Holidays Fly By, and a word about HAIR

It is crazy how much faster holidays fly by than regular work days! I just want to hold on to the days between Christmas and New Year, enjoying the lazy days, the visiting with family and friends, and yes even though I feel guilty, enjoying the good food and snacking. After all, I have time to get on the treadmill and on the stationery bike. I can go on long walks as long as the wind isn’t too horrific and basically do my workouts early in the morning and not be worried about my hair.

Hair. Hair is an obsession with women. It is beyond an obsession with my mother. Her hair has been a topic of conversation for years. My father, when courting her, thought she had the most beautiful long dark hair ever and, being the romantic that he was, wanted to stroke her hair, just like he had read in one of his French novels. From day one the response was “don’t touch my hair.” Naturally, he was a little surprised but thought she was just being modest. He soon learned, Mom’s hair was to be admired, not touched. Even today, at the tender age of 77, my mother is vain about her hair.

My father had wonderful nice hair as well. When young his hair was jet black. I mean, his hair was so black that it shone blue, seriously. Blue black. I’ve never known anyone with hair as black as his. And it was wavy, naturally. Not curly, just a nice wave. Gorgeous hair. All of us kids had lots and lots of hair, but none of us were as dark as dad. Four of my siblings had blonde hair, John’s was almost white blonde when he was a kid. Mine was mousy brown and Erik’s was darker brown but not as dark as my mother’s which was a rich dark cocoa brown. But we had lots of it. My sister, the hairdresser, says that she used twice as many rollers in my hair as an ordinary person. I remember once John, Erik and I were sitting at the breakfast table on Christmas morning when my dad came in for his coffee and looked around in amusement. So I took a look around at my two brothers. Their hair was sticking out all on end just like Einstein’s, as was mine, and then dad said.

“This family sure has a lot of hair.”

Jeanette and I used to have our hair done by our mother every morning in a ponytail or pigtails. For years we used to put our hands to our ears as she whipped the elastic back and forth, tight, tight, so it wouldn’t hit our ears. I don’t know why but we never complained, just put our hands over the ears. Years later Charlotte was having her hair done by Mom and she whispered sotto voice “I hope she doesn’t sling my ears.” My mother started laughing so hard. I don’t know if she knew all along that we were suffering or if she finally realized why we had put our hands up. With mothers, you just never know what is going on in their minds!