The Furious Spinner

Mario is still reading the Complete Far Side and giggling. I'm writing to you and listening to music—and to Mario flipping pages.

Mario says, "Two gorillas are sitting talking and eating bananas. 'You know, Sid, I really like bananas...I know that's not profound or nothing...heck! We all do. But for me, I think it goes far beyond that.'" He laughs. I do, too. Those damn gorillas sound like me.

Saturday when it was sunny out, I went to the Turtle Pond. I was tromping along, lost in my thoughts, and I didn't see three swans hidden in one of the fingers of the pond—until they flew away. I've got to pay better attention. One of them was gray, so I think they were probably the family that was there before. I also saw a merlin, harrier, or kestrel. I don't have the smaller birds of prey down in my brain yet. I need to go out with someone who really knows the difference. I did see three bald eagles, however. I think they were a family unit. Two were adults, one was an immature. An immature eagle looks like a teenaged eagle. They've got the body and almost the attitude of the adult, but they're kind of scraggly looking. Their feathers are mottled—like bird acne, of a sorts, or greasy hair. Still magnificent.

Today it was cold and rainy. Bone chilling. We had our first talk with the new superintendent. When I say we, I mean our group. I got all the materials together but didn't go because I didn't want to be a distraction—I didn't want it to be about all the nastiness and hard feelings that have transpired between us. The president of the school board said he wants an integrated pest management system in place before spring. If he's sincere, this is great news. This could mean our school district will actually stop exposing children and teachers to toxic substances. I am very pleased by this turn of events, but I'll feel better when they actually have a policy in place that the guys on the ground will actually implement. Working at a grassroots level (literally, this time) can work!

I spent the rest of the day rewriting Lady Liberty. My agent thinks it could work as a young adult book if I cut it by a third. It was easier than I thought, which makes me nervous. Of course, I haven't read the rewritten version yet. It could be awful.

I took a break to get my hair cut. My hair cutter comes here since I can't be in the salon with all the chemicals. I like her. We can talk about pretty much anything. We don't know the same people, so I can tell her about my frustrations or worries about friends (without naming names) and she can do the same with people she knows. Great therapy, I suppose. Today she cut my hair very short. I think I now have the same hair style I did as the very first time I got it cut short when I was in eighth grade.

Do you remember your first important haircut? When I was in eighth grade I decided if I cut my hair short, then I would be stylish and the boy I had a crush on would notice me. So my mother took me to the hairdresser. Afterward, I cried for hours. It was the last time I can remember doing anything quite so drastic to please a man. I think I got that same cut today, blunt, slanting down from the back to the front. Only when I was in the eighth grade my hair was chestnut colored (except for a few gray hairs underneath). Now my hair is gray (except for a few chestnut colored hairs underneath).

Inquisitors used to cut off the hair of the accused witches so that the witches could do no mischief with their locks. If a woman unbraided her hair and a storm struck, she could be accused of being a witch—especially if she lived in a coastal town where the men were away at sea and could be harmed by a storm. Witchy women were supposedly able to perform all kinds of magic with their hair, so they could and should be shorn at the earliest opportunity if they were suspected of being witches. However, women weren't supposed to cut their own hair. (Good lord; who could keep up with all this nonsense?) Remember Joan of Arc was condemned and sentenced to burn for two crimes: wearing men's clothes and cutting her own hair.

When I had to quit my job ten years ago (wow, that long ago) because I was sick, I decided I wouldn't cut my hair until I was well. I think that lasted about a year. It grew down to the middle of my back. It was not attractive and it was a pain to care for.

Friday when we went to the bird refuge, I went to the Great Oak and made a plea for my mother's good health—and my own. I left a gold turtle for my mother's health and a lock of hair for my own. I hope my gray locks will adorn a nest somewhere someday.

One of my sister's old boyfriends had asthma when he was a kid. His grandfather took him out to the forest, cut a lock of his hair, and stuffed it into a hole in a tree. He said as the tree grew so would the boy grow out of his asthma. And he did. His asthma disappeared soon after.

After she cut my hair today, I swept the cuttings off the floor and threw them out. I checked it first. No snakes. More's the pity. I've always admired Medusa. Now she's got a head of hair. 0 comments

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All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.