The Long And The Short Of It

My nails are short. I like them long. I like them short. Nick tends to like them long because they become a useful tool for back scratches. I'm in a short mood. This crisp and sassy mood alternates frequently with a sensual and earthy mood. Both can be mysterious. I've yet to cut my hair, but I did paint my nails a vivid red. 'I Red a Good Book/ Ballon rouge' is the name of the color. They should've kept their name short. I've been flirting with the idea of chopping my hair off since 2008 and I can't pull the trigger. There are a lot of reasons why. One: As soon as I got serious about it and announced it one of Nick's friends almost jumped through the window of the car. We had not seen this friend in a while. He's super nice and evidently likes long hair on girls. That reaction made me hesitate.  Two: You can make long hair look short but can't make short hair look long.  Three: I like wearing it straight back off my face and twisting into a chignon- impossible for short hair.  Four: It's really easy. My hair dries fast and even if it is wet I can wrap it back and it looks fine. Long hair is great for lazy days. I don't want to style my hair every day, there's a life to be lived!! Five: I like hiding behind it sometimes.  Six: It's been pointed out to me that I twirl a strand over and over my forefinger when I'm lost in thought. What will my forefinger think if I take away her friend?  Seven: If I commit to short hair then I have to be spunky, high style me instead of spiritual, roll-in-the-grass me all the time.  No can do.

I've had long, dark hair most of my life. Once in college I went to a salon with a friend and had them cut it really short. When we got back to our dorms I was frustrated that my cut looked like a half ass attempt to be short, so I grabbed scissors and continued, judging it all in a full length mirror stuck to our door. My friend Brett was there and she told me later that she was pretty worried as she watched me. But she was a great friend and didn't let me know that at the time. The short hair wasn't so bad. I wish I'd had access to the best hairstylists, then it may have been really fun. With short hair, it seems to me, the cut becomes more important. Once, I was brave and decided to try a hair stylist in Moultrie, my home town, to give me a trim. Mistake. Huge Mistake. I remember her cutting one side of my hair and becoming enthralled with the beauty shop conversation about husbands and boxers and drawers. Something about them never ending up in the drawer. Well, I should've voiced my thoughts which were "What the hell, lady!! Who cares? Focus on my hair." I was so baffled by the accents (Because believe it or not, not every Southerner sounds like a hick- these Southerners did.) and the content of the drama (underwear? really?). Add that to the fact that I was 19 and you have the reason for my meekness. Well, you probably guessed it. She cut the same side of my hair twice and left the other pretty much untouched. I went home, showed my mom the haircut, and cried. I ended up going back and making her fix it. What a disaster. It has taken me a long, long time to say what I really think about my hair to the stylist. In that moment of the reveal I feel that it's more about their work than my hair. I never want to hurt their feelings. 

In St. Simons Island I went to lunch with a friend that had changed her hair from blonde to brunette. She asked me a question about how I felt with dark hair. She said that she felt she had to be serious with dark hair and wanted to know if I felt that way. But, I've always felt serious. So, I was of no help. She was comparing the two hair colors and the moods she associated with them and the effect it had on her. I thought it was an interesting subject. I've never been blonde. I've never put any chemical treatment on my hair. I've liked it and so I've never changed the color. I can imagine feeling light and whimsical with blonde hair. I like seeing the golden colors like Jennifer Aniston's and also the platinum versions that Scarlet Johansson and Rachel McAdams wear nicely. The truth is that I do agree with her to the extent that I feel very attached to my hair and it's a big representation of who I think I am. I have this unchanged hair, long, the same as I had when I was a little girl picking blackberries in the woods behind my house or trying to do back handsprings without my ponytail flopping under my hands, in which case my scalp got a yank.  I'm tempted to get a wig and be blonde for a day. Just to see. I'd never abandon my dark hair though. I like the depth of dark hair and if I colored my hair I'd most likely go darker not lighter. Fits my personality.

This thought thread started with me looking at the keyboard and being pleased with the red flash of my finger tips. Somehow my hair pulled rank.

I saw a Yahoo news flash that Cameron Diaz cried over a haircut gone awry. The article seemed to have a tone of mild condescension, like this- "Oh, poor, poor you... you got a bad hair cut... oh I feel so sorry for your heart ache and bad day. Don't you realize there are people who have real reasons to cry?" I don't agree with that tone. Here's why. The journalist is the one who is writing about it as if it is news. Yahoo is the outlet featuring it as if it is newsworthy. So, it's not Cameron Diaz asking for public attention regarding her hair, it's the writer and publisher. Also, when you get a hair whacking when you wanted your layers trimmed, it often leads to an emotional response whether you want it to or not. People do a lot of things around their hair- they don't cut it for religious reasons or they sleep upright to prevent, I don't know, mashing it against the pillow I suppose. So, it's not totally off the charts that she cry over her hair being on the floor and not rooted to her head. I've seen her interviewed and others talk about her and she seems pretty down to earth and cool. For instance, it was said that she broke her nose snow boarding and she just popped up out of the snow laughing. That's no priss pot if you ask me. And she respects aging, welcoming it and announcing her age with no signs of shame or dread. That's refreshing.  Regarding the attempt to compare hardships, that's always a losing battle. Everything is relative. Everything. Try telling my niece Madeline that taking her blankie away from her and throwing it in a fire is no big loss in the world. It's not true for her. It's a big loss from her perspective. Earth shattering. 

Relative. It's not fair to judge it. Fair. Woooooh, that's a whole other word and writing day.

I'm done for now. 

I'll go blend my moods, long hair and short nails. It seems that contradictions are always a part of the human's self characterization. That's a good thing. How boring if not.

sortied it out

Pom Pom Entrance. I like to walk this way. 

I have a couple of really dear friends that I've gone so long without talking to that the idea of the phone call that catches us up to speed with both of our lives is so overwhelming that it is avoided on both sides. I know that's what my friend is thinking and she knows that is what I'm thinking. The long conversation and attention it deserves is more difficult to carve out of the day than we want to admit. Because we are such good friends we know this is mutual and don't feel unloved, but rather joined in unfulfilled intent. Some say you wouldn't treat a great friend like that- at times I am that person telling myself that- but it's also true that certain friendships remain unbreakable and strong despite distance and silence. I have several friendships that are founded on a deep connection and soulful understanding. A bit of guilt remains.

My theory is that we feel over exposed these days. We have phone calls and text messages and emails that bounce in our lap where our phone is resting. We have Facebook and shared photo accounts and then there are tweeting reminders that even more social space is waiting to be filled by those without a one-liner advising the world of their whereabouts and thought-abouts. All of the messages and voice mails and emails are added to the snail mail that we find in the box outside our house. It's now only a box of coupons and random communication that we can't imagine sitting down to sort through, but we do. And the $1.00 off offers cause a bit of anxiety on whether or not we should be one of those coupon clipping, high energy ladies that race around CVS buzzed out on how much free stuff they raked into their carts- no matter that it's all Aqua Fresh toothpaste and Degree deodorant. After one quick glance through a coupon catalog, I see that Jason's toothpaste and Tom's deodorant aren't listed and I'm relieved that I can look away from pages clustered with Buy One, Get Ones. Right when we think we're home and can throw the junk mail away and get on with walking the dog or sitting down with family, we realize that each and every message we received on this day is expecting an immediate reply. If one of the 4,000 bits of correspondence goes more than 12 hours without attention, someone somewhere is labeling us as negligent, irresponsible or unconcerned. Welcome to this wonderful technological world. -sneer-

This is when we get pissed about it and start pushing back by ignoring some of these constant demands by trying to clear our thoughts. Maybe we sit down to watch a movie. Maybe it's set in a time period when you only had a home phone and if you made plans, you had to mean it. You had to arrive at the right place and at the right time or else, you missed the date. Or even worse, you happened to see someone and talk and had a connection and then when you left, you realize you have no number or address to link to this person which makes them pretty much gone forever. Then the movie comes on when men left their wives at home to go fight a war and well... that's the end of the story. There is no way of knowing what happens to this loved one unless a letter happens to be handled physically all the way to your door. Even though this wasn't that long ago it is a jaw dropping idea and the fear of not being able to know what every friend and family member is doing at any moment is now more overwhelming than being clobbered with information overload. Welcome back.  

I guess we accept that it is bittersweet. I see kids on phones and hear a lot of complaints about the changes in the world and I can see that point of view. But then I think about how it would be resisting change to prevent young people from using the technology the world depends on, and that never works. And what if your 9 year old was lost or missing or kidnapped? A phone would be a lifesaver. A quick text would be the one thing that could prevent a real change- an unwelcome one- from happening. Agreeable navigation is what we need, not resistance, I guess. Balance. 

Speaking of avoiding communication, I've avoided writing on this blog for the same reason as friendships remain strong but silent. There has been so much going on that I can't find a place to enter conversation. That's why I picked this excuse of a topic to come back.

Ring, ring, ring...

Hello?

Hello.

Yes?

Yes.

Who's this?

It's I.

Who?

I.

I'm sorry?

I am too.

I've got a lot of things going on that I want to 'talk' about. And since this is sometimes my journal and I pretend like no one else can read it, it's tempting to spill all my secrets. It feels good to focus my thoughts. I'm almost in a groove again. It is balance of everything, not just techno evolution's grasp on my time, that I've been searching everywhere for. Yet, I know where it is. It's not in the boxes that needed unpacking and breaking down flat. It's not in my closet that exploded with clothes like a powder burst. It's not under my chair that I keep zigzagging around the floor as I try and find just the right place for it. It's in my head, on a yoga mat, in a dimly lit studio that is filled with Native American melodies which sound like wind flying through the Grand Canyon. It's in a steamy bath as I close my eyes and focus on dark mass until my imagination flashes pretty images for me to smile about. It's in the neighborhood gardens. It's here at my desk as my fingers find words, letter by letter. Why do I keep reversing the order of my pleasures as I search for balance? I keep saying, when my house is organized I will then have time to do this fun thing I want to do. Or, I will start yoga and meditating again when I finish all the To-do items on my ever growing list. And this rationalization is making me anxious. I know what comes first and in turn brings ease to the order of mandatory tasks in life. If I could only learn from myself every now and then. 

Neighbor's Pretty Doorway

A Favorite Corner

It sounds like a bird sanctuary here in my new neighborhood and I love that. All different sorts of birds fly everywhere. Chipmunks tease Te'a and Selma is underway in her annual battle against the bumblebee. China learned a new skill called putting the skids on. She has decided that she gets to pick the routes we take and they are always the short one circling right back to the front door. Nick is working hard, because he is what he has always been and that is a hard worker. He is smart. I'm so glad about that. I'm thinking right now, "What if I'd fallen in love with a dummy? What would I do?" Because we were young when we met and there wasn't too much time wasted between meeting and making it serious for Nick and me. All of this is hinged, of course, on the fact that I'm taking for granted: that I'm not a dummy in denial. I'm assuming that I'm not an idiot, in which case none of this would make a difference because Nick would still appear smart to me and I'd still look at him adoringly as he impresses me with his automatic knowledge of exactly what countries are where and in relation to what and whether or not they have political tensions with whatever other country I asked about. It could just be the difference of a person who grew up in Europe and one who grew up in South Georgia, dreaming about what Europe was like. I've always wanted to travel everywhere and see what the world looks like. He did. Sometimes we are still in that pattern. I think about things. He does them. I can fly around in my head like a jet-setter, never tire and always have fresh currency of ideas. Nick's dad coined the term jet-setter and so he instinctively books a ticket. He's been going and doing and moving his whole life. I'm trying to push my ideas out of my head and into the world and navigating my way out is sortie tough. It's fun though. I have to say, making my dreams and ideas come into a physical place is exciting. Leaves me wanting more...

It's interesting knowing what I know about myself and about Nick and thinking about the fact that we are still in Georgia. My love for this state must subconsciously override my desire for those old European stone walls. When I dropped Nick off at a golf course last weekend I headed back to the house and as I did, I said, "I'm going to learn French and move to France for a while." Then, I kept driving and did as I sometimes do; I let my car steer me. I don't ever stop controlling the car, but I let it and the moment of an impulse pick my stopping point. I made a left, didn't know why, and I parked right in front of a French bakery found inside an alley of a shopping center. I thought, "Well, they'll have a cappuccino. I'll get one." Starbucks is directly across the alley from this bakery so I hoped it would make it and not be squished by the coffee tycoon as I locked my car door. I walked inside and entered France.

Matignon

The owners are from France and their accent is beautiful! Their pastries are colorful and I ordered a Matignon, flourless chocolate cake and chocolate mousse, which was so exquisite that I exclaimed, "Wow." and looked at the lady seated near me with stunned but delighted eyes. She laughed and then we talked for nearly two hours. My new friend turned out to be from Holland and we discussed cultural differences and light politics and our ambitions and experiences. It was the fastest turn around time I've ever had on a wish coming true. I got the essence of exactly what I wanted. I would have preferred the sights of the French countryside instead of asphalt and Starbucks out a window, but I really did get what I wanted, a cultural experience. My friend shared her perspective of America with me and we noticed that proverbial grass is greener taking root. I drove home feeling refreshed at having held a conversation that surrounded these thoughts- ones that didn't revolve around American Idol contestants and media rhetoric. I keep hinting to people that I really don't watch the show and don't enjoy talking for hours about these contestants I don't know, but people keep trying really hard to make me become interested. It's infuriating and I can't say anything about it anymore without saying it so bluntly that I sound rude. So, I'm going to avoid those conversations in all. At some point, I have to gravitate toward topics I like to talk about too and not always settle on being the one who is bored. At some point I have to realize that there are two options of conversation and me always being the one who has to shut up because what I want to talk about is too much, or boring, or whatever, is not compromising. It's starting to make me resentful of never being able to talk about what I feel is interesting or be heard. Those last words felt odd coming 'out loud', but I guess they are true. I don't mind finding common interests- maybe a separate topic. But, having to sit through hour after hour of passionate exchanges of what Scotty Mcreery is up to now is too much. Hey, by the way, did you guys hear about that kid locked for 5 days in a holding cell without food or water? Isn't that insane!? Or, don't you think it's odd that Bashar and Asma look like normal people but are actually guilty of mass genocide? Just goes to show you that you can't judge a book by its cover. They look educated. They look decent. But, they are scum, in fact, so very far away from enlightenment. What do you guys think? Nope. I lose every time.        

Movies. I should bring up movies as conversation. Everyone loves talking about movies. And then we can all be happy. The scales tip to balanced. 

I saw 'Ides of March' not too long ago. Nick and I watched it. I thought it was really good. Ryan Gosling is really subtle in his emotional evolution through characters and I like that. And the story itself seemed to be a bit more realistic than most on politics. "No heroes." That's what I said to Nick as I got up from the sofa and went to get water. He agreed.

'In Time', I liked that one too. It wasn't exactly what I expected, but it was a thought prompter and I wondered about the writer's initial idea. Justin Timberlake is a ball full of talent, isn't he? Amanda Seyfried is gorgeous. No losers in that cast.

Or the weather is a good go-to for a talk. Overcast. It seems to be overcast today. Maybe it won't be so hot on my afternoon dog walk, which I need to do soon.

I'll go stare at some flower petals and let Selma sniff for bumblebees. Te'a has had enough of watching chipmunks scamper freely without dread of her possibly breaking off leash and sinking her inch long canine teeth in their cute little tushes. She can see them from the deck. China, well, she needs to go out and boss us all back indoors. It's important for her to maintain her leadership role. The balance on the dog walks is all about leaning. I lean backward as three pooches charge ahead, or I lean the grip of their leashes to the left and they turn left, where I want them to go. I lean my shin against their rump and they sit. It creates a balance allowing us to actually get somewhere. I relate this to my French wish and wonder where else I can lean a thought and what might follow. Maybe it's not as much about me finding the exit from idea to result as it is about me allowing the pathway in. Let life steer a while. 


Camoufroge...
clever little guy.