toilette

We all use them. We do the unmentionable in them. It is the great equalizer of life. We hear the saying, "We all put our pants on, one leg at a time." That is meant to help us not feel intimidated by the wealthy and powerful in our midst.

There are other more crass sayings about us humans and the base needs we share. That I will save for another post!

The other day, I was trying to exit the ladies room when BAMMMMMM, my opening door slammed into something. It was dark and I couldn't get OUT. Turns out, some man was trying to get in, but opened the adjacent airconditioning closet door into the ladies room door. Our doors had locked together. "*%$#", I scolded under my breath, or so I hoped.

Okay, who goes you-know-what in the airconditioning closet?? He said, "Sorry, I guess I kinda scared you."

Duh.

After he left, I had to run back to the little room for some TP because one of my clients started crying. No, it wasn't because I had given her a bad hairdo. Her husband had lost his job and they were starting to lose their worldly possessions. I had no facial tissues, so was trying to dry her sobs with toilette tissue.

The dim-bob that tried the airconditioning closet had left the light ON and the seat UP on the toilette. Why? Why do men do that? Do they really want us women to just fall into the septic seating? Or are they that forgetful that they cannot remember the good manners to return the room how they found it?

I think the cure is to go to Europe. How we eliminate is so out of step with our Maker's plan. Like, in the Garden of Eden, were there really porcelain potties and bodacious bidets? Heck no. Much better than today's methods, our forefathers and mothers simply squatted. Gravity did it's quick work and one oak leaf wipe and they were on their way to graze the next grape.

Paris hasn't forgotten the Garden. Yes, they added lovely tile and toilette tissue. But, (ha!) forget privacy!


They sure dealt with the seat issue. One and all the same.

Hmmm, maybe the airconditioning closet isn't such a bad idea!

breakthrough

It has been so grey here. Fog. Rain. Damp. Gloomy. Salon is too quiet. Mall is a ghost town. Clients subdued. My back is killing me. My husband is suffering with garbled brain from painting kitchen cabinets in oil based, fumey paint at Country Estate so we can get it ready to sell.

His brakes are out in the van. Taxes due on Country Estate. Bills are piling up. No insurance money.

My sense of humor is on vacation. Hope and Trust are silent. Fear and Doubt are screaming at me.

Called husband as I was driving to mall, "I just need to see the sun. Pray for my schedule tomorrow. Oh, I need the sunshine. Our Town needs sunshine." He said, "I will pray."

I neared the mall and out of the grey, for a few brief moments, the sun burst through the dismal, weepy sky.

My heart leapt with joy. Life got really good that fast. Hope and Trust sang to me that all else will be fine.

No wonder yellow is my favorite color!

hope

I like to think I am not a worry wart. (Oi, doesn't that sound dreadful? How did wart get attached to perpetual concern?) However, truth being, I do worry a lot.

Worry and Fear are siblings that seem to have latched onto me. I really prefer my two sisters, as they continually encourage me. I am working up divorce papers from Worry and Fear and have contacted a new team to engage my thought life. They are Trust and Faith.

Now what is all this angst over? Retirement. Yup, that's my crisis. Worry and Fear took front row center actually because I rolled out the red carpet for them with my bad habits of spending and not saving money. Okay, I do save. I put a hefty amount into IRA's every year. But I started just a few years ago, so there is not a lot of time for the beautiful exponential growth of interest.

That is part of the story. The other part, if I were to be a bit more generous to myself, is that my husband has not been able to be majorly income producing for the past eleven years.

Okay, enough drivel. I have been praying, screaming out for help, that God would bring something along that I could do for a second residual income. And my husband has been praying the same.

Ever in an MLM? We have done them all. Amway (first husband), Mannatech, Melaluca, an air purifier one. . . We always say, "Never again!" Uhuh, can you feel where this is going?

My husband has found AmeriPlan. No one will write him health insurance. Cruel system we have that when you really need it, they cancel you. AmeriPlan is a discount medical plan (not insurance) that you pay a small monthly fee and participating health care, dental care, pharmacies, chiropractors and such discount their services up to 50%!!

We have several friends that don't have insurance. AmeriPlan is a light in the tunnel for us.

My husband is now a "broker" for this wonderful company with top Better Business Bureau rating. He has a skip in his step and a sparkle in his eye. Yea!

Then, one of my friends loaned me a beautiful cosmetic bag of Arbonne anti-aging skin care. I was astonished at how good my skin felt. I thought I could see improvement, too. Here I go again. . . So, I prayed, "God, I want, for once to ask You what You think about this. So, I am not going to tell anyone what I am doing. If someone comments to me they see a change in my skin, then I will take that as a sign You want me to start selling Arbonne.

Talk about making a deal, huh? So, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. . . nothing. I did my make-up real carefully, so it wasn't thick and gloppy! I smiled a lot. Nothing. Not one client said a word about my glowing complexion!

Today was a lazy day. My daughter was coming over with her friend to list the Country Estate. I cleansed my face with all my borrowed new yummies, pulled my hair back in a pony, did my eyebrow pencil and put on some lipstick.

"Mom, I really like your new look."

"What look?" My heart began to pound.

"Your hair back and less eye make-up and just lipstick. You look really nice."

My mind was whirling. But I had specifically said to God that they would have to say my skin looked better.

"Thanks. . . " I was feeling faint!

"As a matter of fact Mom, your SKIN looks really good!"

At my ear piercing scream and halleluia dance, she jumped a bit and asked, "Have you done something new with your skin, 'cause it really does look good!"

I had my fleece. I pray I have His blessing.

After the real estate contract was complete, I brought out my bag of Arbonne and they had a face feast of fabby feeling creams! They were totally encouraging, said I could come to their real estate office with my Arbonne bags!

This is simple. If a person does not have health insurance, they need Help and Hope. If a woman has a face, she wants to wrinkle-proof it! She wants Help and Hope.

I believe the only reason we were not successful with our other endeavors is we quit, we gave up, we lost Hope.

Fortified by Faith and Trust, we are going to take Help and Hope out into the world and drive Worry and Fear out of our lives.

birthday

The whole day was a celebration! Flowers, gifts, cards, cake, hugs, waves, calls, singing, balloons, smiles. . . it was a fun day.

The party that night was, simply put, a room full of love. My daughter and husband, my two oldest* relationships (in that order!) all the way to friends added to my life just this year- they made me feel absolutely adored!

We talked, laughed, ate, drank and were very merry. I was given thoughtful, caring gifts and hilarious cards!

Funny thing about milestones. They loom mammoth upon approach, then POOF, and its back to working, living and loving!

A million thanks to my family and friends for my very happy celebration!


* Except for my sisters, who understandably could not travel across the country! Didn't want to leave them out!

almost

It is 11:53 P.M. February 15. I am 7 minutes from fifty. Party tomorrow night with most of my favorite people in my life. Only ones not here are the ones that live far away.

I have tried a new skin care today. All the efforts to stay wrinkle free are at work or I hope they work!

Had a hard day because of insurance stresses. No answer on Country Estate, yet.

And, Biscuit cut her claws into my leather sofas about 30 dots worth. They are the most expensive items in my house, took me a year to pay for them. She knew she is in trouble as she licked my hands for over thirty minutes tonight after work. She must have heard, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you", so she tried her version of kissing up instead! It kind of worked. I got over being mad at her.

My eldest sister knitted me a beautiful wrap for my birthday. Helps me in having a great outfit for tomorrow night's party. I wanted to look cute! Thanks, sis.

Weather here is crazy. Thirty-one yesterday and sixty-two today. No wonder so many people have colds.

My daffodils are still blooming. And the grass is still brown.

As mixed up as nature is matches how mixed up I feel inside. I wanted my life to be more smooth, more settled, more secure than it is at this stage. I feel the need to get really responsible and save money for our later years. And, then I want to travel, have fun and do all the crazy things that I have never done.

I am excited about tomorrow night, mostly because I love any party with the people I love. But, wow, how sobering to be fifty. Kind of like when I turned thirty and realized I was no longer a kid. I love the people that say they are shocked I am over forty three. One of my twenty-something clients said that to me today. I wanted to hug and kiss her a million times.

I only said, "Thanks!"

She most likely had no clue just how much her words meant to me.

Okay, it is 12:06 A.M. I am fifty. Fabulous, foxy fifty. That's my motto. The next decade is going to be a great one. Right?!

london/paris

The cure for fury is focusing on the beautiful moments. My best friend from high school, KE, said if I ever made it to the UK, she would take me to Paris for my 50th birthday gift.

What a generous gift! October 2005, I was able to combine a Hair Show (attended by 42,000 stylists!!) with a personal vacation. I had the time of my life.

The Hair show was in London and exceeded my imaginings. My favorite was Mahogany, an amazingly innovative educational group, truly cutting edge fashion!

But, back to real life. I arrived with two of my hairdresser friends to Heathrow at 6:45 a.m. The transport service gave us a tour of all the best of London
and then to our hotel. We arrived past the breakfast time, yet they still served us a traditional English breakfast.

We later braved the Tube to find KE and daughter A, who was to be my god-daughter. We toured many sites, among them Herrod's,
to see their wow cakes!!

KE and I flew to Paris, after a coffee at Heathrow. Paris is dazzling, the epitome of awesome.
Don't tell me the French don't love Americans! Though I don't speak their beautiful language, I was constantly welcomed to Paris.


Our first experience in Paris, after KE so successfully navigated us through train and Metro, was choosing a place to eat. We burst onto the streets of Paris to be greeted by a very drunk Parisian.Why didn't we even read his tshirt?! He made us feel young and beautiful. Needless to say, we went on to another cafe for our first Paris dinner!

After two days, I began saying, bonjour, bonsour, merci to all the merchants. They have gracious manners. We dined in cafes and shopped and shopped.

Notre Dame was very emotional for me. As a new Catholic, putting my knees to the stone floor that nearly one thousand years of saints have prayed on stirred me deeply. When KE and I took the evening boat tour (can't remember how to spell the french term for that lovely excursion!), the background music swelled into Ave Maria as we neared Notre Dame.

I was so thankful to actually be able to attend their Wednesday night Mass.

And, of course, we enjoyed SocreCour. This man was playing Frank Sinatra's "I Did it My Way"on his violin and I am digging for a tip!

I have to say, I really left my heart in Paris. What struck me was how adolescent USA is. Going to France and England, seeing buildings over one thousand years old made me feel like I had returned to the safety of my parent's home. This is where we were formed.

(This photo is for my dear friend S., who has braved loss due to Hurricane Katrina. She is a light for me and certainly for her beloved city of New Orleans. )

The roots of our democracy, our faith, our nation are found in these two countries.


The beauty of the architecture, the Metro, the people, the culture and language is beyond my meager description. I long to return.

Another thing I loved about Paris was I could not eavesdrop! I was in the crowds of French speaking people, mesmerised by their melodic language. It was like their words were a constant song, that I could not intellectually comprehend, yet my spirit leapt in celebration with.

Seems the U.S. influence is everywhere, even in the historic section of Paris. No "french" fries for me!

The crowning moment of my trip is the great honor of becoming the god-mother,
as she calls me, the Fashion Mummy of, A.P. Here we are, walking up to her church for her baptism.

How can I say thank you for such a gift? I am still in awe. I must return.

fury

I am making poor choices today. I know what I need to do. Haven't done it.

Need to get out of my jammies and go for my walk, shower and get out to Country Estate and help my husband on his list of forty-something to-dos.

What am I doing? Sitting in my fury. We are getting so messed with by the insurance company for Hurricane Denise damage to Country Estate. We have spent a small fortune getting trash hauled off, the roof repaired, paint, insurance. . . not to mention the attorney's fees for the foreclosure.

The insurance check was originally made out to our negligent purchasers AND to us as lienholder. We had her signature, but the bad boyfriend who skipped out never signed. So, we had a worthless promisory note.

Of course, I stayed in touch with the insurance Company. We were assured once the title was back in our name, they would reissue the check to us. Ha. Every call is a new promise and and new hoop to jump through. We have been lied to, placated, put off and held up.

The Christian part of me says to forgive. So, I don't hold the person I spoke with guilty of treason.

But the Company? I am sure some Draculous Devil with blood dripping talons, sweaty stinky armpits, beady eyes and snarling lips is sitting at the helm, gloating and glimmering over squashing the hopes of little pitiful clients like me. We must be the h'orderve of the day for him. I hope my case is the turkey bone splinter that chokes the Devilish Dog.

I have not been so mad in years. I actually could not speak when I got off the phone from their latest put offs yesterday. I wanted to explode with a million curse words. But, what would that accomplish? Lower myself and then I would have to crawl to the Throne of Grace for forgiveness for acting like trailer trash. I was going to call my husband, but why incite him to riot when he is working so hard to repair all the damage?

So, I swallowed hard, finished my last two clients in stony silence. Drove home and opened a bottle of red. Three glasses in, I wasn't mad any more.

But today's lethargy tells me the fury is still smoldering.

spring

New life in spring. It is only February. Yet in Our Town, we are seeing signs of spring. The weather is so confused here. Too many hurricanes. Too much weather turbulence. Why are spring flowers out so soon?

We are all traumatized. Charlie. Frances. Ivan. Jean. Dennis. Katrina. Rita. And what is to come? So many are saying if we have another bad season, they are moving. Can Our Town stand any more?

Even the plant life is confused. Some are dormant. Some look dead and lifeless. Some are blossoming.

Kind of like us. Some are building. Some are restoring damaged homes. Some are selling and getting the heck out of dodge.

We love Our Town. It is a very friendly, kind community. It is not a small-minded red-necked city that excludes and rejects. We have been embraced and loved. Our subdivision has grown and gained in value.

As a hairdresser, I have only known growth and blessing for the ten years I have lived here.

I don't want to leave. I pray the storms don't land here again.

It is agonizing to see a community destroyed by the elements. We are so sad to see the destruction of New Orleans. Please, let the storms land in the sea and not destroy any more lives, homes and cities.

We are all weary. We don't want to be worry warts. We don't want to be destroyed again.

Let spring come and let the seaside towns flourish and blossom.

Let it be a happy spring, summer and fall without the agony of angry of storms.

humor

I was almost ready to paint out at the country estate today. I wanted my husband to take my photo now that I finally figured out how to put pictures on my blog!

I posed holding the paintbrush and he began snapping. What was my grimace about? Then, a really fakey, stupid smile. "Say something funny so I will have a natural smile!" I implored of him.

I should know better. He always surprises me.

"Two men in a bathtub," he began, "what is that?"

Rolling my eyes, feeling the heat of impatience creep up my tank shirt. "I don't know. . . " Grrr.

"Queer eye for the dirty guy!"

"Hey, I have another one." Still giggling, I waited.

"Balls of fire from Heaven."

I had no idea where this one was going.

"God's eye for the queer guy!"

You would think he could have gotten a good photo by now. Yes, I was laughing. He held the camera. No click, no click, no click. The heat was back up my tank top.

"WHAT, why aren't you taking a picture?"

"Because you don't like it when your mouth is open too wide!"

I gave up and started painting. And thinking. My husband has always had this unusual wit. He just sees life from another plain. I should have been writing a long time ago to save his golden nuggets of nuances and sometimes nuisance one-liners.

I guess when his humor meant the most was the day he had a stroke (at age 48, eleven years ago). He had driven himself to the hospital. I got the call at work.

I sped up the expressway in 5:00 rush hour traffic on the emergency lane and got pulled over. That was an answer to my frantic prayer for help. I had on a red, very fitted, very short skirted suit and my then platinum hair a la Suzanne Powder. As I lowered my window, my eyes must have been crazy wild because the copper hesitatingly asked, "What's the problem, mam?"

"My husband has just had a stroke. Either give me an escort to the hospital or move and let me go!"

To my shock and disappointment, he just let me brave the traffic, in the rain, on my own. I really wanted his escort help.

I made my way to the hospital, ran to my husband's side. He recognized me. Good. He held my hand. Good.

The nurse said, "Okay, now I am going to do some neurological tests. Please finish my sentence."

Okay, here we go. Is his brain working? What was life going to be like for us? Would he ever be normal again? Fear pounded through my veins. He is so young. Why, why, why?

"Please finish my sentence. Mary had a little lamb. . . ."

A spark lit in my husband's eyes. He grinned and said, ". . . and was she ever surprised!"

I started breathing again. He, the man of humor and quick wit, was still there!!!

A few years later, I cooked a birthday dinner for a friend. Baked chicken, filled with fresh sage, rosemary and thyme. I forgot or maybe I didn't really believe that sage causes seizures. Since the stroke, my husband had suffered many of those horrific episodes.

Sure enough, thirty minutes after our guests departed, he had another seizure.

As the emergency workers were rolling him to the ambulance, he said to the neighbors in our yard, "Don't eat my wife's cooking, look what it did to me!"

And once again, I knew he was going to be alright.

Smile. No grimace from me that night.

mother

Mother

1921-2000

Pieces of Sand

October 2, 2000

Somehow small became giant

as I watched you grow frail-

the largeness of your courage

lifted my chin and straightened

my sagging shoulders.

I tried to hold on to you

as the sands of your hourglass

ran through my fingers-

I clamped tightly,

holding you near, holding you dear.

You met the night calmly.

Your night was mine.

How could I live with

our cord clipped?

Who am I if I am no longer

your daughter?

Then as life ebbed

out of your frail form,

I felt pieces of it

flowing into me.

Or were pieces of you

already there, not known

until the two of us

were near to becoming

only lonely

one?

She died two days later, in our home, with me in her bed, reading her scripture and stroking her beautiful face for the last time.

tips

Every Saturday morning I treat myself to a coffee at Starbucks. While I would love to have one daily, I figured out the cost per decade for my non-caffeinated treat would be near to $10,000 and to have one weekly was only $1,820 per decade. I can justify that!

I really love the sugary versions with vanilla or caramel or chocolate. I was feeling a bit pudgy this morning, so decided on a sugarless cappucino. I pulled up to the window on this blue skied, breezy, crisp morning to be cheerfully greeted, "Here is your decaf venti cappucino non-fat and your total is $3.62." Ah, it was going to be a great morning!

As I grasped my change in the wind, I asked the girl where the tip jar was. "Someone stole it, so we keep the cup inside now." I widened my eyes in disbelief, gave her a dollar, and drove off into the day.

Tips. To insure proper service is the acronym, I think. Who the heck would steal Starbucks tips? Okay, I must admit I once thought it ludicrous and even crass they had a tip jar. I spouted off to some of my friends how ridiculously expensive their coffee was and what an insult to ask for a tip.

Then I began thinking about my own life. I am a hairstylist. I charge $50 for a haircut and style, which is a thirty minute service, complete with a wonderful shampoo, conditioner and head massage from my excellent assistant, Angel. Most clients tip me $5 and in addition tip Angel $1 to $5. I have a few amazingly generous clients that tip as much as $25! That unasked for extra is of course a boost to my income. But more, it is such a boost to my psyche. They make me feel like a million dollars, like I am of inestimable worth to them.

I rethought my begrudging attitude about Starbucks. Believing in the Law of Reciprocity, I decided that as I benefit from the generosity of my clients, I would pass on their cheerful giving. From that epiphany on, I have left a dollar for the coffee workers! It made me feel good, like I was planting seeds in a the garden of gratitude.

So today as I drove out to paint my "country estate", I began sipping my decaf venti cappucino non-fat. I had to admit it was a little bitter. As sugar is to coffee, so tips are to life.

Thank you to all who sweeten my days!

nose

I have been thinking a lot about my nose. I have to. It works way too well.

First of all, as a Fire Monkey, I stick it where it does not belong and then have to painfully extract it with many apologies. I can't help it. I think people are just so fascinating. I like to learn how they think and what motivates their oft strange behavior.

Why did God put this thing that runs right in the middle of our face? Every morning at work, I have to stop and sop it up and my clients are forever asking, "Hattigrace, do you have a cold?"

"No, it's called morning nose." It runs every morning. I get my makeup just right, my lips done with liner, lipstick and gloss (I have never been able to find one perfect tube to make that a simple application), and then, my nose starts running. Worse are the sneezes. Dab, blow, pat and soon, all the makeup is gone. Men don't have this problem. Of course, men with mustaches is another issue. Don't you wonder what kind of bacterial treasures lurk in the facial hair of an allergy sufferer?

I use handkerchiefs. Tissues make me sneeze more and they leave little lint things stuck in my makeup. I am enough of a flake without white particles hanging off my face!

I often think how totally gross it is to keep my nose residues in a lovely linen. I hate it when I drop my hankie and someone else picks it up to return it to me. Eeewww, how disgusting. But, I cannot bear to throw away one of my vintage dainties, so I snatch it from them with a hundred apologies that they had to touch the thing!

I panic if I am at the grocery store in the freezer isle if I don't have a hankie. Cold makes my nose run. If I am at a restaurant, hot food gets it going. And what a faux pas to use my napkin to dedrip my overactive nose. But, I will use my cocktail napkin and let my martini sit on the bare table.

If someone walks past me with a pungent perfume, I have been known to explode with sneezes. "Oh, God, where is my hankie??" I scramble for any way to hide the incriminating evidence.

What if our noses were in some discreet place, like at our elbow? Wouldn't that be better than right out in public display? I know, they are above our mouth so when we eat, we enjoy the full culinary benefit. And they can lead us to prevent disasters, like food burning on the stove or a litter box that needs emptying before company arrives.

I could take antihistamines to keep it dry, but I don't like taking drugs.

So, I have a million hankies. I keep them in my car, my purse, my pockets, my drawer at work, under my pillow and stuck in the crevice of the couch. They have become so signature for me that my family can follow the hankie trail and find me anywhere.

When I smell a pot of fresh coffee, a beautiful rose, a spring rainshower or turkey on Thanksgiving, I am happy for my nose. And, I forgive it for all the times it embarrasses me.

ex

Excite. Exaggerate. Exasperate. Exit. Ex.

I have many Ex's in my life. One Ex husband. Three Ex son-in-laws. No Ex-friends that I know of anyway.

Relationships. We never enter them really anticipating an Ex. When my step-daughter married, I loved her new husband. He did not love me. But then, he hated his mother. He did not trust any woman. He eroded every relationship he had with his cynical distrust. So why was I surprised when he did not like or trust me? And eventually, he sabotaged his marriage to the point of divorce.

I married at nineteen. I married the first man who gave me positive attention. He had a lot of wonderful qualities. Fidelity was not one of them. Neither was providing. He loved to drink, gamble and womanize. So, nine years later, and one wonderful daughter later, we divorced.

I can still appreciate his strengths. He loved the underdog. He knew how to draw a good map. I never got lost when he gave me directions. He was cheerful and kind. Just couldn't be loyal.

I married soon after the divorce. My new husband loved the daughter from my first marriage. And he gave great directions, too. He is cheerful and kind and loyal beyond belief. We are still married, twenty-one years later. Has it been easy? No. Has it been worth it? A million times over, yes.

My daughter married twice. The first one, my second Ex son-in-law was kind, cheerful, but couldn't find it in himself to work. He loved to spend money, any one's but his. Why is it some men are allergic to work? I don't get it. Nothing ever came easy or free to me. How do you get ahead if you don't work? Well, he didn't. He lost a gem.

My third Ex son-in-law was way more complicated. I didn't trust him from the start. He had that look in his eyes, dark eyes. I felt he would devour my dear, trusting daughter. He did . He was all about him. Controlling. It was his way or no way. Every conversation became a debate. He had to win. He wore me out. I asked the wrong question of her. I kept saying, "Can you live with this for the rest of your life?" Why didn't I ask, "WHY would you WANT to live with this the rest of your life?"

I will kick myself forever for that.

But, still, by the grace of God, I learned to love him. Overlook his faults. See his strengths. Because I loved her, I wanted to really love who she loved.

Ex. Exit.

So, now I wait for the fourth son-in-law. What am I looking for? A man who will love her inside out. One who can adore her strengths and nurture her weak places. One who will provide for her, financially, spiritually, emotionally.

Okay, let's get down to brass tacks. I want grandbabies. I did not have enough children. I love babies. I love family. What is Christmas without squealing giggles from happy children opening offerings from Santa? Plus, I want my daughter to have the pleasure I experienced from her.

Ex. Excitement of new life. Exhilaration of familial love. Exit from pain.