Share Your World – January 9, 2017

Winter always surprises me. It comes every year, but it always seems sudden when it shows up and shrouds the world in white.

If you lost a bet and had to dye your hair a color of the rainbow for a week, what color would it be?  

I don’t need to lose a bet. I’m thinking about it anyway. I’d really like it shiny silver, but I don’t think that’s an option. If it were only for a week and I could change it to something less odd, I might go for dark blue with highlights. OR dark red with highlights.

Above shows my current hair color. It is also a test of my camera’s selfie function which I’ve never tried before … and illustrates how many filters I’ve acquired that improve a portrait so I can look more as I want to look — and less like the ancient crone into which I seem to be morphing.

If you could choose one word to focus on for 2017, what would it be?

HIDE! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

What was one thing you learned last year that you added to your life?

A tree service to spray for insects and a cleaning service to get rid of the dirt! What a difference in the quality of life! Oh, and getting groceries delivered, at least the really heavy stuff so Garry doesn’t have to be the schlepper.

If life was ‘just a bowl of cherries’… which fruit other than a cherry would you be..?

A peach. Of course!

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?  

It was only 8 inches of snow and it was a nice, light, fluffy snow that even I could push with a shovel. And while it is cold, it isn’t nearly as cold as it could be and has been. And oil is still cheap, so the house is very comfortable.


I’m grateful that although Bonnie got sick, there was a doggy ER we could drive to that is open 24 hours and they are very good … and take payments. I hope we are snow-free for the next couple of weeks!


I have been distracted by “important” subjects. Don’t blame me. Blame the world.

Between the bizarre American election (not to mention our home-grown comic book nominee) and the strange tale of Britain’s Brexit … and a variety of home-grown mini crises? Well, there’s just been a lot of serious distraction leaving little room for my own, entirely insignificant (internationally speaking) private crises.

Today, however, I rise to the surface to talk about a subject near and dear to me … my hair.

Over the years, my hair — once my pride and joy — has become closer to my “fear factor.” Of all the possible futures I imagined, none of them included a shiny domed bald self.

Each time (usually after some illness or other), my hair has grown back. After many medical near-calamities, it’s become fragile, as fine as cobwebs, and white (mostly). At last, it is one length all around. It looked good for a while, but then my granddaughter abandoned hair dressing for other pastures and my hair has been getting more shapeless every day since. This was actually not a problem until this most recent heat wave.

How come, if you start off with a perfectly even blunt cut, it grows in all different lengths? Shouldn’t it grow at the same rate and stay even?

Why, no matter what, if you go to a hairdresser, he or she will tell you he or she must chop off at least half an inch. Since hair grows an average of 1/4 inch each month, at that rate, you can’t ever grow your hair longer. And I need my hair longer so I can get it out of my way. I have to tie it up.

It’s on my neck, in my eyes. In my food. All over my clothing. I am a giant, shaggy dog story.

I bought a pair of sharp hair shears. When a lock of hair protrudes from its crowd of fellow travelers, I lop it off. Tidily. But off.

We are having a very hot (and humid) summer. I hate hair hanging on my neck. It’s sweaty. It feels like an itchy blanket. But it isn’t quite long enough to put up. Undaunted, I put it up anyway, sort of, wrapping it in one of the scrungy elastic and fabric thingies. Having tied it up, when I take it down, it looks horrible. Bent and strangely twisted. Flat and oil-slicked.

So I can I can choose to have it hanging around me and getting into everything, or I can tie it up and know it’s going to look like crap.

The world will go on and its problems will never end, but in this, at least, I am an optimist. Surely I can do something about my hair. Life needs to be about “the possible.” The rest of the world will have to take care of itself for a while. I need to fix my hair.



Share Your World – 2015 Week #1

How do you get rid of pesky phone calls from telemarketers?

I hang up. I used to be polite, but I discovered good manners just encourages them. So now, I don’t take blocked calls and if the phone keeps ringing, I press the answer button, then hang up. I don’t give them an opening. Not telemarketers, not survey takers. Not worthy causes. Most of the causes are scams. The survey takers are just trying to collect enough personal information to use you in a salable database.

I don’t buy anything from strangers on the telephone. I have had some hard, expensive lessons and I err on the side of caution.

What are you a “natural” at doing?

Writing. Also casual portraits and “postcard” pictures. Other kinds of photography, I have to work at. A macro lens would go a long way towards making ultra-closeups come out sharper.

painted daisies bouquet

How often do you get a haircut?

I used to get a haircut every few months, but instead of getting trimmed, I got mangled. I got tired of hairdressers who won’t listen or don’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of “a light trim, just the ends.” Finally, I developed an actual fear of haircuts and hair dressers. After my hair started getting long, I started trimming the ends myself. Now, I’m not even doing that. It just grows.

selfie with loose hair analog

I don’t remember the last time I got a professional cut. It was more than a year ago. I suppose I’ll eventually have to get it done, but for now, letting it grow and be healthy works for me.

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word “fun”?

Friends. Laughter. Roller coasters. Carousels. Boats. Life!

Sharing My World – 2014, Week 33

Share Your World – 2014 Week 33

Do you believe in ghosts? 

I don’t know. Probably not exactly ghosts, but something weird.

Regardless of your physical fitness, coördination or agility:  If you could play any sport professionally what would it be?  Or if you can’t picture yourself playing sports, what is your favorite sport?

I used to ride horses. If my back weren’t so broken, I still would. I always loved horse from when I was very young, so if I were to pursue anything, it would definitely be from the back of a horse.


Do you prefer long hair or short hair for yourself?

I love the way short hair looks, but I hate the bother of taking care of it. So I wear it long. A pony tail is easy peasy and Garry likes it too. He sees me younger than I am. But that’s okay. It’s mutual.


If you were on a small island, who would you want to be with? And where is it?  How big is it?

Martha’s Vineyard, thanks. Garry and me, back on the island we love. In that little house we used to rent in Oak Bluffs, overlooking Nantucket Sound. Would be nice if we had a few dollars to spend, too … but just to be there again would be wonderful. We used to be there every summer. Funny how quickly time passes.

me martha's vineyard stairs

On the stairs between beach and house, Martha’s Vineyard, 1992

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I am grateful for and Since this is a whole other story, I will write it. Soon.


Yesterday, all the doors and windows were open to catch the fresh air on one of the remaining warm days of late autumn. Mid late November is when it switches from summer to winter in a few hours. Last night, the temps dropped 30 degrees. Yesterday, zephyr breezes. Today? Chill winds.

DangerDogsWe have four dogs, one of whom is a giant constantly shedding hairball (Australian Shepherd to you). He’s affectionate and despite all evidence to the contrary, believes he is a lap-dog. His sensitive feelings are constantly hurt because I won’t let him in my lap. All 75 hairy pounds of him.

I have conversations with him. I explain, in detail, the issues involved. Not only will he not fit, but his paws are wicked weapons, cats-like with claws that dig deep holes in me. Bishop is a passionate boy. We have all learned to never look him in the eyes. The moment you do, he will become a huge piece of velcro, use his tongue to slather your eyeglasses with a thick layer of dog spit.

Which brings me back to the weather. Bishop and Bonnie (the Scottie) love winter. Bishop is at his happiest sleeping — literally — in a snowdrift with Bonnie on top of him, using him as a bed. Nan, at 12, is a couch potato, thinks the ultimate good time is a comfy spot on the sofa with frequent biscuit breaks. Amber lives under a blanket downstairs. Of the dogs in the house, Amber (the dachshund) is the one with short hair and does not care much for ice and snow. Garry and I are with her on that one. And with Nan (the Norwich). A nice nap, a cozy throw, a good TV show and maybe a little fire in the woodstove.

Nan and BishopThe issue is not just weather, but dog hair. Oodles of dog hair. Great gouts and lumps and bushy piles of fur on sofas, rugs, in  corners and on clothing. I find I own a lot of nice clothing I refuse to wear because I don’t want to ruin it with dog hair, not to mention the giant holes that Bishop — in a fit of overwhelming love — will tear with those wicked paws. What then, you ask (I ask, we all ask) is the point of having nice clothing?

That is a good question and if anyone has an answer, I’d like to hear it. I seem to be under the illusion I might actually go someplace someday and need attractive clothing. A lifetime of working embedded this idea in my brain. One must have Decent Clothing for job interviews — but when was the last time I had one of those? For Events — once in a blue moon seems to be the frequency. So I have nice stuff and anything I wear is instantly covered with dog hair. Everything looks tweedy.

Terriers and Garry

Ironically, the other day I realized the clothing in my closet, including stuff I’ve never worn, is hairy. Pet hair is vicious, pernicious, aggressive. It sneaks into closets in rooms where dogs are  forbidden — though somehow they manage to steal my underwear.

It’s part of what makes this time of year challenging. I have wonderful sweaters. Cashmere and cotton and wool. Tunics and ponchos. Many are years old but barely worn. I don’t want to ruin them.

My nice clothing is dying in the closet. Getting old and hairy and hanger worn. We could solve the problem by having fewer dogs.

Nah. Not happening.