Top 5 Reasons Why I Changed My Hair

Yesterday I had scheduled a routine hair appointment for highlights and a trim, but when I sat down in the chair, something came over me. It had been building for a while, whispering in my ear, but now it announced itself. "I want to do something different." I ended up like this.

The difference is still a little shocking to me, but I like it. At least today I do. As my hairdresser said, "If you don't like it, we can always put color back in." So it's nice to have an out.

It leaves me asking myself why I went totally white. Here's what I came up with:

• It's almost summer; everyone has a summer hair fling.
• I went to Mt. Sinai for vacation and saw a burning bush.
• I'm showing solidarity for the vanishing habitat of polar bears.
• I wanted to look even more like my mother than I already do (yeah, right.)
• I was feeling old.

The last one is the real truth, of course, and I'll tell you why I was feeling old. It had to do with an incident from our recent vacation. Scott and I spent a week in Puerto Rico and then cruised from there around the Caribbean for two weeks. One evening during the second week of cruising, I was walking on the pool deck about 9:30pm. It was basically deserted and crew members were cleaning the pool and washing the deck. There were two teenagers, a boy and a girl, sitting in the deck chairs talking. You could tell that they had recently met and there was a lot of "flirting" going on. Just as I reached where they were sitting, they jumped up and dashed across the deck, crashing right into me. The young lady stopped and apologized and I told her I was fine. Upon hearing this, the boy, who had not stopped, turned around, looked at me, turned back to the young lady and said, "You don't need to apologize to her; she's just an old lady."

Now this stunned me on several different levels. First, I couldn't believe how rude it was; second, I couldn't believe that young people have that much disrespect for older people; and third, it really hurt my feelings. I just kept walking to my cabin, but by the time I got there I had worked up a head of steam, which I promptly unloaded on my poor husband. I thought it blew over after that but, over the ensuing days and weeks, I kept looking at myself with ever critical eyes. I did look old and I didn't like it, so it was time to do something radical. Voilà! White hair. If I'm going to look old, it's going to me on my terms.

I know, pathetic isn't it? So much for aging gracefully. I don't care. This white hair makes me feel powerful, like some coldblooded Scandinavian killer in a Die Hard movie. "Hey smart-mouthed kid on the ship, if you're reading this, look out. Next time you call me 'old lady,' I'm going to kick your ass." I know I should be practicing forgiveness and kindness, but I think the Universe will thank me for this one.

Let me know what you think about the hair. Thanks for stopping by.

I'm a Little Cranky

I know that those of you who follow this blog are expecting me to write about my great Caribbean trip and show some photos. I'm working on that but, in the process, have gotten delayed by illness. My husband and I both contracted (he from me) a stomach flu that has laid us low for most of the week. I just haven't felt like writing all week.

But today I woke up feeling a little better and had the strength to dress, go to "town" and get a few errands done. Totally worn out by the time I got home, I proceeded to sit on my reading porch and read around on the Yahoo! News site for a few hours. It is so easy to get in the middle of this practice and lose hours at a time going from one link to the next, but today I didn't care. I just wanted to sit there and do nothing particularly productive. 

I needed some time out of bed, since I'd been there almost exclusively since Monday night. I'd gotten up and dressed, makeup, jewelry and everything, so it seemed a waste just to go straight back to bed. I was also tired of watching TV. Wednesday and Thursday I watched the entire season (12 episodes) of the Showtime series "Homeland." I hadn't heard of it until I saw this month's Vanity Fair - the annual Television edition, and stuff about "Homeland" was all over the place. It stars Claire Danes as a manic/depressive CIA Analyst who is convinced that a returning POW/hero was turned during his eight-year captivity by the Taliban. Each episode is about an hour and a half long, some are two hours, so after watching all 12 (I got hooked,) I was looking for something other than TV. (Here's the link to the "Homeland" website in case you're interested. http://www.sho.com/site/homeland/home.sho)

OK, so here's why I'm cranky. While reading around on Yahoo! News, I saw an article on Yahoo! Shopping entitled "Black Workout Pants for Every Body." Since I'm always searching for pants to wear to yoga that (a) hide my Buddha belly and (b) are stretchy enough that I don't constantly have to pull them back up after doing a pose, I clicked on the link. The article described the best pant for different body types -- boy-shaped, bottom-heavy, long & lean, big belly, etc.-- and linked you to the shopping site for the type of pant which would look best on that body type. One of the categories was "If You're Plus Sized" which proceeded to describe and recommend a great pair of pants by Reebock. Intrigued, I clicked on the shopping link which took me directly to Reebock's site, not some retailer who may not have a complete stock. I read Reebock's spill and decided, OK, I'll bite. Now remember, these pants were recommended for "If You're Plus Sized." I clicked on the size pull-down and found that these pants are available in small and medium only. This from the manufacturer. Don't you think the writer from Self could have done a little better on the research? If you're going to recommend something for big size people, doesn't it make sense that the product should be available in large sizes? Small and medium...I'm just a little cranky.


Thanks for stopping by.

Spring Has Sprung

Wow, three weeks in the Caribbean and when I get home, Spring has arrived. Our whole yard exploded in green and in blossoms. Trees that were still bare with buds just beginning to show are now fully leafed out. Fortunately we had someone tend to the yard while we were gone and she kept it mowed and trimmed. Otherwise we would have come home to a jungle.

The same is true throughout the Texas Hill Country. After almost two years of severe drought, there was enough rain this winter to bring back our sentimental favorite, the Texas bluebonnet. My sisters informed me as soon as I got home that, if I was going to see how beautiful the bluebonnets are this year, I had better get myself out there this week. The blooms were at their peak and in some places, were beginning to fade. So even though my suitcases are still not unpacked and the laundry hasn't even been started, Scott and I packed up a picnic lunch and both dogs yesterday and started driving northwest. 

Our route took us toward Johnson City and Marble Falls before we turned off on RR 1323 toward Willow City and the famous-for-its-wildflowers Willow City loop. It is very hard to photograph on the loop because it is a private road with no shoulders and signs posted by the owners to stay on the road. I tried a couple of shots, but didn't have much luck. 

From Willow City we traveled on to Llano and had our picnic at a park under the Llano River bridge.

The dogs were not thrilled to be tethered too far away to beg easily for lunch, but this was a very nice spot for a picnic. 
 

It is so good to see the rivers flowing again after almost every one in the hill country was dry or nearly dry during the drought.
 

After lunch we took RR 2323 out of Llano toward Prairie Mountain. On this quiet road we had much better luck stopping to take photos.

It is a rite of passage in Texas to have your photo taken in the bluebonnets as often as possible. Dogs have that right, too.

Indian Paintbrush

Agarita

Agarita in barbed wire. Can't get much more Texas than that.

 I love it when you can see blue along the road, as far as the eye can see.

Soon we reached the little community of Prairie Mountain. The school there was once the school, church and community center for the neighboring German farmers and their families. It is now a historical site, complete with marker. On weekends, volunteers at the school are happy to tell you about the history of the community. They told my sisters that they had never seen the proliferation of white prickly poppy like they have this year. 

I agree, the prickly poppy is everywhere; I've never seen it like this. As a biology student, I have to guess that the drought and extreme heat of the past summer must have triggered some dormant seeds. Whenever I think of prickly poppy, I think of my college days at Texas State University. (It was Southwest Texas State University then.) There was a lab instructor in the Biology department named Ruth Cressen. The subject of her master thesis was the white prickly poppy. Let's just be kind and say Ruth knew everything there was to know about this flower and would share her knowledge with you. To this day I cannot see prickly poppy without thinking of her. Ruth, if you're out there, please tell me why we have such an abundant crop this year.


We left Prairie Mountain and headed back home, down Hwy. 71 to Hwy. 281, Johnson City, Dripping Springs and Wimberley. Since it is always a little warmer here than in the counties we visited today, our flowers are mostly gone or past their peak, except for the ever-present yellow composites and the humble prairie verbena.

The verbena is also thicker than usual this year, especially in my front yard. Since it looks so pretty, I am not going to mow for a while, at least until the verbena fades. At least that's the excuse I'm giving. I won't even think about the yard until I get my suitcases unpacked, laundry done and photos of the Caribbean uploaded. Stay tuned for at least a couple of blogs and photos about that trip. Until then, stay safe and enjoy the beautiful weather. It will be too hot too soon. 


Thanks for stopping by.

 

On My Way to Paradise

No, I'm not dying; far from it. My husband and I are leaving next week for the longest vacation we've been on together -- three weeks in the Caribbean and I can't wait. It hasn't been much of a winter here at home, but today it is rainy and cold with nothing but the same in sight for several more days. Come Tuesday I'll be boarding the plane for San Juan, Puerto Rico where we'll stay the rest of the week. Then we board a cruise ship for two weeks. The first of those we'll stop at Grenada, St. Lucia, Antigua, St Croix and St. Thomas. The second week we'll see Tortola, St. Maarten, St. Kitts, Dominica and Barbados. 

We have been to Puerto Rico before and really enjoyed it. That's why we scheduled almost a week there prior to the cruise. We'll be staying at a hotel on Isla Verde beach, which is the beach you see in your mind when you think Caribbean. Here are a couple of photos from the last time we were there.

Isla Verde Beach viewed from our hotel room.

Rain storm approaching the beach.

 We also hope to make another visit to the only rain forest in the the U.S. National Forest system -- El Yonque, located in the mountains of Puerto Rico, north of San Juan. I have a better camera now than I did then, so I'll come home with much better photos. Here are some shots from the first visit. 

Our guide made his hat from one giant leaf, secured with the stem.

One of the waterfalls in El Yonque.

 As for the stops we'll make on the cruise, of the list, I've only seen St. Thomas and Dominica before. The rest will be surprises for us. The ship travels at night and docks while everyone is asleep. So every morning when you open your curtains, the view is new and spectacular. 

The soundtrack in my head has been playing the Alison Krauss tune "Oh, Atlanta" all week. Not because I'm thinking about Atlanta, but because of the line that says, "I-I'm on my way-a back to-oo Georgia."   Except, when I sing it, it comes out "back to paradise." Either way, hope you enjoy it. . . .

So stayed tuned; I'll be back with photos and stories in a few weeks. For those of you who may be worried that I have, with this post, told the "thousands" of criminals that scan the internet that I'll be gone for three weeks, don't worry. I have a house-sitter who will be here all the time. She's armed and will have three ferocious dogs helping her protect the house. 

Wouldn't you be scared?

Thanks for stopping by today. Until the first week of April, when you think of me, if you think of me, picture me like this....

Why I Love Yoga

I have come to the point in my life where exercise is no longer an option, it is a requirement. I can't just associate exercise with weight loss anymore, which was one of the bigger mistakes of my youth. I only exercised regularly when I was dieting or attempting to "get in shape" for something special. Now regular movement and activity is essential for all kinds of reasons in my aging body, but the main reason is that I want to avoid knee surgery. 

I live in a town where there are a lot of "seniors," and many of them have gone through knee-replacement surgery. Some just breeze right through, while others suffer months of rehab and never quite get back to where they where before the surgery except that they don't have the constant pain. I want to avoid all that and try to keep my muscles strong and my body flexible, which is a challenge when, deep down, you hate exercise like I do. That is why it is so astonishing to me that I love yoga.

I've been attending yoga classes at a local studio for about three years now, which makes me qualified, in my own mind, to tell you what yoga is all about. And the answer is: I don't have a clue. All I know is that it makes me feel really good. 

I do know that yoga is an ancient practice developed in India and there are those who get completely wrapped up (aka lost) in the details. There are Sanskrit names for all the poses which are named after the things in nature that they resemble, such as cat, cow, tree, etc.  A good teacher will instruct you in the correct way to position yourself in each pose so that you are doing no harm to your body, but building core strength, flexibility and balance. You also practice slowing the mind down and breathing deeply so that your body can absorb the full effects of your time in the studio. 

That said, as with anything that attempts to link the wellness of your mind and body together, there are followers who go off into the deep end of the spiritual aspects. I don't get into the spiritual side of yoga at all, apart from the relaxation and slowing down of my mind, trying to concentrate on what's going on in the moment and not what I'm missing out on outside the studio. In that vein, I have classified three levels of yoga practitioners and put myself solidly in the first camp. 

 

Group 1: I'm just here for Savasana. Savasana is the "corpse pose" that you lie in for several minutes at the end of the yoga session. It is comfortable and quiet and the goal is for you to think about how good you feel right now, so that, as you leave the studio and get stressed in your daily life, you can take a moment to relive how wonderful it was to lie there like a corpse. This group of people comes to yoga because we need the exercise and we love the way yoga makes us feel - stronger and in control of our bodies. It's hard to get us to meditate, but we'll try for five or ten minutes, maybe. Don't even suggest chanting or anything else too woo-woo.

Group 2: Suckin' on the Pixie Sticks. Do you remember the straws filled with Kool-Aid we had when we were kids? Where I lived those were called Pixie Sticks. So in my yoga analogy, it's not quite "Drinkin' the Kool-Aid" (group 3,) but it's on the way. This group likes to chant, reads Yoga Journal, keeps up with everything going on in the "yoga world," knows the names of all the different types of yoga and dreams of having their own studio someday. They attend workshops and retreats and come home feeling good, fairly buzzing with goodness. I will admit that I have put my toe in the waters of this group a time or two, and it doesn't feel too bad. I kind of like the cherry Pixie Sticks, but I'm really more comfortable in Savasana.

Group 3: Drinkin' the Kool-Aid. These folks have wholly embraced both the physical and spiritual aspects of yoga. Chanting and meditation are second nature to them. They are probably certified instructors and use only the Sanskrit names for poses. They have studied the writings of all the great yoga gurus throughout history and dream of going to India. They are probably the happiest, healthiest, kindest and most accepting people you'll ever know. 

And THAT is why I love yoga. No matter what your physical shape or condition is, there is something in yoga for you. No matter what level you want to practice, no one makes fun of you or tries to make you feel guilty for not loving the Kool-Aid, at least not here in the Heart of Texas. Things might be different and more competitive in the big cities, but I gave that up years ago anyway. Yoga makes me feel graceful and in control of my body. I can do things today that I probably could not have done in my twenties. And best of all, I can go through a whole class and never break a sweat. (You know how I hate to sweat.) No one could ever say that about Jazzercise!

So if you've been thinking about trying yoga for a while, don't let the strangeness of it stop you. Based on my experiences, I feel sure you can fit right in. If you live near Wimberley, TX, stop by the Heart of Texas studio and talk to Becky or check the studio's website. You'll be glad you did.


Thanks for stopping by today; it feels good to be writing again.

The Time Has Come

"The time has come," the Walrus said, 

"To talk of many things."

"Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax --

of cabbages and kings.

And why the sea is boiling hot --

and whether pigs have wings."

Excerpt - The Walrus and The Carpenter

Lewis Carroll

from "Through the Looking Glass"

July 3, 2005, our youngest son, James Stephen Brown, was killed in an auto accident; he was 12 years old. In many ways, my life stopped that day and I've spent the years since trying to pull together the parts of me that are left and move forward. I've never written about J.S. or my feelings of grief and loss and it has become clear to me that at some point, I must. So friends, the time has come.

I have faced grief before, having lost both of my parents. But the loss of your child is different. It's against the natural order of things and nothing prepares you deal with it. No one 's last look at their child should be of him in a body bag, partially unzipped for your private farewell. Some images never leave you.


Other memories of the early days surrounding his death span a broad spectrum. Some are muddled, fuzzy or completely lost, while others are as clear and sharp as if they just happened. Especially the ones that are particularly painful. Pain charges memories with energy and keeps them bright and vivid in your mind, hard to escape, impossible to let go. 


I remember the look on the faces of the mothers of J.S.'s friends. Amid the expressions of sympathy and platitudes that came from everyone around me, it was clear that they, these mothers, were the only ones who understood. Our eyes locked in something akin to panic. No words were exchanged or necessary; every beat of their hearts screamed, "Please don't let this happen to me."


All our friends and family members scrambled to find some way to be with us through the crisis. Food and help appeared from everywhere, people struggling to know what to do. Little things made a big difference. My sister stayed at our house, answering the phone so that we would not have to, dutifully noting each caller and message. I learned that nothing anyone says brings relief or comfort. "I am sorry for your loss," is about the best one can do. "He's in a better place," or "God works in mysterious ways," were enough to make me want to shoot the messenger. If I thought this were anything other than a tragic accident, if somehow some god said, "Kill this boy," I would have lost my sanity. If this is ever what you want to say to a grieving mother, keep your mouth shut.


The rest of 2005, 2006 and 2007 are still mostly a blur. I continued to work, bolstered by my co-workers at The University of Texas, who looked after me, covered my mistakes and led me around when I was pretty much a zombie. I remember that Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans in 2005 but I can't tell you much about anything else that happened in the world during those years. In 2007 we sold our family home, our dream house on the hill of our 120 acre ranch that we had designed and built when the boys were young. There was just too much pain there. My world had shrunk to our bedroom, the kitchen and my office at work. I think my husband was afraid I would finally slip too far away to come back. Ben had graduated from high school by then and was away at college, so Scott and our good friend, Ardis, searched for a home they thought I would like that would not remind me of the one I was leaving. We have a lovely home now, but that is its main attraction -- the fact that it is so different than the ranch. 


At some point, somewhere in 2009, I decided that I needed to rejoin my life. It was a struggle, but I think that what finally "did me in" was exhaustion. Up to then, with the help of anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, sleeping and help for digestion medications, I kept working at an accelerated pace. After leaving UT,  I became president of our local Chamber of Commerce and found myself involved in everything in town. I worked or volunteered constantly, knowing that if I just stayed really busy, I wouldn't have time to think about James Stephen. But he was always there. It took complete exhaustion and a four month illness for me to stop frantically avoiding him. 


So this is where I sit now. The last six months of 2011 were pretty hard. In May his classmates graduated from high school. All around me, there they were - sacking at the grocery store, waitressing at the cafe - saving money for their college accounts, full of energy and anticipation for the next stage of their lives. But he's not here. November 23 was his birthday, Thanksgiving time (ha!) He would have been 19, but he's not here. His brother got married, Christmas rolled around, life goes on. But he's not here. Most days I am alright, but some I'm not. I know that I'll never be whole again and that my life will forever be divided into "before" and "after" his death.


I made a conscious choice to rejoin the living and get involved in my life again. I quit my job and most of my volunteer work. I now do only the things that make me feel like I'm contributing something good to the world. I started this blog and the writing really helps. When I finish my infamous novel, that will help, too. I guess that is the biggest goal looming ahead of me. One of the main characters is a woman who lost both her husband and her son in an accident, so the writing of those sections is very cathartic for me. This month I will finally be off my prescriptions for anti-depression and sleeping. I had to go through a slow, weaning-off process, but it is time. 


You may hear more from me than you have in the last few months. Needing to write this column has kept me from writing anything else; every time I tried a lighter subject it just seemed trivial and mocking. But now that I've taken the leap I feel better. You may read something funny about the dogs again soon. 


Thanks for stopping by. It really helps to know you're out there.

Bel Canto

My book club met yesterday to discuss our latest read -- Bel Canto by Ann Patchett.

The book was very well-written, winning a book award that had prompted our choosing to read it. The story is loosely-based on an incident that happened in Lima, Peru several years ago. In Bel Canto, an international group of industrialists, diplomats and wealthy opera patrons are invited to a gala to celebrate the birthday of the president and founder of a Japanese electronics company, Mr. Hosokawa. The country is hosting the birthday celebration and hoping that, while he is there, Mr. Hosokawa will tour the area and decide to build a factory to boost their poor economy. Mr Hosokawa has no intention of investing in their country, but succumbs to the invitation when told that Roxane Coss, one of the world's greatest operatic sopranos, will perform at the party, and possibly sing a personal request. The party is held at the Vice-Presidental mansion and compound, with approximately 150 guests. At the end of Roxane's sixth song, all lights are extinguished and the building is captured by a group of local terrorists, hoping to kidnap the President of their country, not knowing that he stayed home from the party to watch his favorite soap opera. The terrorists are not a violent group and the absence of the country's President causes a dilemma which results in a long-term hostage situation. They release most of the women, children, household staff and anyone with health conditions requiring medication, leaving them with 58 captives, including the opera star, Roxane. The siege lasts four months, and the novel explores the relationships that develop between and among the hostages and terrorists, principally the love they all have or come to have for the music and persona of Roxane Coss. 

I have always enjoyed opera, but I've never been exposed to a great operatic performance. My experience is limited to television, college productions and recordings. Ann Patchett manages to describe the reactions and results of the daily exposure of this incredibly beautiful music on this disparate group of people. I found my self caught up with the idea of that kind of personal exposure. Can you imagine a voice that has, without aid, filled the great performance halls of the world, coming from an individual standing four feet away from you? Patchett describes how no one in the house is able to move when Roxane sings. All talk, movement, actions cease while everyone watches her, breathlessly. 

The descriptions of the arias she sang overwhelmed my curiosity and I had to go on a search. I found several of them on YouTube and listened while I read the passages describing her singing. What a wonderful experience! How blessed we are to have this technology at our fingertips. I have to share some of the recordings with you.

The first is by soprano Renee Fleming. This is the aria Mr. Hosokawa requests from Roxane at the party. It is one of her favorites and one that she sings frequently -- "Song to the moon" from the opera "Rusalka" by Anton Dvorak. It is sung in Czechoslovakian.

One day Roxane practices a particularly difficult song, singing it seven times with minute adjustments each time. Here the song, "Belta Crudele" (translation Cruel Beauty) by Rossini is sung in Italian by Cecilia Bartoli, another great soprano.

 As the story develops, Roxane discovers one of the young terrorists, Cesar, has a beautiful voice and begins to train him. He develops to the point where he performs a song for the group, after which Roxane sings "Una voce poco fa" (translation, The voice I just heard) from Rossini's opera "The Barber of Seville" as a tribute to Cesar. Here is a version sung in Italian with English subtitles by the great Beverly Sills.

Can you believe how she just seemingly without effort, trills up and down throughout this entire song?  Before the book ended even I was in love with Roxane and I now have another life goal. I must attend one of the world's great operas, in one of the world's great opera houses, sung by a great opera star. Any suggestions?


Thanks for stopping by.