Monday, January 31, 2011
Change Your Hair, Change Your Life? Or...Do Redheads Come From Another Planet?
All right, little ol' Ms. Frisky Yardworker, Trash Collector! Who do you think you are?
Uh...little ol' Ms. Frisky Yardworker, Trash Collector? No! That is what you were on Saturday. What you are on Monday is a sore old thing.
This is the conversation in my head this morning. Well, one of them.
It's a crazy day, sky-wise, here in Lloyd this morning and equally as crazy, mind-wise. At least here in my house. The sky is blue with white, puffy clouds. No, the sky is gray and it looks like someone popped a tin helmet over the whole thing.
I need to mop my floors and tidy up.
No. I need to go to town and Goodwill it and find Truvy some damn clothes to wear.
We had a real hair dresser come to rehearsal last night to show us how to actually roll someone's hair, how to tease it, how to pin it up. During Steel Magnolias, our Annelle and I both spend about fifty percent of the time standing behind someone's head creating the illusion that we know what we're doing as applies to hairdo-making. And I need to call her this morning to make an appointment to get my hair cut a bit and get some layers put in it so that I can look like a Truvy might look and get this- I am seriously thinking of getting a red rinse put on it which will mean that I will be a redhead for the first time in my life.
I have asked Mr. Moon what he thinks of this idea.
"Can I call you by another name?" he asked.
"As long as it's Ruby," I said. I have often thought that my alter-ego's name is Ruby. Perhaps if I dye my hair red, the real Ruby will step out and take over. This is an exciting and frightening idea. For the last year or so I have just let my hair be whatever it is. No Sun-In, no highlights. Just dirty blond/brown/gray-coming in.
Which I sort of like but hell, Truvy could give me the excuse to have a last hurrah of sorts.
What do you think?
What will Owen think?
My oldest child, Hank, has the most gorgeous red hair on the planet. Well, he would if he quit shaving his head. I have two red-headed brothers. And Lily, who is courageous with color, has often been a redhead. So it's not that red hair is unknown in this family.
I think I'm going to do it. Why not? It's just hair.
So that's another thing I am thinking about this morning. Red hair. On my head.
I got home from rehearsal last night and got out of the car and there were Owen and Mr. Moon coming out of the kitchen door. I had not known that Owen was coming over but here he was and he ran towards me saying, "Mer-Mer!" Oh boy. I scooped him up and held him close. He was here because his daddy was cutting up a deer and Mr. Moon had been watching him. And so I went from being Truvy to being Mer-Mer and then after they left, I was back to being Mary and here I am, being Ms. Moon again.
It gets so confusing sometimes. Will having red hair only make it more so? Will I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and scream?
Oh well. It's like the sky. It's always the same sky, no matter what color it appears to be from this angle. Cloud-cover makes it look one way, fog another, light another, darkness another.
It is all illusion.
I can't believe I'm still listening to Eat, Pray, Love. I guess it's Liz Gilbert's voice. It's so damn lulling. But her ideas about religion and god sort of make me want to erp. She has such a personal relationship with her god and even feels quite strongly that she can posture herself with her forehead on the ground and petition that god with a request, a prayer, making it sound as if her god is just sitting there waiting for her to get her thoughts in order to come up with the correct plea.
And then she sits in silent meditation for two hours and lets mosquitoes bite her without stirring which somehow is going to translate into her being a better person.
Seems to me that it might more likely translate to her getting malaria but maybe not.
I remember quite distinctly the first time I ever heard Jim Morrison (of the Doors, y'all) scream, "You cannot petition the Lord with prayer!" and I felt guilty because I was a good little Presbyterian girl but I already knew that in my bones and I agreed with him.
What do I know? Not much. Maybe Jim Morrison was wrong, maybe Liz Gilbert is right. Maybe they're both right somehow. The workings of the universe are mysterious and as far as I know, not one damn person on this earth has ever truly figured out how to turn the correct key to get the Lord to deliver the goods.
And I'm sure that Gilbert would shake her head and with that sweet voice of hers point out that no, that's not what it's about at all, that she is just looking for a way to be infused with God and that showing her devotion and faith is the way she's accomplishing that.
Well, I'm infused with Whatever It Is when I have my hands in the dirt, getting my body sore and tired, when I hold my grandson, when I see my children laughing, when I hold my husband close to me.
Okay. That's enough. I have things to do. Truvy wants new clothes and a hair appointment. The old lady wants her breakfast. The floors want mopping. The garbage wants taking. The bed wants making. The sky wants to rain. I can feel it in my bones. I can see it in the sky.
It may all be an illusion but some things seem pretty damn real.
Love...Ms. Moon/Truvy/Mary/Mer-Mer Or Whoever I Am At This Particular Moment In The Illusion Of What We Call Monday