Gardening in Pajamas

Most Saturday Morning I awake at the usual 5am: my internal clock can’t tell the difference between weekday and weekend.  I embrace the quiet time while the children sleep:  drinking coffee, writing or watching a rerun on the laptop. 

This morning is a little different.  I am a restless soul.  Friday was disappointing day.  My 18 year old found out that his knee will need surgery:  the same that had surgery 16 months previously.

Yes there is a story.  When this child was 3, he started telling me he was going to be a soldier.  He played army, navy, marines, anything to do with the military.  He played rough and tough.  If he fell and injured himself, all that was required was a bandage and he was out again playing.  No tears- he had work to be done and nothing was going to get in his way.  As a young teenager he began a workout routine that would shame most personal trainers.

Sixteen months ago he tore his meniscus.  It was successfully repaired and after weeks of physical therapy, it was perfect.  I breathed a sigh of relief.   His ultimate dream was within reach: becoming a Marine, following in his big brother’s footsteps.   The work out resumed and increased; Recruiters buzzed and information flowed.  A few weeks ago coming home from work, I noticed him limping and grimaced. During a workout with a friend he had injured the knee again.  He tried to soothe me, telling me it wasn’t like last time:  “There wasn’t a pop.”

Yesterday when we received the news, our question was how does this affect his future dream?  Our armed forces can pick and choose their recruitees:  they want young people in top condition, physical and mental.  What happens now?  How does my garden grow?

I went outside this morning, feeling the need to tend to my garden, yet  still in my pajamas, I grabbed a sweater, threw on a pair of flip flops and headed quietly outside.  Settling down next to my plants to take off the yellowing leaves, I realized they needed nutrients:  where did I put the fertilizer? 

I headed back inside to mix up plant food.  I stood mixing the potion to rescue my plants wishing I could mix a potion to fix knees and children .  Children are similar to precious plants in your garden.  You start them out as seedlings.  They require   water, nutrients, support, shelter from the storm and cold, new containers when they outgrow the old and sometimes you just need to stare at them and wonder why.  You will even go out in your pajamas to garden when necessary.  

I went back outside, fed my plants, pulled off the yellowed leaves, dead blossoms from the petunias.  I gently loosened the soil around the tomatoes, hoping they would absorb more of the plant food.   My garden will need a little extra care.  The growing season is going to be longer.

Peace.

NEPB

Hair Plan

Note:  The blogger’s Cousin gave full blessing &  permission  to write of her Hair Obsession … I meant to say plan.

It all started when my cousin from the big "D" questioned me on airline policies.  Was it possible to carry aerosol cans on an airplane?  She was extremely concerned about bringing her brand of hair care product on the plane for her upcoming visit.  I laughed.  I had warned her she would be visiting a much smaller town:  1,000,000 vs 420,00 (60% being college students) “We have hair spray “ I told her, “ just little tiny bottles for little tiny hair dos”.

I hadn’t seen my cousin in 20 years, sad fact.  We had kept in touch by social media and phone as physical distance and the momentum of life kept us apart.  It was finally time, Hairspray or not.  She was finally throwing in the towel and visiting the southern branch of the family.

Friday morning I realized this woman doesn’t throw any towel to the wind; she packs it.  I was standing in the bathroom door chatting while, hair wrapped in a towel, started to rant about her hair. 

Now hair is a touchy subject with me.  I don’t feel the love, pride, responsibility …. whatever.   I don’t own it.   The last time I had my hair trimmed I walked down to my hair guru in a freezing drizzle to find my “stylist” absent and had to settle for a substitute.  I plopped down like a humiliated dog subjected to a unwanted bath and sighed.  It was going to get ugly if I didn’t control my mouth.

Then the questions started simultaneously with the combing:  “when was your last cut?”  (I interpret-You are a hair slob) “what shampoo do you use?”  (You take horrible care of your hair) and so on.  Then the BIG one…  “What is your PLAN for your hair?

I stopped looking in the mirror and turned my head to look directly at her.  “Huh?  I don’t make hair plans:  I ‘m just happy to have hair.” 

The woman who usually cuts my hair knows my history of hair..  I lost my hair to chemo treatments 7 years ago.  After 2 years of chemo, wigs, hats, scarves and being told that ridiculous lie “ you look good bald”, some hair started to come back. It took 2 years to get real hair on my head.  5 years to get any length.  I  now consider hair to be just that: Hair.  I don’t spent much time on it these days.  It’s not mine anymore. Sure it now grows out my head but other than protecting me from a bit from Winter cold, it is useless: thin, straight, a weird hue of my former self.  I color when I get tired of looking at that weirdness, spray it into submission with a ponytail holder when I am lazy: often.   I don’t spend any more than 2 minutes on this head that mostly looks like Medusa’s snakes will crawl out and turn you to stone at any moment.  Don’t ask me about my Hair Plans!

As I stood leaning in the doorway watching my cousin towel dry her head, I thought about my lack of hair plans.  She defended her right to hair care.  She had to have her special towel. “Can you believe I brought my own hair towel?” (does she think I have some contagious head disease?)  She explained It dried her hair quickly having a sponge –like effect.  This meant less time with the blow dryer.  And the blow dryer:  it had special attachments because she had to get the right effect for fullness having been born with straight, thin, bodiless hair.   (Hey! Me too- suppose we are related?)

My cousin however- takes her hair plan seriously.  Purchasing the towel, the blow dryer, did I mention the brushes?  There are 2:  depending on which section of hair she is drying.  She continued, explaining to me that she often travels with hair scissors because her bangs are a source of constant worry and need frequent pruning.  She wasn’t able to bring them on the plane:  TSA regulations being so strict.  I instantly dug around in the vanity finding a pair, needing to soothe her frazzled hair plan.    “Those might come in handy” She exclaimed happily. ( For bangs or protection?)  The hair plan continued. She applied her body building hair powder, “I use body building shampoo too! Can’t you tell! “ She laughed at me, laughing at herself as well.  I rolled my eyes at her.

Now I am no stranger to these products.  In a weak moment I gave in and tried a few.  The effect was so temporary, I gave up.  I retreated once more to my mantra “Its only hair”.   I am envious of those women who have determination to continue.  More so to those with the hair that doesn’t require such maintenance.  I’m pretty sure most long for the opposite hair of that which they have been given. It’s the statement heard in women’s dressing rooms throughout the land.  “I hate my hair!”   “I want my hair to be this way!”  There is a billion dollar industry to convince us that we need to tame our to behave the opposite of whatever its current condition, color or texture.

From our conversation that morning I quickly deducted any highly time sensitive function during this visit was going to require advance warning so the hair plan could be activated properly.  I am, if anything a good planner.  Every hair event went according to plan and I must admit, my cousin's hair performed wonderfully.  Especially considering the constant wind we endured this weekend,

Special note to my cousin:  You do know that wind adds body to your hair, Right?  You looked beautiful and we so enjoyed your company!

Good Hair and Peace!

NEPB