Time for a Sellotape Haircut

As you can see, my cowlick has other ideas about being perfectly straight.

When I was little, my mom would trim my bangs. When they were getting too long, and into my eyes, she would wrap a towel around my neck and sit me on the kitchen counter. Then she would pull out a roll of sellotape in the U.S. known as Scotch tape. After ripping off a long piece, she placed it across my bangs to ensure sure she had a straight line to cut them. To make sure they were perfect. It always felt a little special when she did this.

Yesterday I noticed my bangs were getting quite long again. I trimmed and trimmed, trying to emulate the hairstylist I see. Trimming just a bit at a time with her hands flurrying across my forehead. Well, I didn't flurry, but I did cut a bit at a time. Trying not to
look too blunt but more blended as she does.
I thought my results were not great but acceptable.

This morning, however, I woke up, and when I looked
in the bathroom mirror, I noticed they were

Tada!

still too long. I started using the same strategy I'd used yesterday and began to feel annoyed. Annoyed because I wasn't getting the result I wanted. Rationally I understand I'm not trained in how to properly cut bangs but it seems like it should be a fairly straightforward task to accomplish. Then I recalled my mom's technique. So I went to the kitchen and grabbed the sellotape. I placed it across my forehead. I trimmed and trimmed. Better.

I'll still fuss with my cutting over the next few days because it's not quite right, but it already looks so much better than it did yesterday. Thankful, this particular memory popped up as I looked in the mirror this morning, practical and special at the same time.

Target Tales #2: A TP Photo Op Reminded Me About Kindness

My mom and I were picking up a few things on Saturday at Target. We'd hoped to find milk, my favorite Buffalo Wing Pretzel Crisps, coffee creamer, and a few other items for dinner. We'd had success with our list and decided, as many of us do when we're out shopping, to see if there were any toilet paper or paper towels.

We were at the end of the aisle where I saw an older man sitting in a motorized shopping cart, using his phone to take the photo, that many of us have, of an empty toilet paper aisle.

He saw me looking down the aisle as well and started reached his hand up to the electronic console and move out of my way.

I abruptly interrupted his move, "No, you don't need to move. I'm capturing the same photo you are, sir."

He looked up and smiled. "Oh, really?"

I nodded. It was at that moment that I decided to pause. I wondered did he need toilet paper. I wondered if this was his trip to gather the supplies, so many Americans are trying to find. I wondered if we might be the only human interaction he'd have and if so, we needed to make it count. We needed to stop and listen to him so I smiled.

"I live in _____ (a suburb about 45 minutes away). I used to live in _____ (about 20 minutes away). I lived there until my wife died."

"I'm sorry," I quickly muttered.

"It's okay. That was two years ago. Now I live with my son. He lives in ______ (aforementioned city). Today I was out in _____ (the same town he used to live in) helping my friend with a technology problem. I thought I'd stop on the way home and see if there was any toilet paper here. We can't find it for us. Guess we're not the only ones."

"No, you're not," I smiled.

He went onto tell us about the other stores he'd visited that afternoon. He had found some toilet paper at Aldi. He found paper towels at Dollar Tree.

"And I found all of this here," as he gestured toward his basket filled with some milk and a few other perishable items. "I found everything I needed."

"I'm glad you did," I replied.

His eyes twinkled as he said, "Me too."

"Take care. Wishing you and your family well, sir."

"Thank you. You, too," he responded.

Each time I've gone out since then, which I'm trying to avoid altogether, but when I do, I've tried to pause and show a little more kindness. I've been making more eye contact. I've been saying thank you to people stocking our shelves or those working at the drive-thru. It's these small moments that, during hard times, make a big difference, genuinely making sure we all find everything we need.

* I did not capture a photo that day but I think I captured something much more important.

Do You Know Starbuck's Code? A Reverse Culture Shock Tale

I'm learning new code in the U.S., Starbucks code. When I say that I don't mean Starbuck's beverage language like a tall Chocolate Dalmatian, I mean the Starbucks' patron code. 

Today while waiting for an appointment, I hunkered down to work at a nearby Starbucks. It was here that I was reminded of the patron code. Restroom code. Restroom code is where you are approached by a patron sitting near you who politely asks the small favor, "Can you watch my things while I use the restroom?" 

I'd been sitting at my table today, sipping my grande caramel macchiato with almond milk for about an hour when a nearby female patron asked me for this favor. I obliged but was taken back when she asked. I don't think it's rude or asking too much; it's just that I haven't lived within this culture for a while. I moved back to the U.S. in August after living overseas for ten years. As my new Starbucks' friend used the facilities, I pondered why this question, this favor, took me by surprise. 

In Prague, where I lived for the past four years, we didn't have this same code. If you needed to use the restroom, you packed everything up and took your things with you. Granted, I didn't visit Starbucks in Prague frequently for a few reasons. These included the fantastic cafe culture in my neighborhood, pickpocketing, and Starbucks' prices compared to local cafe prices (local cafes usually had better coffee too), it's just you'd never ask a stranger this favor there. 

It was about this time when my Starbucks' BFF returned. She smiled and said, "Thanks so much. Happy to repay the favor for you."

And about 10 minutes later, I took her up on it. It felt a bit strange, but it was so delightful to be able to leave my things at my table and not worry about them because I knew she would be watching them for me. 

Reverse culture shock is a funny thing because I never know when it'll strike. Today it happened at Starbucks. 

Here's To You: A 70th Birthday Toast and Poem for My Mother

* This is a draft of a poem I'm working on to give to my mom on her 70th birthday. 

P.S. If you do know my mom, shhh! This is going to be a surprise. 

Here's to Valentine's Day cross-stitched patterns,

embroidered vests and

stenciled Christmas ornaments

that you created and then 

gifted to your family and friends.

Here's to the sound effects

you create to replace

words because 

your feelings aren't precisely captured

by the current English language.

Here's to the traditions you 

created for our family

like wearing matching Xmas jammies 

before it was cool and

gifting each of us

the perfect children's book

on Christmas Eve.

Here's to your dancing,

which sometimes looks more

like parading

in dramatic fashion

across the living room floor

to take a shower.

Here's to nursery rhymes

sung with your unique lyric changes.

Teaching your grandsons a

new and improved

GMo versions.

Here's to birthdays 

celebrated

with feeling.

To making all of us

feel extra special on the 

anniversary of our birth.

Here's to the snail mail

you sent across oceans

to make my heart physically

feel your love

when I read your note.

Here's to you 

being a caretaker

of Gram, and

GUE and GAD.

Taking time to cherish,

and honor 

and love them

deeply.

Here's to you being

strong,

tall,

and funny.

Here's to 70.

Here's to many more.

Here's to you mom.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

The Custard Is Always Worth It

The sunshine and thermometer readings brought out the crowd tonight at our local custard shop. Once in the line, however, we all were surprised by the wind. It slid through our clothing and engulfed those who had braved the night in shorts. I was grateful I grabbed my oatmeal stocking cap before I left. Even if because psychologically, I'm sure the furry ball on top adds extra warmth to my head.  

As we waited impatiently in the queue, I observed my fellow customers:

• shuffling,
• jumping, 
• dancing,
• complaining,
• retreating, 
• cuddling, and
• swaying

to prevent the cold from seeping into our bones, which had warmed up during the day.

Whatever action they chose to battle the chill, their wait was worth it. The custard is always worth it.

I Have a Snooty Sniffer

I'm not one of those people who has an extraordinary sniffer. I think it's average. I'm not one of those people who travels back in time to moments from my past that waft into my mind flaming memories of my childhood. My sense of smell seems to be more simple while at the same time, it's picky.

I don't wear perfume. I prefer unscented soaps. But when it comes to candles and essential oils, I feel my nose dons a particular snootiness. Odors are either adored or hated in moments of presenting themselves. My nose's particular palette likes things woody. Cidery. Piney. 

In the fall, as I was preparing for hygge, I went searching for deliciously scented candles to provide winter evening coziness. It was then that I stumbled across the perfect candle, Walden Woods. After hearing the candle creators' story, which included being made locally and sharing a passion for writing, I was sold even more.

Each evening this winter, their scent swirls around the living room, bringing my heart and nose small, simple smiles. Today, even though spring seems to be sneaking more and more into each day, I purchased a couple more because I think my hygge and my nose need them. 

Car Window Poetry

The highway's
black surface and
white dashes
pull my eye
forward.

Fighting this
optical illusion,
I turn my head right.

Winter ground.
Golden stalks
jutting from the black soil.
Tracks of plowed lines
making patterns where
green will sprout.

Turning my head back center
my eyes encourage
my hands to stretch
for the white and gray
batting that's escaped from
my grandmother's pillow
and floats across the sky.

All this contrasted
against the blue
shows me that
Mother Nature
is ready to
share spring with us soon.