Art and Beauty

Woman Wins More Than Expected

Wednesday, January 30th, 2013

 

My Friends The Art Girls At An ‘Early California Plein Air Artists’ Art Lecture, With Wine And Cheeses

Here are the players in this little drama.

Sue is 85 years old, in the blue shirt . Carol is also 85. She is third from the left.

One Art Day, Sue came to visit us at Carol’s Ranch on our regular Thursday Art Day. Sue put her open purse on the ground to give us all hugs.

Carol’s big brown dog Roger, came over and peed inside the purse, spot on the photo of Sue’s recently dead husband. Sue had brought the nice photo of the man to show to us.

Sue is going alone on a trip with singles to Vietnam and other far places. She astounds me. She is probably going to ride racing camels and hungry alligators before she gets back from her travels.

Regina who is facing the camera right up front, is going to Beijing, China and India. A few months ago she went to Romania and came back with the Raging Runs.

We think she is very brave to go to India and China! Especially since she is racked with allergies and even chokes on wiffs of air. Beijing is known for it’s lethal smog. We tell her to wear thick masks and to take very small breaths.

Carol has recently traveled the world and wants to stay home now and eat cookies for awhile.

Susan, in the pink scarf, flies off to England every other month to look after her 96 year old daddy.

Me? I prefer to stay  cozy at home. Although I do travel to The Other Side a lot, and I guess you can give me travel credit for that?

It’s a great cloudy day today, a real *Plein Air day for sure, with wind and streaks of color across the sky and trees modeled against it like swinging ladies’ arms. (more…)

Different Hair Disasters

Wednesday, November 21st, 2012

The First Hair Disaster But Probably Not The Last

Lexi stuck one  of her little brother’s big toy gizmos in her long hair and it won’t come out. She doesn’t know why she did it, but then, when it comes to hair, we women often wonder why we did it.

The night before my sister Polly’s son got married, she had a friend put a color rinse on her white hair. Her hair turned the color of an apricot and it wouldn’t come out. All the wedding photos feature Polly looking like a bowl of ripe fruit. These family photos are ‘forever.’

When Polly was 40, with the same white hair, she asked her husband to give her a perm. You probably know how that worked out?

I hadn’t been warned about this and when I saw her the next day I almost fell down the steps at our mother’s house. Polly had an Old Lady Poodle Perm. She was a shocking site as The Look had aged her 30-35 years! We had a preview of her Old Ladyhood. I laughed so hard my guts hurt for days.

But, let’s be fair and tell you about my hair mishaps. They started with I was 15.

One evening I came to the dinner table with my hair dyed red. My father yelled and slammed his fist onto our conference sized dinner table.

“Margaret!” he yelled at my mother. “She looks like a godamn slut!”

How was I to know his mother had dyed her hair red when it ‘wasn’t done’ and had some other ‘slutty’ adventures?

My mother immediately took me out to the wash room, dumped my head in a concrete sink and washed my hair vigorously with Tide detergent. A number of times. It didn’t remove the red  but I did have hair like dried hay until it finally grew out.

After that experience, you couldn’t stop me. I bleached my hair blonde and it went green.

I dyed it red, again. And then a dark plum purple color when purple hadn’t been invented yet.

Easter egg dye was good but that shocking pink color took months to work itself out.

My father raged.

When I went off to college I went into a positively dying frenzy.

One terrible morning I had just dyed my hair and was washing it in the bathroom sink. Suddenly, I felt my hair blow up in my hands. I slowly raised my head and looked in the mirror. Yikes. I was Bozo the Clown, I was Daffy Duck, I was a Monster. My entire head of hair had exploded and expanded. There was only one thing to do. I cut it all off and called it a Pixie Cut, but you need more hair then fuzz for a Pixie Cut.

Walking to my college classes the next day, there were 2 fellows trailing behind me. I was wearing a red and white polka dot culotte outfit that I had sewn. I was feeling pretty cute about my sexy little self when I heard one of the boys say about me, “Wow. That’s really cute. But…what is it?”

What is the definition of dumb?

I kept dying my hair.

When I was in my early 40’s and had the sexiest, handsomest boy friend in town, I had a new fellow at the local hair salon cut and dye my hair. When the deed was done and I was unveiled, the entire Salon went silent.

My hair was dog shit brown and the short hair cut made me look like a long green onion. The word ‘ugly’ is too mild.

I slunk home, sat on the stairs and waited for my handsome boyfriend to show up. When ‘R’ opened the door, looked up and saw me sitting on the stairs, he fell against the wall. In 2 seconds he had me out in the kitchen with my hair in the sink while he scrubbed my hair with dish soap. Deja vu. And, it didn’t work.

When my daughter Summer, was in her early teens and most embarrassed by her mother, I decided to quit dying and cutting. I decided to grow my hair out.

As the hair grew out it was layered in bands of dyed brown, red, yellow and natural white.

While driving my 280 Z, I’d leave all the car windows open because we lived at the mild coast. My hair would blow all over my head, back and forth, up in the air, out the windows and into my face. It was a fresh, free feeling.

However, one time Summer was in the backseat while I was driving with my hair blowing. She suddenly shouted, ‘Mother! How can you let yourself look like that!’

Don’t know. It didn’t bother me.

But, then of course, I dyed my hair, again.

Looking back, I had beautiful, natural hair. It was light brown with copper highlights.

In my 30’s my hair started to go ‘platinum’ but of course, I felt I couldn’t have that. I was too young.

I continued to fiddle with my hair and once a stylist even made me look like a dark brown tarantula.

But now, things have changed.

As an apology to my hair, I never touch it. I leave it totally to it’s own devices. It’s ‘platinum’ and it’s long. It does whatever it wants to do.

However, oddly enough, I’m swamped with compliments. People, (mainly older women) gasp and clutch their throats when they see me. They rave about my ‘gorgeous, fabulous, incredible hair’!

Men don’t say much of anything. They just think my hair is ‘platinum.’

I’m thinking of all those years I could have had my own, gorgeous hair but I constantly pestered it, instead.

What was wrong with me? What is wrong with us? Why can’t we leave our lovely selves alone?

*Do you know the kind of work I do when I’m not busy having Adventures? Look here for details. It’s a great time to have a phone reading with me!   Visit me at www.GodIsAlwaysHappy.com for rates and availability.

 

 

 

 

 

A Lucky Day In The Mountains

Wednesday, October 17th, 2012

This Is My Friend, Susan

When Susan tells her husband that she and I are going off for a day in the mountains, he tells her to pack her pistol.

I don’t think she will need one, do you?

We’re both artists and this is going to be an Art Day.

We ‘re chugging up into the mountains. We’ve left early because we’re going on the local Mountain Art Guild’s Studio Tour. Our plan is to stop in a little town and pick up a map and tickets. Then we will commence  on our own on a winding drive, stopping at various art studios.

I’m telling Susan I have a feeling we should let this day swing as it will; that I think our patience and plan may be tested.

It is.

We stop at a bead shop where we’ve been told we’ll find the map and tickets. There are no maps and no tickets here. There are 3 enormous dogs and a board outside depicting the cast of The Wizard Of Oz.

We’re told if we will wait awhile, maybe they can find the map we need.

We walk into a red barn that’s adjacent and filled with crafts and tables of apples and jelly. The place has a coffee bar. We each get coffee and sit outside on a sunny porch in little rocking chairs. We gaze at the pines and blue jays. We are charmed.

We meet 4 more dogs.

We wait and we wait.

We pee in a shiny, breezy bathroom.

We think maybe we should forget the self tour and just stay here and visit the wine bar.

But, reason holds. Maps are produced. Never mind that the map is not to scale and particularly worthless.

We’re having an Adventure.

We both pee before we leave.

As we’re finally leaving the barn, a woman with yet another dog trots up to us.

“Oh! You must visit my shop!” she burbles. “This is my pug dog, Pierre. He’s 8 months old and I have just opened my store, I have never had a shop before and I am 68 years old!”

She looks it. (more…)


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