair 'cut'. I simply wanted it tidied up so that it appeared that I looked this way on purpose.

My newest favorite hair guy gave me color and sparkle and tidied up my hair so that I could leave the house without a bag over my head throughout December and a little way into January.

Lately, I have been coveting stay-at-home-experiences because my hair has reached a terrible phase of roots and I could not walk past a mirror without the words "mushroom cap" coming to mind as I caught my reflection taunting me.

This would not phase me so much if it were not for two things. "Dancing" and a "Weekend Getaway". I must leave our home and go out into the public (buying groceries and working does not count) on a semi-regular basis over the course of the next few weeks. If it were not for that, I would not have done what I did. But I did it. I called and made an appointment to tend to my new mushroom-cap-with-roots look.

My appointment was at 6:00. I walked in right on time and sat down awaiting my transformation. I have never 'touched up my roots' before. I couldn't believe how quickly the process went. In no time flat, he was done touching up. Then I sat.

And I sat. And I sat.

Then I sat some more.

I thought I would never stop sitting.

I thought that my hair was going to fall out at the roots because I sat so long with this goop on my head.

I wanted to go home!

I wanted out of this prison called a hair salon!

I wanted my mommy!!! Okay, I didn't really go there ... but I really was getting close to wanting to cry scream.

Finally, finally, finally my hair-guy (I have temporarily removed 'favorite' from his title) rounded the bend and came back to me. I honestly thought that maybe he went home and had completely forgotten me. I thought I may have to wash the floors and do laundry after they closed up shop. At a bare minimum, I was thinking that I deserved a free hair cut.

He quickly clipped and trimmed, dried and styled, primped and processed my hair. By the time I got out of his chair, I could have been whipped around in a tornado and my absolutely straight-to-my-face, lifeless head of hair would not budge.

I couldn't wait to get out of there. It was 8:00!! Two hours of my life. Wasted! At least one hour (if not, an hour and a half) of that time was sitting still. Waiting ...

I got out to the car and messed up my hair as much as I possibly could. I had to work that goop out of my hair! I did not have the time or energy to wash my hair when I got home! I mussed and fussed and scrunched and pushed my hair every which way. It stood straight out from my head. It felt horrible.

I got home and messed it up some more. Then pushed it back down. I was NOT wasting any more time on my head! I was NOT going to wash it!! I detest hair-care! The entirety of my wakeful after-daycare-hours were wasted. On primping. BLECH!

Then I made myself some supper. Doors were slammed. Something (I can't remember what it was) was tossed. Absolutely everything in the world made me angry.

Finally, finally, finally ... at about 8:30 at night, I sat down and enjoyed the moment that I live for all day. Sitting in my quiet little room-with-a-door, with my supper in front of me, an episode of the Gilmore Girls on ... and NO mirrors!

My Son walked in with a cat in his arms and we 'talked cats'. And I was home again. All was right in the world. I was in a quiet (padded?!??) room, with my food and our cats.

We laughed, we enjoyed moments, we savored our Senior Cat's new lease on life (it is amazing what half of a tiny little pill can do for a person, right Mom??) and I finally, finally, finally put the emotions from my bad hair experience behind me.

Then I woke up this morning.

Darn mirrors! I hate them. My hair is still bone straight (a look flattering to someone who is at least a decade younger than me), but at least the feeling of the 'goop' is gone.

I spritzed my hair and scrunched it up. I wet my hands and raked it through my hair. Please, please, please I just want a dab of 'life' added to this lifeless look. I do not want to have to wash it! Did I mention that I despise washing (and the inevitable styling that follows) my hair?!

I think the hair cut, itself will be fine. Is it a wash and wear style? I highly doubt it. But you can be sure that I am going to do my best. Otherwise ... I may just have to return to the girl who cut my hair back in August and start this process all over again. That is ... if my hair does not fall out after all of the hair processing, hot, hot, hot flat ironing and goop that was endured last night.

Happy Hair Day to you!!

P.S. Yes I know, if this is my biggest problem I am the luckiest girl around. I am grateful that is exactly the truth. I am grateful. Bad hair and all.

Morning Gathering at the Watering Hole

Yesterday morning, I wrote of our cat's early morning ritual. I was concerned because Senior Cat was not ready and waiting for his fresh-water-experience.

Who should greet me bright and early this morning?

These ... are the little things that make me smile. 

He's back. 

I may be premature in thinking this ... but I think that our Senior Cat has reached another plateau now that his new dosage of medication has alleviated his symptoms. At least for now. 

And for now? This is enough

Soaking Up the (Cat) Sunshine

I am savoring all moments such as these ...

Our Senior Cat's health is slowly deteriorating. His enemy-without-a-name (maybe asthma? maybe cancer??) began well over a year ago and became something we started doctoring for this past fall, is evolving.

It started several weeks ago but I didn't want to believe it. Maybe this change of events was not a sign of things getting worse. Maybe as his lungs were healing and he had to hunker down and 'cough' (it appears more like a dry heave, but we have started calling it an asthma attack) to get rid of some irritant in his lungs. Maybe that vigorous petting worked up some flem. Maybe it the way he was being held. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

This past weekend, I could not fool myself any longer. The look in My Son's eyes told me that I am not the only one seeing this. He tenderly brought him to me after one such attack ... then Our Kitty had another attack before My Son could tell me about the first one. 

I doubled his steroid medication (he is on a very low dose and our vet has instructed me to act according to what I see) that day. I should have increased it sooner. Why did I wait? 

My eyes are watching for any change. Good or bad. Every purr, every spurt of energy, every little kitten-meow (he used to be such a talker; now he talks only if he really has something to say), every time he makes the moves to socialize with us is Big News. 

Yesterday afternoon, our Senior Kitty tried to hop into My Son's backpack. A typical move for him. It reminds us of better days when any box, suitcase, backpack or anything unusual was too much for our cat to resist. He simply had to hop inside and enjoy his new room with a view. Yesterday, he tried to hop in the backpack. Twice. He missed, the first try and the backpack and him toppled over. My Son rearranged the backpack to make it a little easier. This time, his front leg gave out as he made his move and he toppled over sideways. My heart cracked a little.

Later in the evening, I decided to have some cheese. Before I could arrange myself on the couch, our Senior Kitty was racing into the room with the look of youth and vigor in his eyes (he is an extreme lover-of-dairy). I shared my cheese with him. Not too much - but more than I normally would have. He looked so happy and kitten-like. How could I resist him?

This morning, he didn't come and greet me (as has become his new habit). The steroids make him very thirsty and though we do have an ample water supply downstairs by the cat food, with dog-water by the back door ... the small cat-water dish by the fridge is always bone dry in the mornings. Our kitty loves fresh water. So our newest little tradition is that I turn on the tap in the bathtub and let a fresh stream of water trickle down so our cats can enjoy a fresh water fountain experience. This novelty has almost guaranteed two cats waiting for me at the bathroom door each and every morning.

This morning, Senior Cat was missing. I assumed that he must have decided to spend the night in My Son's room so I didn't think too much about it. Don't worry. This is not as bad as I am making it out to be. The only concerning factor is that I found our Senior Cat resting on the back of the love seat in the living room. Apparently the desire to remain resting superceded his love of fresh water today. It happens. 

I gently caressed his head (he flinches at our touch a lot these days) and spoke gently in his ear. And the next thing I knew, he had followed me into the bathroom to enjoy the bathtub fountain. And his front leg gave out on him. Again.

He has gained a lot of weight due to his steroid medication. Our vet said that it is not unusual for older cats to have arthritis and topped with the weight gain, this is not alarming. But it is happening more often. Add that to his wheezing attacks and general slowing down ... it just breaks my heart a little to see that his holding pattern is slowly starting to deteriorate. 

So yesterday afternoon, when he hopped up on me as all of my Daycare Family were napping ... I just lapped up the moments. And took snapshots. This morning, I recorded his purr once again. His purr makes my heart sing.

Even Junior Cat (our ever-moving-blur) seems to be checking in on his partner-in-cathood in a gentle and caring way. This morning, he nuzzled his nose into Senior's fur and just inhaled. He then looked up at me, with his mouth open and his tongue sticking out in a fashion that makes one think that he has smelled something awful (our Senior Cat's coat is in meticulous condition - so I took offense at Junior's expression!). Later, he initiated a little bit of cat-play and Senior batted him off, in a polite sort of way.

We all miss the kitten that lives inside our Senior Cat. I still try to convince myself that maybe things can level off once again and we can enjoy a lot more months in a new holding pattern. 

His fur looks vibrant and he appears to be the picture of health. I know that animals don't show their weakness. I know that purring can mean that they are in pain. My head knows many things but my heart is holding on, wishing for more than we may have.

In the mean time, I am lapping up these moments like a cat in a sunbeam. Soak up the 'sun' whenever you can. You just never know how long it may last ...

Thinking Out Loud

I didn't realize it at the time, but I could have been sitting down and having a conversation with my brother yesterday when I wrote down my thoughts-of-the-day-I-just-spent at the day's end.

I was fortunate enough to hear his end of the conversation via an email that he sent to me before he read those words. We could have been sitting down at the kitchen table talking to each other. Our thoughts were so closely correlated.

Each and every time someone comments that they have connected to something that I have written brings me back 'here' - writing my nonsense, heavy thoughts, frivolous thoughts and everything in between.

Perhaps I write too much. I lay my thoughts out on the ground and they could so very easily be stomped on, criticized, ignored or ridiculed. I don't doubt that happens. It is just that I live in a very small, secluded and  protected island where I am surrounded with kind people. So I just keep writing.

Just when I think that I've written enough about our cats, someone will tell me how much they enjoy those cat-tales. Just when I think I've said too much and revealed something that I should have kept to myself, someone will tell me that was exactly what they needed to read that day. I can almost hear my sister laughing when I bare my soul about the inevitable phases of aging and 'beauty' gone awry. Even when I write of the nothingness-that-is-my-life and turn a kitchen table into a story, and someone (my mom) may comment on that.

So I keep showing up.

I am blessed with incredible friendships within my world. Many of those friends stop by and read my blogs. I cannot tell you the number of times I have found myself in the middle of a conversation where I feel that someone has read my mind. Then I recognize my own words within their vocabulary and I realize that they haven't read my mind. They have read my writing.

Each of us has our own burden to bear. The load becomes heaviest when we try to carry it on our own. I found out a very long time ago, that by opening up and talking about hard things ... the load is lessened.

Sometimes the excess thoughts pile up and simply releasing the words (and emotion behind them) lightens the load. Sometimes that is all that is required.

Other times, you hear your own answers when you spill the words that are piling up inside. Or you may hear your own answer come back to you in another person's voice. You may simply need permission to feel what you are feeling so that you can take the next forward step.

When you open yourself up to the world, you become vulnerable. I believe that (most) people respect that vulnerability because they recognize themselves within that, which you have just bared.

Thinking out loud has opened many doors for me. Friendships have become 'real' faster by revealing my true self. Answers have come easier by spilling the emotions behind my thoughts and leaving the words behind.

Give yourself permission to think out loud. Don't think of it as complaining or whining. Think of it as 'problem resolution' and 'relationship building'.

Say the words. Your answers will come. Eventually...

The Kitchen Table

I sat down at the kitchen table instead of making my way to the computer desk this morning. It changed the course of my day.

A long time ago, in a far away land (before I was addicted to checking emails, blogs, Facebook and updating my own blogs) I used to sit down at the kitchen table with my morning coffee.

Sunday mornings were especially memorable because I used to open up our 'Sunday Sun', read it at my leisure, then work on the crossword. I would sit down and (hand) write a weekly letter to my mom. I may sit and work on my budget. Or make lists. Sometimes, I would simply dream out loud on a piece of paper in a scribbler.

I kept many of these notations, hopes and dreams. It amazed me just how often the 'impossible dreams' became my reality. Bit by bit, year by year, dollar by dollar, goals were achieved. There is something very powerful about putting your dreams on paper. They become tangible. I think your brain works harder to connect the dots and pursue your dreams when you physically 'draw a picture'. On paper and in your mind.

Time has a way of slowly shifting those little habits. Priorities change. Routines shift. You adapt and get things done in a different way. Eventually what you are presently doing bears only a faint resemblance to that which has served you well in the past.

My early morning activities have varied from walking the dog, to watching an episode of "Little House on the Prairie, to delivering papers, to exercising, to writing, to (presently) sitting down at the computer and frittering away two hours without blinking an eye.

I try to write every morning and spill my early morning thoughts into something readable. I still write my mom's weekly letter but I am in such a hurry to get it written (that task seems to have shifted to a Monday-chore), that I type it up on the computer (I chose a very nice 'handwritten' font to make it more personal though), print off and send a few blog posts along with it to thicken the envelope. Mom still has a personal letter in the mail but it isn't quite the same as a handwritten letter (except it is much more legible).

As I sat still and hand-wrote a letter to my mom this morning, it felt like I had come home again. From there, I started writing down (and illustrating) my dream-renovation list. I could have spent a few more hours at the kitchen table but I had people that I wanted to see and things that had to be done. So my fun had to end all too soon.

My scribbler remains on the table. Dreams have been documented. I already feel myself breaking down the dreams into manageable segments. I feel like I rerouted my thinking this morning. I have turned my impossible dreams into a plan. It may take years to achieve. But anything is possible if you simply keep putting one foot in front of the other and taking one, small forward step at a time.

I miss sitting at our kitchen table. I think that I will try to make a date with it more often.

Look around you. What enjoyable routine have you eliminated from your life? What is one little thing that brought you a small piece of happy without spending a penny or even leaving the house? It is often the most obvious of things that become impossible to see, within the clutter of our busy lives.

Slow down. Sit still. Dream ... it could not only change your day. It could change your life. One small step at a time.

... Just Don't Keep Score

A few days ago, I read a blog post (click here to read it yourself) that was too good not to be shared with a teacher or principal.

Immediately, I started to write an email to a principal that I had once worked with. Then my day got busy and it didn't get sent. Eventually, I had the time to polish up this email and send it on its way. But I decided to sleep on it. Sometimes, I regret acting on my impulses. So I waited to see how my words sounded in the morning.

After waking up to a new day, I decided to complete and send off this unsent email. Should I? Shouldn't I?? How would it be received??? Done thinking! SEND.

In the millisecond that it takes to send your words off into a world where you cannot take them back again, the deed was done. No time for second guessing myself. My day walked in the door and I (almost) forgot what I had just done.

The day got busy and I had a slight twinge of regret when I didn't receive an immediate response from my email. Then I subconsciously filed it away under "The Best of Intentions Gone Awry" and stopped worrying about it.

At one point in the day, I reminded myself that it is best not to 'keep score'. If a person expects every single action to be reciprocated in kind, they will live a life of subconsciously recording What I Have Done and comparing it to What I Have Received in Return.

You simply can't win at that game. Because you never quite know when a small deed has made an impact.

Sometimes you receive an immediate response. Other times, there may be a slight delay. Then there are times that you truly have no idea how much of a difference you have made until years later. I can only guess that there may be even more times that you simply never know. The odd time, you don't 'score' at all. In fact, I have been handed the odd 'penalty' from time to time.

What I have learned is that I am the one who reaps the biggest reward in the end. Simply by doing what feels-right-at-the-time. With little importance (other than not wanting to anger, offend or hurt) placed on 'winning' an appropriate response.

Different people construe actions and the written word in different ways. Five people could see, hear or read the same thing and take five different meanings from it. And they could have twenty different ways of responding to the above mentioned actions.

No response does not always indicate indifference. It can be so very, very many things. From lack of time, to lack of words, to the wrong timing, to all else that may be going on within another person's life at the time...

I have come to believe that if I send out words or give something to the world with the best interests of another human being my only motivating factor, I 'win' at the game where I don't keep score.

Sometimes good intentions come back to me in the form of a gift. Sometimes they come back to me years later. Sometimes they don't come back at all. But always, always ... I feel better for having followed my instincts.

Today? I received a gift. I received a response from the principal that I wrote to. It started like this:  "Thank you so much for thinking of me and then sending this note. It truly made my day! ..."

I suddenly felt that it is very right to follow through on those little thoughts when you think of someone in a positive way.

You never know what an impact you can make, simply by being kind. You may be holding the key that unlocks a window of 'happy' into someone's day.

If you are thinking of someone, let them know it. If someone has made a difference, tell them. If someone looks a little down and out, spread a little bit of sunshine into their day. You will not regret it.

... just don't keep score. That negates the goodness that you just shared.

Dancing My Way Back Into Living

Last night, I attended a group dance class. I was the 'new girl' in the class. Everyone else was familiar with each other and I was the one that didn't belong.

I was the quiet one in the corner (actually, I was standing against a wall) ... but I was not ignored.

Suddenly I was reminded that this is what was so magical to me, about the dance studio.

I started dancing about sixteen years ago. I was immediately invited to join the group classes.

It was daunting to me at the time. I saw the interactions of the group around me and I longed to belong. I stood quietly on the sidelines and I was invited to become part of the whole.

People were wonderful to me. And to each other. As weeks progressed into months and the months into years, I felt a sense of belonging.

As time went on, I was no longer the quiet one. I was one who approached the new person.

A person does not tend to forget how it feels to be on the outside, looking in. Life has a way of presenting itself in a fashion where you can give back, what you have once received. It felt good to be invited into the dance community within this studio. It felt even better to be on the giving end of that cycle.

I fell out of the dance world in a quiet, unremarkable way. I gradually stopped going to group classes. Eventually I even dropped out of my private lessons. But I will never forget the magic that I found within those studio walls.

When I was asked to join this particular group class last night, I did not have a moment of hesitation. "Of course, I could come!"

The only moment of stress arrived when I realized that I had to dress for the occasion and my wardrobe feels slightly lacking these days. And I was having a bit of a bad hair day.

I did the best, with what I had and I walked up the stairs to the studio. I had not even walked through the studio doors, when I struck up a conversation with the stranger-who-would-be-my-dance-partner for the evening. And I forgot everything else in the world.

I walked through the doors and found my way through the evening. It was easy. And it was good. It was only upon reflection, that I saw the cycle that started to repeat...

Suddenly, I was on the receiving end again. I felt safe. I felt good. I was back in a world that has brought me nothing but joy.

The good news? Is that I have been invited to go back. And I will. It felt good to hop back into that community of comfort and joy.

The magical allure of dancing has once again brought me back to a place I enjoy. Maybe I need to dance my way back into living ...