The Evolution of Hair

I really have long hair now. I can even put it up in a pony tail! I still don't quite believe it. I wake up every morning convinced that when I look in the mirror, my long hair will be gone and I'll be staring at my former, familiar self with short, short hair.

Like most women, I imagine, I can remember quite distinctly everyone of my former hair styles. First there was the pixie hair cut of my elementary school and early junior high school years--hideous in retrospect. By high school, I was seriously into rollers--even slept with them!--but, hey, they were essential to create the page boy fluff or the flip, two quintessential styles of that era. Finally in college I got rid of the rollers and there was just hair and lots of it, parted in the middle and hanging down my back almost to my waist.

For some unknown but probably psychologically profound reason which I have not yet explored, I assumed that when I got married my days of long hair were at an end. So began the slow, steady and inexorable process of cutting my hair until, in recent years, there wasn't much left at all. I tried to go back and let it grow a couple times but, ugh, it was too painful and ugly a process.

What made the difference this time? Maybe turning 60 and wanting one last chance to wear a pony tail.

Jamaica, Jamaica

I've been home for less than 3 weeks and already I'm on the road--this time to Jamaica with Liz. I'm serving as her assistant at the Calabash Literary Festival in Treasure Beach, the small fishing and farming village where she has lived and worked. It's hot, hot, hot and we spent most of today riding around in the middle of nowhere buying vegetables from local organic farmers for a group of Jamaican ital chefs who will be cooking and selling traditional, vegetarian food at the festival. I love watching Liz interact with all the people here. She speaks perfect Jamaican patois--I understand not a word--and is completely comfortable with every one we meet here from rastafarian farmers living way off in the hills to Kingston socialites in for the weekend.

Last night at dinner, I listened in awe as she carried on a long--very long--and detailed conversation with some Jamaican agronomist all about soil pathogens, solarization, nematodes and other totally arcane subjects, to me at least. How a city girl, raised in an apartment with not a house plant in sight--I banished them once they got bugs--metamorphosed into someone who teaches others how to farm is still a mystery to me.

Back on Spruce

What did I miss here while living in Rome? Not much, really. But I do like coming back to Philadelphia in the spring. The city seems so green to me now especially when compared to the relative barrenness of Rome's city streets. Of course, Rome more than compensates for the lack of foliage with the sunny Mediterranean hues of so many of the buildings.

I do love being in my apartment especially sitting in my favorite window seat looking at the sunset. And I truly treasure being back in my study where I can curl up with a good book on the futon or work at my desk or listen to music and nobody bothers me--the ultimate luxury.

What do I miss about living in Rome. Well, I haven't had pasta since I've been back.