Category: Hairs

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It’s Lookin’ Good

SCAR UPDATE! Bow Ties o’ the Day present my scar, exactly one year after it was carved into my belly during my pancreaticoduodenectomy. 6 inches o’ scar! It is healing well. It’s gradually whitening up, especially on the left end so far. It will never be invisible, but it will fade. I don’t mind having a scar on my body. It’s like my wrinkles and gray hairs: I earned them all. Deal with them or look away. In a way, they are my body’s evidence of parts of my life’s story. This is my only physical scar. If it were my style to wear bikinis, I’d still wear one. I am not ashamed to show what my belly has been through, inside or out.

RECOVERY UPDATE! My handsome Hanky Panky scar is an adequate symbol for my year o’ post-operation recovery. I can report that every step in the healing process has been textbook, best-case scenario, near-perfection. I’m feeling substantially less Hanky Panky pain. I’ve done everything Dr. Mulvehill told me to do to heal. Suzanne made sure of that. She has taken good care of me and she did all the heavy lifting, as they say. She fussed at me to slow down when I got over-zealous about how much I could do. I learned Suzanne knows how to scold when she sees bad behavior. (It’s kinda funny though. She didn’t seem to know how to use that disciplinary skill when Rowan was a young’un. Alas! I was always the bad cop o’ his kidhood.)

I continue to feel weird tugs and pulls in my torso, but throughout the last year, they have lessened in terms of pain, oddity, and regularity of occurrence. I notice them most now when getting in and out of bed, and when using my bigly strength to push something down– like closing my car’s obnoxiously heavy hatch or pushing down the lid on my mini keg.

I’ve been extra cautious with my recovery. (Except for falling down the stairs while running. Twice. And a few other not cautious things we won’t talk about now.) I rested and rested and rested until my rester was sore. I didn’t lift anything but Popsicles and Diet Cokes for the first two months after the operation. I’ve gotten my stamina back almost completely, because I go for walks.

Also, I take what I call My Pancreas with every meal. My Pancreas is a bigly capsule containing a prescription pancreatic enzyme which helps what’s left of my pancreas do its job. I take My Pancreas very seriously. I am beyond diligent about taking it when I feast. I have, on only a couple of occasions, forgotten to carry it with me when we’ve gone out to eat. At one restaurant, I was so surprised and aghast I didn’t have My Pancreas that– upon discovering it wasn’t in my pocket– I said a little too loudly, “I forgot to bring My Pancreas!” That entire evening, I got the distinct impression nobody at the restaurant noticed my bow tie or my cape. Instead, they were straining to see if there was evidence of a nook, cranny, or cupboard somewhere on the side of my gut where a pancreas could be kept or let out.

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I Kinda Miss “Hairs Thursdays” Already

Here are three rare photos of me without neckwear. I don’t know how I ever woke up some mornings and decided to go around with a naked neck for all the world to gawk at. I’m glad those days are gone.

Oh, look how tender my mullet was in the first photo. I don’t regret that I had a mullet cut. I’d even get one again if I were miraculously transported back to the 80’s. I was “in” then. My short, bleached hairs cut is one of my fave hairdos of all the days o’ my life. Those two pix were snapped in the late 80’s in one of my many SLC apartments.

The third hairy photo was taken in my flea-infested apartment in Arlington, VA in the early 90’s. Yes, you’re seeing correctly: I’m reading THE CHRONICLE. That weekly newspaper has followed me through all my moves. In this way too, I am sooooo much like Mom. Mom loves her CHRONICLE. Like Helen Sr., like Helen, Jr. in oh-so many ways. In every house, apartment, compartment, cardboard box where I have lived, I have been known to desperately wander around asking, “Who moved my CHRONICLE?”

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Classical Cuts Follow Us

As I was uploading my hairs pix for this morning’s post, something kept nagging at me. Suddenly, I remembered: My 1st Grade sideburns. They resemble my new ones, although they were probably pretty even with each other in length. Everything old is new again, and I figure I’m just a sideburn gal. Sideburns will find me. (That thing in my hair is some unidentifiable goober that globbed onto the picture decades ago. Not a hairs accessory.) Note: Check out the unibrow I’m working on. That takes skill!

Mom made the dress I’m wearing in the pic, but I don’t remember any specifics about it. I can pretty much guarantee the dress has pockets though. Mom had to make dresses for me cuz I had an important reason I wouldn’t wear store-bought dresses: I liked pockets! Most girls’ and women’s store-bought dresses don’t have pockets, and I’m writing about a time when girls couldn’t wear pants to school. It was all dresses, my friends. I was in HELL! Mom deserves an award for sewing me dresses with pockets. Where the heck is a little girl supposed to put the Lemonheads she wants to eat after school in Primary? I had to have a place to carry my Chapstick, pencil, treat money, cereal prizes, gum, that trilobite I found, etc. A girl has important pocket belongings.

Don’t talk to me about how a purse would’ve come in handy. As a 1st Grader, a girl should not have to carry and be in charge of a purse. Don’t talk to me about a mini backpack. They weren’t invented yet.

You certainly didn’t want to play at recess while holding your treasures in your hands. If you were a Delta Elementary school girl back in the day, you had to leave your “pocket” possessions in your desk. This meant there was a bigly possibility that if you had a really groovy treasure, it would be stolen by the time you got back to your desk after lunch or recess. I needed pockets!!!!

All I wanted was to wear my Levi’s everywhere. I do it now and the sky hasn’t fallen. As a kid, I wore them every minute I wasn’t in school for church. What was the harm adults were afraid jeans/pants would cause to girls? Were the adults afraid if we wore pants our knees would be safe from bloody sidewalk rash if we fell while roller skating at recess? Were the adults afraid if we girls wore Levi’s no one would be able to see our underwear while we hung on the monkey bars? Yup, Levi’s could have prevented those things. Levi’s were evil, however. But only for girls somehow.

Somewhere around 4th Grade, girls were finally allowed to wear “nice pants” to school. As I recall, “nice pants” mostly translated into “polyester pants.” Levi’s were still on the Axis of Evil o’ Girl School Clothes, but I was excited to buy nice pants from stores, for school. It was one step closer to legalizing Levi’s for girls. However, it had not occurred to me that girls’ store-bought nice pants didn’t have pockets in them either. Poor me. Poor Mom. My need for pockets in my clothing led her to a decade of sewing me dresses, pant suits, pants, and even a pair of golf knickers with a matching vest– all with pockets, of course. Sewing is a skill Mom has never enjoyed, but she was not about to make me go through life pocketless, if a pocket is what I needed. Who here is spoiled? I am.

I appreciate Mom’s efforts to always help me indulge my various whims. I’ve always loved Mom more than I’ve ever loved my pockets. And I truly love pockets. But Mom wins.

BTW I wish I had owned wood filigree Bow Tie o’ the Day when this photo was snapped in 1st Grade. Bow Tie is a winner with the dress fabric, as well as the sideburns.

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But We’re Not Completely Done With My Hairs Journey

Kids’ Tie o’ the Day drove over to Miss Tiffany’s hairs chair with me last evening, and I’m quite pleased with what Miss Tiffany did. Bikini Bow Tie o’ the Day is hanging with me today as I show off my new cut.

I told Miss Tiffany she could cut my hairs any way she wanted, but she would have to keep in mind two things: 1. When we’re done with my hairs theme, I’m gonna want my drastic asymmetrical style back– complete with half-head shave. That’s where I want my hairs to end up. 2. I want her to give me a couple of different cuts over the next few weeks, BEFORE we get to my usual style. That way, I can try out some new variations on a more symmetrical theme. Who knows?! Maybe I’ll find something I like better than my standard ‘do.

Miss Tiffany followed my requests, and here I am with my temporary, new ‘do. This is me right after I woke up this morning. In these photos, I’m exaggerating my asymmetrical sideburns. My hair will look better in coming photos. I didn’t know asymmetrical sideburns are an actual hairstyle-approved thing, but Miss Tiffany says they are “hot.” I believe her.

I know you’re thinking my left sideburn looks like when I was Hugh Jackman from X-MEN, on a Hairs Thursday. I think that too, but I love them.

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A Hairsy Disappointment: They Still Ain’t Cut

Sometimes I become impatient with being patient, to the point that I become impatient with myself for being impatient. Even with a kids’ Tie o’ the Day to pal around with, my patience with my head fur has worn deli-sliced thin.

I trust only Miss Tiffany with my hairs, but I am not pleased that Great Clips does not take appointments. On Saturday, June 1st, I called Great Clips to find out if Miss Tiffany was working. She was not, and the manager told me she’d be working today from 2 to 9. This afternoon, I put on my glee and made sure my butt was sitting in the Great Clips reception area by 1:50 PM. NO MISS TIFFANY! Alas, her schedule had been changed. She worked from 9-1 today, and then she works from 6-9 this evening. I coulda been sittin’ in that hairs chair at 9 this morning, if I had been able to read Great Clip’s mind. Frustrating, I tell you!

I was already on an impatience overload. I am soooo hankering to wear some head hairs that make sense. It was all I could do to survive from Saturday until this afternoon. It’s killing me. After months of being ready for the hairs to be cut, you’d think a couple of days more– and then a few more hours– wouldn’t matter. It does. It’s driving me nuts, which means I’m driving myself nuts. It’s not Miss Tiffany who’s making me impatient. I am choosing to drive myself batty over a minor thing.

We are an impatient species, and I don’t know why. There is so much for our brains to appreciate and take stalk of right where we are– no matter where we find ourselves. But no, we gotta have something more, something different, something bigly-er than whoever it is we think we’re in competition with. Life can be fun, but it is not a game. There is no “winning.” Getting there first (wherever “there” is) is not the point. We should spend less time worrying about “winning” and more time helping others get where they’re headed.

I deeply believe we are here to be happy. And I also believe our happiness is individual to us. Mine doesn’t look like yours. In fact, it doesn’t look exactly like anyone else’s. You’re unique, so your happiness will be unique to you. I also believe our happiness is our own responsibility. You’ll get what you create. So you better be careful exactly what it is you’re creating for yourself.

HINT: Never, ever hide your “happy.” Share your happy, even with those who don’t understand it. Happy longs to be shared, spread, and even spilled. Sharing is the finest way to get your own happy to grow.

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Today Is The Big, Fat, Hairsy Day

Wood Tie o’ the Day joins me in celebration of a speshul, speshul, speshul day. It is currently 10:06 AM, and Miss Tiffany will be holding her scissors at her work station at Great Clips at 2 PM. I hope I’m first in line. Even my hairs are counting down the minutes. The hairs that will be chopped off are actually looking forward to laying down their hairsy lives for the greater good of all the hairs which will remain, and for all of us who have witnessed my skid row head fur grow for the past twelve months.

Suzanne is at work with her fingers crossed that I will truly go get the hairs gone and/or shaped up for public viewing. Skitter is vibrating out of sheer excitement at the prospect of once again seeing my head with “real” hairs. She’s not just vibrating because it’s her normal mode. Today, we’re all about the hairs.

TMS treatment #35 down, 1 to go.

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I Know What You’re Thinking

Here it is Saturday, June 1st, and I thought I’d have a new haircut to show you. I’m sure you thought, or hoped, the same thing. It seems Miss Tiffany, mistress of my hairs, doesn’t work until Monday. I’m sorry for you and I’m sorry for myself that we have to endure my hairs the way they are for a couple more days. If I knew where Miss Tiffany lived I’d Uber me and my unclassy hairs right to her front door, and I would beg her to rid me of the offending hairs RIGHT NOW. I’d even bring the scissors.

In this photo, I and my Bow Tie’s o’ the Past are having a bald day with Momo, Zola Wright. Look at Momo’s Earrings o’ the Day! Momo had earrings like I have bow ties. Best. Grandma. Who. Lived. Next. Door. Ever!

This is how I’d like my new hairs to be for a while, but I can’t get the shaved-head idea past Suzanne again. She’s tolerated it twice over the decades, but I can tell she has done hit her top nerve about my having a bald head.

At Suzanne’s last haircut, Miss Tiffany asked her if I would let her cut my hairs any way she wants. You bet! So my first ‘do will be up to Miss Tiffany. She has tattoos, so I trust her taste in hairs. I will gladly put my head hairs in her hands. I hope my year-old hairs are not impossible to redeem.

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Hairs Thursday #14: Almost Crossing The Hairy Finish Line

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I spent our afternoon practicing the art of walking while balancing a stack of 16 ball caps on my head. We decided such a sight might helpfully distract people from looking at my sorry hairs. Sadly, I don’t own enough hats to sufficiently cover each of the out-of-order hairs on my noggin. Nobody owns enough hats to handle such a massive task.

On June 1st, my hairs horror assault on the eyes will end, as soon as Miss Tiffany and her scissors are available. But I intend to always retain the skill of masterfully balancing 16 ball caps on my head while I proudly skip with Skitter around our neighborhood. No hairscuttin’ of any type can take my newly-acquired balance talent away from me. Just sayin’.

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Another BONUS: Hairs Wednesday, Still

Same day, same shirt, different Tie o’ the Day. This morning’s post got me in the hairs mood, so I’ve been tinkering around with my mop, on-and-off, throughout the day. I don’t usually give much thought to my head hairs, but I suppose the thought of chopping off my current crop has made me a bit nostalgic. I might even miss the hellish hairs when they’re gone. Thus, me and my head hairs had a playdate today, in honor of my hairs’ service. I can appreciate how hard they have worked to amuse us all for an entire year. I am a grateful gal. I can find a blessing to be thankful for just about anywhere I am.

Gratitude is a skill. It doesn’t always come from out of nowhere as some huge, soul-stirring feeling. We have to practice our gratitude. We have to actually cultivate a grateful attitude. Maybe you don’t have to work on it, but I do sometimes. When I’m in a “poor-me” mood, I look around and can’t find one darn thing worthy of my gratitude. (Seriously, we all do it on occasion.) That means I’m out of practice. It means I haven’t been flexing my gratitude enough. My thankfulness has lost its muscle tone.

Fortunately, I catch myself pretty early in the process. And when I do catch myself, I give my gratitude a good work-out by looking around wherever I am and finding something to be grateful for–in the stupidest, most insignificant object I can see. Right now, for example, I’m looking around and I can see a small pile of dirty laundry on the floor. It’s mostly dog blankets, and they are stinky. And one blanket has dog spit-up and dog urp on it. What’s to be thankful for about a pile of yucky dog blankets?

First, the dog blankets are here because we have Skitter, and I’m grateful as heck for her. Second, Suzanne made the blankets, and I am certainly thankful for that. Third, I appreciate that Skitter’s spit-up and urp were caught by one of her blankets instead of by the leather couch. Fourth, I’m grateful we have a washer and dryer to deal with Skitter’s mess. I could continue, but I won’t. You get the idea.

Practicing the gratitude attitude means we have to learn how to see what’s been given to us, but isn’t always visible. For example, throughout my TMS treatments, many of y’all have expressed concern and support. There have even been some prayers sent my way. Similar things happened with my surgery last summer. None of this caring has been lost on me. I have heard it, read it, felt it. It is mostly invisible, but it exists. And I am grateful for it all.

Practicing gratitude also means we have to learn to re-see things that are so visible we tend to not notice them anymore– like the people in our families. They are so present we start treating them like they’re part of the furniture. We just expect them to be there– in their usual places, doing their usual things. And they are the ones we should most appreciate.

So do that. Go be grateful to someone right now. I, on the other hand, am going upstairs to do Skitter’s laundry– knowing she won’t even say THANKS.

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BONUS: Hairs Wednesday

Tie o’ the Day and I are so dang exuberant at the thought of the impending end of The Dreaded 12- month Hair Saga. June 1st will find us knocking at Miss Tiffany’s GREAT CLIPS door before the door is even unlocked. We are elated. Miss Tiffany, who also cuts Suzanne’s hair, has told Suzanne at more than one of her cuts that she has missed wrangling my hair this year. I know it has nothing to do with missing my hair. Miss Tiffany has simply missed my neckwear.

Who could actually miss my thin, straight hairs? No one. This photo is evidence that not only did I not cut my hair for a year, I didn’t even get it trimmed. Scraggly, shaggy, mangy, and unbecoming. Yup, that’s my hair. (Unfortunately, it’s kinda like that even after I get it cut.)

I had originally agreed to grow out my hairs for however long it took until they were long, flowing locks. But I caved a bit from what some of you voted for. Suzanne started threatening to boot me and my hairs around the fourth month of growth, and I finally lost patience with them around the six-month mark. If I didn’t need to look in the mirror occasionally to make sure my eyebrows and nose hairs are combed, I would have quit looking in the mirror at my scary head hairs sometime around Halloween. So I set the goal of 1 year of head fur growth. An actual time limit for the venture has helped me survive my head hairs horrifying aura.

Our last Hairs Thursday will be tomorrow.