The photos I’m posting today are nearly identical to photos I posted about a month ago, and for good reason – it’s a scene that plays out over and over again during the summer months. The elements are:
an old quilt that I love (the blue and yellow color scheme is so cheerful, isn’t it?)
a book (this time I had a perennial favorite, Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach, and a fun new book, Sourdough by Robin Sloan)
On this particular day I also brought along my bullet journal, my gratitude journal, and some fun washi tape (I love love love washi tape)
an icy drink (I’m really into iced coffee this summer, but ginger ale in a wine glass or poured into a tall glass that has been filled to the brim with ice first is also a favorite)
dappled sun filtered through the leaves of my favorite tree
a pillow, in case I want to take a nap
I’m a homebody. When coworkers tell me about their weekends of going here, there, and everywhere, it sounds nice, but honestly it also sounds exhausting. I think I’m a classic introvert – my batteries are recharged by staying close to home, surrounding myself with simple comforts, and engaging in quiet pursuits.
“Ask a woman about her hair, and she just might tell you the story of her life.” – Elizabeth Benedict
As you can probably tell from the photo above, I haven’t been to my hair stylist since March 10. Before the advent of the coronavirus I had no intention, at least in the forseeable future, of going back to my natural hair color. In the pre-covid days I would actually get sort of embarrassed in the last days leading up to my stylist appointment. I couldn’t wait to cover up the unsightly stripe of steel gray that was invading my light brown coif like weeds in a pristine lawn. But over the last four months the idea of ditching the $100-every-seven-weeks habit of the past several years has grown on me.
Women have such a complicated relationship with their hair – too curly, too straight, too thin, too thick, frizzy, limp, wrong color. It seems rare to meet a woman who is completely happy with her hair. I know my own relationship with my hair has had its ups and downs.
From birth to about 12 years old I never thought about my hair at all. Then puberty came and my hair became curly, so of course I had to do everything I could over the next several decades to try to (mostly unsuccessfully) blow dry the curls into submission. At the ripe old age of about 46 I finally decided to embrace the curls. My hair color at this time was a natural light brown, and I would sometimes have my stylist add a few highlights to it. I was really rocking the curly hair there for a while, right up until I found out that I would lose it all to chemotherapy.
In order to ease the transition to baldness, I got a pixie cut. That lasted about three weeks, at which point my hair began to fall out in large clumps and I asked Chris to give me a buzz cut. Being bald didn’t really bother me. Honestly it was the least of my worries at the time. I was more concerned about surviving. I wore a wig to school, which was hot and uncomfortable, but I wanted to project some sense of normalcy for my third-grade students. When I wasn’t working I had a collection of berets that I wore when going out into the world.
When the hair grew back and got beyond the fuzzy baby-chick stage, I was shocked that not only was my base hair color much darker than before, but there was quite a bit more gray than before as well. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t feel like my appearance matched the “me” I had always been. It seemed unfair that cancer took one more thing from me. At the same time, I felt incredibly grateful just to have hair on my head again. It seemed frivolous at the time to do anything about the color, but eventually I took the plunge and went back to my light-brown-with-golden-highlights look. The expense didn’t thrill me, but I never really thought about stopping.
Enter COVID-19.
Women all over the world have been grappling with their hair color during these last few months. Some turned to color-in-a-box (which stores apparently couldn’t keep on the shelves, the demand was so high). Many ran to their stylist as soon as restrictions were eased, and breathed a sigh of relief when order was restored to their hair. Many, like me, didn’t feel comfortable returning to their stylist even when allowed by local authorities. It felt too soon and we still didn’t feel ready. I’m thinking that sometime in September I may return (if the virus numbers improve), but I’ve made the decision that I won’t be going in for color. I may get a super-short cut to get rid of most of the old color, or I may just have it trimmed back to the length it was before the pandemic.
I’m keeping the color that I decided 5 years ago wasn’t “me”, because over the last few months I’ve come to realize my hair color actually isn’t that important to me anymore. Maybe it’s because I’ve realized that I’ve come to terms with the other things that cancer took from me. Maybe it’s because I realize that I actually love growing older and embracing the gray feels right and natural. I don’t know. All I know is, when I think about my “new” hair color and what it might look like when it’s all grown out, I feel happy and excited. That’s enough for me.
I’m a great lover of before-and-after photos, so with that in mind I thought I would share with you some pictures of my hair journey:
Baby me2010 – A few months after I decided to embrace the curls December 2013 – one month before my diagnosis The pre-bald pixieBald – doesn’t seem real to me nowThe post-bald pixie – with the darker colorMy hair color from October 2015 to March 2020
Sometimes I think I should just rename my blog “Things That Make Me Happy” because it seems like the only posts I can be counted on making are these weekly odes to happiness (even though today I’m a day late). I do like the self imposed structure of forcing myself at least once a week to let my mind settle on things about life that bring me joy. I find that it’s a practice that is helping to keep me on an even keel these days, and that, as Martha says, is a good thing.
I’ve been trying to get out and take some photos each day, but my 10+ hour days at work (I’m still working from my dining room) have cut into that a bit. I have gotten a few good shots, and I guess I should count a few good shots a week as success.
I’m still fascinated by the hummingbirds. Something that is making me especially happy is that we are now seeing very small hummingbirds at the feeder. Yes, I know all hummingbirds are very small – the ones we have been seeing are about half the size of the others, so we know that somewhere close by there sits a teeny hummingbird nest that these little ones called home not so long ago. That just makes me smile.
Baby animals of all kinds make me happy. This is probably the first year ever that I have paid enough attention to the bird life in my neighborhood to notice the difference between the adult birds flying around and their smaller, more tentative, slightly different colored (the robin young are a little less vibrant, the cardinal young are slightly more vibrant) offspring. I find that I am noticing everything about nature more this year – the budding trees and bushes in the springtime looked more beautiful and miraculous than ever before, but I know for certain they actually looked no different than in previous years. If there are any tiny silver linings of this time of coronavirus-imposed isolation, rediscovering the beauty of nature is one of them for me.
The daisies have been in bloom along the side of our garage for the last couple of weeks. All flowers bring me joy (the topic of another Things That Make Me Happy post), but especially daisies. As I am a hopeless gardener, the fact that daisies are perennials, spread each year, and are no-maintenance (well they might be happier with more maintenance than I give them, but they tolerate my neglect) are all pluses as well.
Working from home has a downside of allowing you the opportunity to work at any and all times. As we are currently in one of our busy seasons at work I could be tempted to work this weekend, but I made the decision yesterday afternoon as I powered down my computer that I will not turn it on until Monday morning. Setting that boundary is making me very happy. My plans for the weekend include sitting in our back yard, reading, taking some photos, writing to friends, and just writing in general. I’ve had some blog post ideas bubbling up in my brain these last few days and I hope to get them out to you soon.
And speaking of the blog, let me just say that knowing you are out there reading these offerings, well, that makes me very happy indeed. Thank you.
We are only two days into this work week and already I have worked 20 hours. I am now eyebrow-deep in our quarterly busy season that is “recon” – reconciling investment accounts so that we can send out quarterly statements. I started work at 7:00 this morning so by about 3:00 this afternoon my brain was feeling fried and I was starting to slow down when Chris says to me, “We have a dead skunk in the backyard.” Wait a minute – what? A dead skunk?
Now, I have a very healthy respect for skunks and the havoc they can cause in our lives. I had a student once whose home was compromised by skunk stink (dog got sprayed and then came in and rolled all over the place). That poor boy’s family tried and tried to eradicate the stink but it held fast. The few times I have seen a skunk when out walking early in the morning, I have turned and run in the opposite direction faster than I have ever run before or since. So, although a dead skunk doesn’t pose the problem of being able to actively spray a person, there is no way I wanted to go anywhere near one of the species, dead or alive.
We half-heartedly googled how to get rid of it ourselves, called the local animal control officials who didn’t help much, and then decided to enlist the services of a professional. We called a guy who would charge $100 (a small price to pay, I thought!) to remove all traces of the skunk from our property. Only catch was, he couldn’t come until tomorrow.
Having not taken a lunch hour today, I felt free to spread the news of our dead skunk far and wide via text. It did occur to me that the fact that a dead skunk was such big news reflected poorly on the level of excitement currently in my life. My favorite exchange was with Sam (who is presently at his dad’s house):
About 45 minutes later, Sam’s dad called to say that he would get rid of the skunk for us and wouldn’t charge a penny. As I was talking to him I walked over to the glass patio doors and saw this:
Stop the presses!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A vulture had somehow smelled this tender morsel and was having a very nice little meal. I’ve since learned that turkey vultures can smell a potential meal up to a mile away (tucking that away for my next stint on Jeopardy). He flew away for a bit, then came back to work on it some more. At present he is gone, but I’m hoping he’ll get hungry later. Meantime, we are cancelling on the guy who was going to come take care of it for us. Cha-ching! One hundred bucks now burning a hole in my pocket!
I am a huge fan of picnics! I think I’d rather have a picnic than eat in just about any restaurant. Even the simple sandwich-and-a-bag-of-chips is elevated way beyond its station by being involved in a picnic. I love setting out the tablecloth, unpacking the goodies from the cooler, and then just relaxing into the moment. When Sam and I visited my mother in Connecticut, we went on a picnic every single day. It was a way to enjoy the outdoors without coming into close proximity with other people.
Shall I tell you about my favorite picnic of all time?
In the summer of 2013 I traveled to London with Chris. Chris was working the entire week we were there, so I arranged to meet up with different friends each day and have adventures. One day my friend Sue and I climbed to the top of the O2 dome. Another day Sally and I had tea at Harrods. One early evening my friend Chris gave me a tour of London on his motorcycle (the first and only time I’ve ever been on a motorcycle – it was thrilling).
One day I arranged to meet my friend Dave at Borough Market. If you’ve never been to Borough Market, it’s an open air market with vendor stalls ranging from baked goods, meats, cheeses, candies…pretty much name something yummy and you can find it there. Dave and I wandered through Borough Market and bought items for a picnic – fresh bread, salami, cheese, organic apple/beet juice, brownies, and a meringue the size of my head (not actually the size of my head, but I love that phrase). We walked over to the lawn in front of the Tate Modern museum, I laid out my denim jacket as an improvised tablecloth, and we proceeded to eat our way through much of what we bought. Our eyes had been bigger than our stomachs, so we decided to eat only the savory items we bought and share the sweets with Dave’s wife Sarah when we met up with her later in the day (yay, two picnics in one day!).
If I had known I’d be sharing the photos with you these seven years later, I would have taken more and better quality photos, but you get the gist. It was a lovely, memorable day and I will cherish the memory forever.
One of these people is my friend Dave. To protect his privacy I won’t tell you which one. 🙂Meringues the size of your head!Yum!I don’t know about you, but they had me at “sticky ginger.”Picnic #1 – Savory!We made a friend.Picnic #2 – Sweet!
I hope you have a wonderful weekend, friends! Maybe a picnic will now be in your plans?
Sam drew this cartoon from a photo taken on the day.
Today is a happy day. Nine years ago today Chris and I got married. I gained a step-daughter and Sam gained a step-sister. With all the crazy stuff going on in the world today, it’s wonderful to think back on July 9, 2011. We were married in my parents’ backyard. My dad, who would die in 2014, gave me away. My oldest friend (we’ve been friends for nearly 48 years now) officiated. Our honeymoon was spent in a beach house with 8 other people (Sam, and Chris’ family who had traveled from the UK and New Zealand for the wedding). There was some stress and strain (torrential rain up until a few hours before the outdoor wedding, for instance), but to me, looking back, it was perfect.
Tomorrow, more things that make me happy. See you then. xoxo
I love to learn. If someone would pay me to go to college for the rest of my life, that would be the best gig ever. I love to study and believe it or not I love to take tests. I’ve always been a good test-taker, I have a knack for it, but I must admit I haven’t always been a good studier – is that a word? Yes, apparently it is. In fact, there were times when I was an abysmal studier. But I’ve always loved learning new things.
I have begun working on a new challenge – actually I just started this morning! I’m learning how to use Sam’s camera (pictured above, Canon’s EOS Rebel T7, for those who are interested). I’m working my way through the manual (imagine my relief when I realized that of the many pages in the 3/4-inch-thick instruction manual, only the first 116 are in English! The others are just repeats of the instructions in other languages)!
I had been thinking about learning how to work a real camera and not just the one in my phone for a while now, but something recently brought the idea from the back burner to the front – hummingbirds! I love hummingbirds and we have managed to attract some hummingbirds to our two feeders. I am so thrilled! I tried taking some iPhone photos, but the camera in my iPhone model doesn’t do a great job of zooming in with any decent amount of clarity. Maybe I’m using it wrong, and maybe more fancy models have much better cameras (I’ve heard they do), but this week I decided I would start to take some photos with and learn everything there is to know about the Canon.
I have spent a good portion of the day sitting at the window, or kneeling at the window with the camera propped up on the back of a chair (at some point a tripod might be needed), waiting for the hummingbirds to arrive. Two birds did arrive, and I have nicknamed them Ruby, for his lovely red throat, and Turq, for her gorgeous turquoise feathers. Ruby came first thing in the morning and I haven’t seen him back yet. Turq has been a frequent visitor today.
Friends, I am so happy I could just do a little dance. This is so much fun.
Update: Friends who actually know their birds have informed me that these are both ruby-throated hummingbirds. Ruby is an adult male and Turq is an adult female. 🙂
Good morning, Ruby!Ruby giving us a better look at his lovely neckThat translucent thing protruding from her beak is her tongue!
The photo above shows me and my dear friend Lori in the year 1985. I was 21 years old and was sporting a tan that I thought looked oh-so-cool with my white t-shirt and faux puka shell necklace. In my late teens and early twenties, I didn’t feel attractive in the summer months unless I had a tan.
This next photo was taken in 2018. It reflects my attitude toward the sun in more recent years. Sunscreen, floppy hat, a sunscreen shirt.
Whoa – this photo looks a bit large when uploaded here. I’ve tried to make it smaller so it doesn’t frighten anyone, but I don’t want to crop it too much or else you won’t see the scale we’re working with. So, here’s the story. I have a full body check by my dermatologist every year – it’s not as traumatic it sounds, I promise! I highly recommend it. Anyway, I got a clean bill of health from my derm doctor last August, but in February I noticed a small pink spot on my face that didn’t go away. It did not look horrible. It wasn’t black and blotchy. It was just something that hadn’t been there before and didn’t seem to want to disappear. I booked an appointment with my derm to check it out. She took a look and said it might be something called basal cell carcinoma and it might not. Her conservative view was that a biopsy would probably be a good idea. The photo above is of the spot after the biopsy – I don’t have a before photo. The biopsy pathology showed that the spot was indeed basal cell carcinoma, which is a skin cancer that is not life threatening but left to its own devices will spread and spread and eventually make you look like a gargoyle (I don’t recommend looking at Google images – trust me). There is one cause of basal cell carcinoma – exposure to the sun.
This is me last Wednesday, waiting for my dermatologist to show up to perform my MOHS surgery. MOHS surgery is a multi-step procedure in which the dermatologist/surgeon removes very thin layers of tissue from the known site of the cancer. Each time a layer is removed, it is examined under a microscope to see if there are any cancer cells present. Layers are removed and examined until no cancer cells are present. If you are lucky, it only takes one layer to remove all the cancer cells. I was lucky.
After I was given the all clear by the dermatologist, I was sent across the street to the plastic surgeon. The plastic surgeon removed the dressing that had been placed on my face and said, “Oh, this is going to be easy peasy.” “Yay,” I thought.
I was sent home with a sheet of instructions. I was to keep the dressing on until the next morning, when I was to apply some antibiotic ointment and a bandaid, or let it be open to the air. So, it wasn’t until the next morning that I saw this:
They don’t mess around. That little pink spot is now a one inch incision, healing nicely. So, less gargoyle and more pirate queen.
The moral of my story is this: respect the power of the sun. If you don’t have a dermatologist, get one. Schedule yourself for yearly full-body checks, and if you notice something new anywhere on your skin that either looks not quite normal, or grows or changes in any way over time, do not hesitate to get it looked at.
It’s been a lovely, lazy day. Sunny, temperatures in the high 70’s and low 80’s. I have to say that given the choice between pulling the many weeds plaguing my hosta bed and reading a book while drinking a frosty glass of iced coffee under a tree…well…
It has been more than two weeks since my last post. Right after that last post I left for a week in Connecticut. It was something I was really nervous about doing (you’re visiting your 89-year-old mother in the middle of a pandemic?! What are you thinking?!) but also something that I knew I needed to do, for many reasons that I won’t go into here.
Anyway, the week was a good one for everyone involved. I’m glad I went. I was nervous about posting about my trip on here (you visited your 89-year-old mother in the middle of a pandemic?! What were you thinking?!) which explains the second week I was away.
Connecticut was beautiful. It may sound ironic, given that I visited my 89-year-old mother in the middle of a pandemic, but it felt good to be in a state that takes the pandemic a heck of a lot more seriously than Ohio. You simply do not go into any public enclosed space without a mask. It is not allowed. People keep their distance. You don’t see groups gathered together inside or out. We did a lot of picnic lunches, off by ourselves in the woods or by the water. It was a quiet, gentle sort of week, full of love and simple pleasures.
I have more pictures to share in the coming days, but I wanted to share with you some of the signs that are currently ubiquitous in Connecticut – hearts and thanks for health care and other front line workers. You do see a few signs stuck in lawns around here, but nothing near the scale and permanence that I saw in Connecticut. It was lovely.
I will leave you now with a promise to be here more often in the coming days. I missed you.
