Its a funny thing, first thing in the morning to see your hair, smoking. You think – hey, I did dry my hair all the way, what is going on?
The beloved curling iron, dead. And its trying to take my hair with it. What a smelly thing to do. Damn iron.
My mom had perfectly, naturally wavey, suave, sassoon, gee-your-hair-smells-terriffic hair. No matter how bad she would torture it, it always looked fabulous. She was always in the height of fashion, and her hair was no exception. Highlights, low-lights, even that whole spray bottle color, what was it called? Something about summer in a bottle. *ugh* That stuff was just plain toxic.
Back a few weeks ago – I mentioned that I once grew out my hair for her for a year. I think I am officially past the awkward stage, and am in full blown growing it out stage. People do it for all sorts of reasons. For me – its about change.
So heres to looking forward, to a new me. Heres to looking back – at a once rebellious and younger me.
Spring is in the air, I got a new (to me) motorcycle that will come home this weekend, slowly the body is feeling connected to the earth again, pounds are no measurement of my worth, they are simply things that like money, come and go. Heres to them going – along with my fear. Here is to living to be the daughter Anne would be gleefully, ridiculously cheering "who hoo!" for.
I love you mom. I love you, self. I love you God. Thanks for hanging in there. Amen.