Hello, Goodbye

The Beatles

I’ve never mastered the art of conversation although my favorite way to relate is one on one. In the moment, I am usually not as fast as I want to be. I get scared easily and fear I won't rise intellectually to what my counterpart will present. I struggle with emotion and possibly spilling words the wrong way. Sometimes it's hard for me just to breath; to be comfortably present physically. It's because of this that I miss important pieces of information or important opportunities to say what I want to say. Many times, hours later when the dust has settled, I realize what was really said; I think of what I should have said.

It's taken me a long time to pay attention well enough to understand the difference between judgement and observation. It's taken years to learn to not only follow the words, but also to catch what is not being stated. Just now I am starting to fiddle with my ability to provide subtle responses to the subtle nuances.

Days of late have me thinking about how we are all animals and we can sense what is going on even if we're not intellectualizing outloud. The other night I went to bed wide awake. I was connecting the dots of the day: the fine overtones in the conversations, the heavy eyes or strange looking-moments, and the seemingly random thoughts that floated through my mind. Once everything was laid out on the ceiling above my head, it all seemed utterly connected and clear given the perspective. I lost my breath.

What do you say to someone who has brought light in to your life? A thousand "thank you"s and "I love you"s.  You say, “it was great seeing you”; you say, “I’ve missed you" and "I've been thinking about you”. Sometimes you don't say anything at all. You reach for their hand. You present a smile and offer a hug to bring hearts close once more. You let them know how amazing they are - today and tomorrow and every day. You celebrate the time you have had together. You connect.

I unfold my clenched heart over and over reminding myself that love is greater than fear; reminding myself to breath; reminding myself to say hello.

Big Bang Theory

When I was a kid, my stylist recommended bangs all the time. She would sit me in the kitchen chair - the one with brown faux leather and two wooden steps that folded out to create a ladder/chair, throw an apron over me, and ever so slowly use the kitchen scissors to cut a clean flat line across my wet hair. I can still feel the slightly ticklish, slightly menacing cold metal above my eyebrows. I can also hear the delicate, crisp cut of my hair and the metal swishing sound inside my head.

Needless to say, it wasn't a fine science. Sometimes she would place a plastic comb between the bang and the forehead in an attempt to not accidentally scar me. The woman rarely stopped to sharpen the old kitchen clippers. She also never fully digested the fact that the bangs would shorten up once they dried and that following the curve of a head might make for shorter bangs on the sides (now I can appreciate she was busy and trying to save a buck but then I walked around looking like this...


ps. I thought perhaps I was at an age where I cut my own bangs but 4 out 
of 6 Cornish girls in this photo are sporting the same shortened stylings.

and then later on in the 80s I rocked this look). 

photo haircut courtesy of Toni & Guy

In any case, it's been years since I had bangs - most likely this middle school photo represents the last real bang in my life. Sure there have been "wisp" bangs that I cut a few times. You know the ones, they're kind of like dating someone in secret: a few people know what's going on but for the most part no one really notices. These bangs blend right back in to the general haircut when your uber-annoyed at their unfamiliar presence.

Lately though, I've been flirting with the concept of serious bang-age. For a few cuts, my new stylist, much more professional than the one I had when I was 8, would not welcome my half-hearted attempts to convince her I wanted bangs. She informed me that I really didn't want them because I would have them already if I did.

I realized it would take some serious commitment on my part: to a new look and to a new attitude (yep that's right, enter Patti LaBelle and one ragingly 80s video). That and seeing my sister rock hard core bangs was all I needed. Well all of the above and some righteous photoshopping skills to present my argument to my stylist; to whom I presented Exhibit A and Exhibit B (actually just Exhibit B but I don't want to loose the hard work of EA).


Exhibit A - Rockabilly Bangs
Exhibit B - Heidi Klum Bangs

So Exhibit B was presented at my cut last Saturday. My stylist sighed...she didn't even mention the Photoshop skills which I thought were outstanding given the situation. So I ordered bangs. Real bangs. Straight across. A definitive billboard saying "NEW" or "CHANGED" or "Coke Light".

This is not to say my stylist is against bangs, what she is against is listening to the ensuing neurosis of a woman, who hasn't had bangs in over 20 years, getting her hair cut and picking apart each snip. I stopped my banter half-way through and reminded myself to let her do her thing. When all was said and done, I had to admit I was pretty happy with the change. 

shameless self promotion
A change of sorts it is. We went to party that night and I was surprised at how AWARE I felt of my new look. A friend reminded me, "sometimes with bangs, the cut wears you." (so true old sage)  But these days I feel compelled to throw off the shackles of expectations since that philosophy partially pushed me in to this new look (you would think I was rockin' a Mohawk with the controversy I'm acting like this is creating). Sometimes subtle change is what we need to welcome a new perspective; to open the window so to speak and let in the fresh air. 




I have forgotten about the bangs subconsciously; though every now and then I do move the unfamiliar warm weight to the side like some summer skate punk or I check myself in the mirror hoping I don't look too much like Roseanne Roseannadanna. 


The bangs do demand a level of attention my old hippie-like doo never required. Showers = more; wet hair to dry in the sun = meh; flat iron = a must if I'm going out but possibly not on the bangs themselves. It's a learning curve; one I welcome with the sweet challenge that comes from anything new. It just goes to show you, it's always something--if it ain't one thing, it's another...

PF7

Such is the case that all the stars are aligned to have family birthdays on Fridays in June this year. So this week's Photo Friday is a Happy Birthday to my 17 year old niece - the oldest of the crew. I wish you a wonderful year! Never stop believing how smart, creative, and kind you are!

"Nice" Easter Photo
"Cool" Easter Photo

Summer Lovin'

I just realized this the other day that we are knee deep in June; which is to say "summer" (because I've never been one of those people who waits for the solstice to call a spade a spade). It came with the sweet warmth of an almost "too hot" day and finding a patch of shade to keep cool.


It came when I wondered about the strange light in the night sky after I put M to bed (it was in fact the remnants from the setting sun). It came via a lovely evening in the backyard with friends and an undetermined amount of mosquito bites that forced us inside even though it was otherwise so serene and fresh smelling out back.

The days are longer. I am lightly woken by the morning glow that starts in the 5 o'clock hour...that and sometimes a little lady who is still testing the waters of her sleep habits. I have committed to some early morning runs again - finding the fresh air of the morning and an hour to myself; an indulgence of sorts. The coolness of the night holding still to the dewy grass is a familiar friend. New running shoes keep me inspired; that and the promise of all that summer brings along for the the ride.

Last year, I lamented my "last summer". I thought the joys of June, July, and August would be forgotten in the mix of raising a baby. I'm happy to find, as with most things miss M, the joys are new through her eyes. Warm, dry hikes through the mountains and wild flowers with colors so bright against the sagey brown of the landscape. Pinwheels and aspen leaves, birds soaring through the updrafts in the sky (everyone seems to be coasting just a little more this time of year).


We escape most weekends to the mountains; to "the quiet" D would say. Gingy has half-heartedly returned to "walks" which are disguised as bike rides but never the less do the trick. That alone has made my heart happy - I miss my old friend and wish I realized sooner that all I needed to do was bust out my bike to enjoy her company (that and drug her to suppress the anxiety).


Last week we enjoyed the sweet indulgence of a summer cornerstone: the neighborhood pool. The Ps shared a little piece of their dream with us. I put M in a swimming diaper and the cutest little suit you can imagine. It's so cute she doesn't even need to be in it for me to want to take a picture. I slathered sunscreen all over the old girl (for some reason she loves this, it think she imagines it is a mini-me-massage).
dig miss M not even trying to sell the suit...
I found myself blowing up some pool toy for her to float in. I couldn't get the thing to fill and for a moment channeled the quintessential frustration of a parent loosing all their air to a toy. When I finally beat the system, we floated around in the water. We watched little MP swim her way through the 8 feet zone, we watched LL play with his mother and smile calling out to us. We watch MP rock a new green bikini and supervise the joys of the morning with her kids.




Little MP and LL took M for a spin around the baby pool; all three in floaties riding back and forth with a smooth ease. Little MP taught miss M how to enjoy it all: the floaties, diving underneath the surface and touching the bottom of the pool, sitting on your towel in a chair having a snack, etc. I'm glad she has sage advisors to guide her summer hand.

I love how little MP look so old and wise in this photo (my kid looks like a pirate...)
I like to think this is her first real Summer smile.

PF5

an oldy but a goody...


Here's what I like about this guy: He really would want to ACTUALLY catch this fish... and then he would cook it...and then he would eat the whole thing himself...and not gain a pound (because he's so friggin' active). Needless to say, the guy has an appetite for life. So much so, he got the nickname of "Action Andy" by some English gals on this trip (it sounds scandalous but really had more to do with a diving knife he strapped to his calf every time he went in the water). He plans, he envisions, he creates and then he lives many things. It really is admirable... and tiresome to watch. Still, I wouldn't trade him for the world. Many days he makes me feel as inspiring as any of these other "projects" that he chases.

Happy Birthday Babe! I wish you your heart's content.