It Is Moulting Season

The chickens are losing their feathers, even Big Daddy Elvis. I find his beautiful curled tail feathers in the coop and on the ground along with the hens' more prosaic ones. They are all lovely and they will be replaced soon. This is how it goes.

Kathleen's beautiful new short hair cut was showing signs of wear just a few days ago and in the past 48 hours she had grown tired of it clogging her shower, showering her clothing, driving her crazy, thinking there was a bug on her. No insect, just...falling hair.
"I had no idea I had so much hair," she told me.
One can only imagine.

She called me on my cell phone today. I was in town buying a new phone system to replace the fucked-up one. I had stopped by Lily's and while we were there, Jessie pulled up. Mean Aunt Jessie and then Kathleen stopped by on her way home. I asked her if she wanted her head shaved and she said she did, so Lily got out her clippers and Kathleen sat in a chair on the back porch and Jessie shaved that sweet head of my friend's with Owen trying to pull down shovels and rakes and an axe.
"No, Owen," his mama told him. "You may not play with the axe."
He was dismayed.
But he was not dismayed at Kathleen's head, newly shorn of hair. He didn't seem to notice. We all told Kathleen she looked beautiful. Her eyes are tremendously large, now.
One never really knows what one's skull looks like until the hair is removed. There are bumps and moles and then there are the ears to consider- they are never really fully seen until one goes bald. It's quite interesting, actually to think that we are mostly all walking around with no more idea of what our heads really look like than we are the surface of the moon.
Kathleen said that she thought losing her hair would make her feel more vulnerable but that instead, it has made her feel tougher.
"Like a Marine?" I asked her.
"Yes," she said, nodding that newly bare pate. She says she feels as if she is shedding more than hair. She is shedding old stuff that she doesn't need.
I rubbed her head. It feels fuzzy and good and round beneath my palm. I have instructed her to wear lots of eye make-up and big earrings. She might. I'm pretty sure she's not going to wear a wig. Or a scarf. Probably a hat. That would be Kathleen.

When I was at the hospital last week with my mother, I saw an African-American woman in scrubs with a head as bald and shiny as a cue-ball and she was wearing huge earrings and she held that head as proud as a queen wearing a crown and she was magnificent. I wondered if she worked in oncology and kept her head bare to make the patients feel more comfortable. Who knows? But I do know this- it is not our hair, which we despair over and curl and wash and dry and mousse and perm and cut and style and dye and bleach and tint and braid and put up and take down and wear sparkly things in which make us beautiful.
And that when you see or I see a person, especially a woman, who is bald, we should not be afraid to look at that person directly in the eyes, those beautiful huge eyes, and say, "I love your earrings."
Or even, "I love your ears."

Chickens moult, and sometimes humans do too. Our hair is not, as the Bible says, necessarily our glory.
No, that comes from other things. Our eyes which reflect the fire in our souls, the love in our hearts, the determination and strength in our bones. The cheekbones, the mouth, the chin, the long neck, freed of framing.

Kathleen taught me that today. She is always teaching me something whether it's about chickens or beauty.

And I am learning.