Hair: A STORY OF LOSS

My name is Magnoliasmyrna, and I am losing my hair. I have avoided speaking about this because if I let the words out, the statement becomes fact.  I've been avoiding FACT for a long time now.

 I suppose it all started about five years ago when I noticed large amounts of my locks collecting in the drain cover as I shampooed my hair. What a sinking feeling to see something so treasured slip away with the bath water! That year I was diagnosed as hyperthyroid, and I began Mr. Toad's Wild Ride through a recovery of sorts.

 There were three different occurrences that knocked me back to square one again. The only comparison I can make is to say the experience must be a little like having chemo, but the hair never comes back. An aching dread exists every time I pulled my long bangs back to discover that my hairline was moving back futher and futher.

 Things pretty much stood still for about four years. I was desperate to find something that would make my hair start growing again. I had no problem growing my hair longer; it just wouldn't grow from my scalp in places where a follicle desert occurred.

 Being a Leo, I had always had "cat whiskers" on the sides of my head...I liked to visually extend the width of my long face by softly displaying my hair near my ears. Well, that's coming to a screeching halt! There's no hair left there, and the lack thereof makes it nearly impossible to create a decent coiffure any longer.  I dread a hard breeze because I could lose my dignity and pathetic, remaining wisps faster than Donald Trump at an outside news conference.

  I've dreamed of just buzzing my head the way the punksters do, thus creating a top knot and pulling the remaining hair back in a ponytail. Stay tuned for that possibility.

 And now to close...I'm too opposed to a wig because it disallows the freedom I want in my life. Still, I cling to the last of my hair because I want to appear "normal" to others though I know I'm not. I'm sure I will be forced to come to grips with my ego sooner or later. After all, I'm not dying...at least, not on the outside.

There's too much crochet in this world!

If I were a chicken, I'd be overcooked by now, considering the way I've been stewing! I uncovered several large plastic tubs of collected lace, handwork, and vintage treasures a few days ago. Having gone on a tear to remove the clutter from my life, I found sadly that my cleansing whirlwind didn't work! It only forced me to look at and handle each piece of crochet and every white tucked, embroidered Victorian undergarment with a loving, but critical eye. It will be necessary to bring this collection into prominence as something worthy of keeping, not only because of its beauty,  but because it can take its proper place in this disposal society in which we live .  I have been duely inspired by blogs which repurpose common articles, and I'm waiting right now for a  NEW idea to strike me...a thought which wouldl knock the blogging community on its collective ass after it assesses my remakes as  SO clever. Right now, I'm still thinking. I have a few items in mind, and I fully intend to wear my finished garments or display other artistic creations proudly somewhere around the house...disguised now but a living testiment to the flashing needles of industrious women everywhere in our Past.