Hair.

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I had my hair done today. Not just cut. Done. (At the risk of being crude, at least someone is doing something to some part of me...)


The man with scissors said to me. "That's it. You've passed the point where you can blend blonde highlights with white hair. It's time to dye. Trust me. You will look fabulous."

OMG. 


Immediate flashback to age 40 plus when I took the plunge and added blond highlights to fool the white at my temples. The highlights served me well until now. (Maybe until a little before now but everyone's been very polite.)


And now I'll tell you something that I swear is true.... a few days ago I had a dream that I had red stringy dyed hair and long dark roots. The scary part of the dream was that I actually left the house that way.  Ask anyone who knows me, my hair is my thing... Over the years, if I had been as pedantic about my weight as I had about my hair, I would be quite stunning today.


Back from flashback and nightmare, I decide to trust this man with scissors.  So Honey brown it is. With a streak of blonde highlight in front to ease the separation anxiety from the aluminum foil  that I had grown fond of over the years. 


Two hours later, I am transformed into a new woman. But which woman?

• The woman that has to get her roots done every few weeks so that the nightmares don't come back?
• The woman who is over 50 and wishes the march of time could be replaced by a slow waltz? 
• Or maybe I'm the woman who has spent a relaxing Friday morning transforming herself into someone who looks a touch younger? (Not too young, please. I'll have to wear skinny jeans) 

So, a new hairstyle, a snazzy pair of sun glasses, a very beautiful Friday morning, and 4 kilos Iighter. 


This weekend may turn out to be OK. 


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Ladies of Hadassah

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I wish I could just jump in to this entry from the middle of my train of thought because I don't have an elegant introduction. Here. I just did it. 

I've been away from blogging. Yet it is always hovering over me as one of the reasons I am distracted at my day job. There aren't enough hours in the day to do everything that I want to, or, more likely, not enough tooth picks in the world to keep my eyelids open at the end of the day when I get home from work. 

I have been devoting more attention to my shop, and less to my blog . But let's face it. When you get right down to it, both are serving the same purpose. 

Both my blog and my store keep me busy during those cuddly hours. During that free time that I am alone, that time I wish I could spend with a soul mate, or at the very least, someone who doesn't drive me up a wall. 

Despite the obvious disadvantages of not having a guy in my life, I am completing a tremendous number of tasks. Not to mention that I get to shamelessly eat peanut butter and jelly in front of the TV instead of setting a table and asking "how was your day, dear?" (still no white smoke on which situation I ultimately prefer.) 

I did have a date recently. A nice guy. A nice conversation. A nice cup of coffee. Nice, nice, nice. I came home and went back online to see if any new faces had shown up on the dating sites. I'm guessing that I'm not enthralled with nice. I know it should count for something. But I REALLY want the next one to take my breath away. 

I was grateful for the rainiest January Israel has seen in over 40 years. It makes it easier to admit that I didn't get out my pajamas all weekend (every weekend).

I cleaned up closets, I baked, I caught up on programs I had recorded. I watched movies with my kids. I worked on my store. And I finally filed all of my personal papers from 2011 that I had sworn I would file by the end of the year. 

Among the papers I came across was a certificate naming me a Life Member of Hadassah (thanks Mom). It came with a gold pin. 

I put the Hadassah Life Membership pin on my pajamas.

For the duration of the weekend I felt like a stunning socialite doing good for the state of Israel.  I was the scion of a perfect family and my progeny were given a perfect life, too.  

And then the weekend passed and I got out of my pajamas and dressed for work.  And I returned to reality.

And there you have it. Life as I know it is not always as glamorous as it could have been, nor is it as glamorous as other lives. But it is my life. And I am finally getting used to it.

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