The snow is still about six inches high in the back yard. Anything near a south wall of a building has melted but there is still a tunnel type pathway for old Murphy to run. That said, the sun is getting higher in the sky, the air, though brisk, has a "feel" of spring in it.
We don't seem to get vibrant sunsets in the dead of winter. I finally got this shot on my way home the other night. It has an erie quality to it. Almost as if there is a fire on the other side of the hill and not the sun going down.
Right before I had my surgery I was running errands and I glanced in my rear view mirror and I don't know about you but that's when reality usually smacks me in the face. Maybe I don't take the time to look in the bathroom mirrors, at home but when I'm at a traffic light and I look in the rear view mirror I SEE the things that I have been ignoring.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could look in it and see the issues and problems we need to deal with?
Anyway, that glance is usually when I discover the wild chin hair or the fact that my eyebrows need work. This time it was my hair. How did it get so blah? When did it get so blah? How long have I been wearing it this way? Long traffic lights give pause for long self dialogues.
So, I turned right, at the light and made my way to a salon that I had gone to a couple of years ago. I asked the girl, at the desk if there was anybody available to give me a quick trim.
This tall skinny, gorgeous, blond woman rose up, out of her chair and
And, this is where, those of you that were devoted fans of Rocky and Bullwinkle need to remember the Russian accents of Boris and Natasha and if you can't, this might help:
The golden goddess says in a beautiful Russian accent which if I could reproduce in this blog, I would, "I vill do something with you."
There is no hesitation, in my step. I've been led to this woman. She's going to be one of my good luck charms for the surgery. Yup, yup, yup.
She steers me to her chair, points me at her mirror and says, "This haircut is all wrong for you."
She proceeds to explain in great fractured English the shape of my head, height of my forehead, fullness of my cheeks why my present haircut is not working.
She places her hands on her hips and waits to see if I understand. Drastic measures are called for. Am I up for the challenge? Will I place myself in her hands and let her do her job?
Of course, not a word has been said, it's just the hands on the hip and her piercing eyes that are sending me the message.
"Do what you think needs to be done. After all it's just hair and will grow back," I say, closing my eyes and turning over my head and hair to her.
We don't talk from that moment on. She marches me to the hair washing stations, she marches me back after giving me an out of this world head massage with my shampoo. She snips, she trims, she does her magic. She is total focus and concentration. At one point, the owner asks her a frivolous questions and she snaps back at him, 'Can't you see I am busy with a client?"
When she announces she is done, I open my eyes. Wow! I've never worn my hair like this before.
She starts telling me in bullet points why this syle works.
"You have sideburns, this makes the sideburns part of the hairstyle. You have full cheeks you need fullness up top not down below. Your hair wants to part we take care of that, now it is confused and doesn't known where the part is anymore."
I smile. I love it. I honestly don't care if it's the right hair style for me or not. I'm 62 years old I just want something easy to take care of and most of all DIFFERENT. And, being a little vain it would be nice if it looked good during surgery. Hey, I said I was a little vain.
I've been back to have it colored and trimed. The second visit for the coloring we still didn't talk.
She came out with the hair samples and told me which ones would look the most natural and work with my hair. I've decided that she knows her trade and leave it up to hair.
She's good. She's really good.
This last visit to get it trimmed and shaped she finally felt I had made the commitment to her and she started talking to me.
We discussed, or rather I listened to her tell me about life in southern Russia. How growing up she never went out of the house without covering up. There is a strong Muslin influence where she grew up and out of respect and maybe a little fear for your life you kept yourself covered up.
You also didn't speak out in public. Women are supposed to remain quiet. Girls don't go out with their girlfriends to do things, if you are married. You stay home. You are the property of your husband.
She was dating a US diplomat whom she later married. They were once stopped by the police for speeding. The Russian policeman wanted her future husband to get out of the car. He refused.
If he did he was no longer on "US soil". The policeman was waving his gun around getting more and more upset.
She told him, in russian to settle down and that he just needed to follow them to the embasy.
The policeman leaned in the car and saw that she was dressed in shorts and a short sleeve shirt and called her a whore.
This upset her future husband no end and he just pulled away and drove off to the embasy with the policeman following him.
She told me that on her first visit back to Russia after she had gotten married she wore her tight jeans and all her girlfriends gathered around her saying, "Oh, you are so rich now."
She waved her sissors in the air and said, "He was and is a very nice man but no emotion, you know? I once asked him if he ever got jelous and he said, why I trust you. I could never get him to show emotion. The marriage it didn't work out. But, I have a beautiful 13 year old son from it."
And, I thought I was just getting a trim.