Sitting with my daughter on the coffee house patio yesterday I was forced to face an issue I've been ignoring since surgery. It began with the engaging female couple next to us as they laughed and smiled, talking with a mixture of happy and tired about the beach trip they just returned from. With every turn or shake of head, the late day sun lit sparks in thier auburn manes. I looked at my daughter's lovely wisps of ashe, moving in the breeze like a ribbon dancer's silken contrails. I was surrounded by females with lovely, clean, shining tresses. And my own crowning glory, well it was less than glorious. Almost a week's worth of neglect had taken away any trace of shine, and the curls that usually bounce in a chin length bob were reduced to limp waves.
It was decided, I must find a way to wash this mop without getting my incision wet. And so this morning with the help of my daughter, we washed, rinsed, and conditioned. I can walk outside with some measure of dignitiy again. It's the simplest things that matter so much.
11:08 a.m. - 2006-05-22
Recent entries:
meanwhile - 2016-08-10
interpol wants my cacti - 2016-07-31
6:58 are you sure where my spark is? - 2016-07-30
armchair apocrypha - 2016-07-29
less everyday - 2016-07-27
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
nineofswords
marn
tarkis