My friend, Kathy and I went to the park and did some drumming.
I spent the day as a fuzzy white haired woman.
It wasn’t painful, It wasn’t awkward. It felt like a new skin.
I thought I lost my identity when my hair fell out. I did. The old one.
There is a new identity with the new hair, and I’m getting used to it.
I think I’m going to like this fuzzy white haired woman.
Sometimes its nice to talk about what you are going to do. People say, “Oooh that’s nice you are going to do that!” Its like you get credit for what you are going to do before you do it.
Then you go to do it and get intimidated by all the people that already did it, and find that it was more fun just to talk about it.
He did not die alone, his buddies, his friends and fellow soldiers died with him. Thousands of them. What I know of Uncle Julian, was the picture on the staircase. It was the family monument and I memorized the names and the faces of my people; where i came from.
It was strange back then that cousin Wade didn’t have a dad to go home to. Aunt Grace was a teacher, eventually bought a pretty house and raised their son, who was too little to remember his dad.
My mother would pause at his picture. He played the trumpet, I was told, he was funny, loving, considerate of the little ones and had a way of lighting up the room. But for me, he was the picture on the wall, and a sacred memory of those I loved.
I took my naked white head out in public for the first time today. A light sweep of fuzz now lies flat against my bald scalp, just like a peach. Could I really do it? I’m not comfortable with how I look, but I wanted to try it out. I walked across the street to Dominoes and ordered a pizza.
People stared. There were 3 people that came in to order, as I sat at the nearby table. I didn’t mean to make them awkward by “catching” them staring. I was just as curious about them looking at me as they were curious about my bare fuzzy white head .
I was okay and a little proud that I could do it. As I crossed the street carrying a bag with hot pizza I wondered if they were thinking, “That woman has courage.”
My late husband, Christopher had a close friend named Bill that had passed away. Bill was so cheap, he wouldn’t pay more than 35 cents for a shirt, even grew his hair out to save money on haircuts. The locals felt sorry for Bill as he limped around town, thinking he was homeless. What they didn’t know, was that Bill was really rather wealthy.
Christopher went to the florist shop to get some flowers to put on his grave but realized that Bill didn’t really like flowers. “Flowers are just a waste of money,” he would say. So Christopher left the shop and headed to the cemetery. took the money he was going to spend on flowers and put it on his grave.
“If you want to know if there something in particular you came here to learn, look at the patterns in your life.” my Sunday school teacher, Bunny Whitney, once taught.
Bunny challenged us to take note of the repeating problems that come up with different faces in different forms.
“If you want those problems to stop.” she said, “than figure it out what it is, and learn what you are supposed to learn.”
Today I saw what cancer looks like on bones.
It was like a sandstorm came and blew it in all the cracks.
It was somewhere between rust and battery corrosion.
I’m still not over it.