The Fiery Quill

Only one subject could pull me out of hiding to write.....my hair. There is a cardinal rule when it comes to a woman and her hair: never make drastic alterations to one's hair in a time of great emotional stress. And I what did I do? I went out and got a massive haircut, the kind you should never get within close proximity to a break-up. But I ask you, what would you expect from a girl that doesn't follow protocol concerning pants-wearing in upscale salons? I have had hair this short before, but it always cracks me up to see the response of the public at large concerning short hair on a woman. Some act like it's a personal affront, "Why did you cut your hair?" And then there is the classic look of horror: excuse me, could you please turn down the volume of your face? Believe me, my haircut is an adjustment for me (and it's on my head). I admit that it's difficult to not have a curtain to hide behind.....the hair is, after all, a woman's ultimate acces...

I got my hair done yesterday at one of those big city salons. Just the sort of place that one would envision in a cosmopolitan city. European techno music, all stylists in black...you know the sort of place. These salons are like a foreign country to me, complete with customs of their own. I am just enough of a country girl, that I haven't completely absorbed these customs. I am not used to the concept of a shampoo girl, or wearing a robe provided by the salon. My inner redneck didn't know how to handle removing one's clothes and donning a robe for a haircut...What for? All your clothes? The latter custom was the most troubling to me; and I'm pretty sure I came to the wrong conclusion in pondering how to handle this request. As I was sitting under the hairdryer in my little robe, bare (pale) legs crossed.....I was feeling pretty hotsy-totsy. Thought I had this whole sa-lon thing figured out. Then I noticed I was the only client without pants. Mind you I was decent in my...

I recently ran a 10k to benefit Western Washington Habitat for Humanity . It is always satisfying for me to complete a race, especially when I see the fruits of my labor as I run. The mid-point of the race goes through one of the Habitat neighborhoods, right when energy levels are sagging and muscles are hurting. I panted around a bend and up a hill where men and women in hard hats were working towards the completion of a family's dream. I felt a lump in my throat as I considered that unknown family and the little house that would be theirs. Charitible organizations like Habitat, and their events, obviously draw a variety of generous spirits. My favorite such spirit was a cheerful little boy of about seven, complete with impish grin and arm in a cast. This one small boy, for the second year in a row, raised the most money for the Home Run Charity Run/Walk. Last year, he walked into the Habitat office with a jar full of a year's worth of birthday money, allowance, savings. He ev...

Plastic charm bracelets, Free to Be You and Me on the record player, sliced turnips with sea salt for snack, taking turns reading pages of The Berenstein Bears with Dad, pink jellies worn with everything. The Lorax, Monkey, the leopard cub, Penguin and Theodore Bear guarding my bed: the furry brotherhood. Doing laps around the basement in my roller skates, Whitney Houston on the boombox. Stealthily bumping down the stairs on my blanket sleeper-clad rear end, hoping to catch an extra Saturday-morning cartoon before Dad was on to me. Feeding the dog scraps of whatever we didn't want from our dinner plates, homemade muffins on Sunday mornings, pirouettes in the outfield at softball games. Opening Christmas presents in the living room, my favorite wooden doll ornaments, making sour cream Christmas cookies and singing along to John Denver and Alabama. "Dancing" with the turkey before we cooked it on Thanksgiving. My Christmas stocking hanging down to the floor because of the o...

I had the pleasure of seeing Brandi Carlile last night at the Moore. I am sure I will not be the only one to write about this event or venue. But it was such an extraordinary show that I still want to put in my two cents. Brandi is local girl that is well-loved by her hometown, and her fans where in full force at this show. The Moore was a wonderful place to hear her, due to the layout and acoustics of the theatre. The acoustics are so good that she was able to sing without a microphone and be heard clear up to the rafters. It was absolute silence until she finished the last note of that song, then everyone rose up in their seats to express their appreciation. Brandi delivered an emotional performance, singing old favorites and covers with her own touch. The crowd was given a real treat when Brandi did a duet with her sister. When the song ended it was silent until one voice said, "wow." That adequately sums up the whole night. It was especially cool that we were able to shar...

For as long as I can remember, I have been receiving comments about my weight: "Better be careful when you take a shower, you might go down the drain." Or "Heather's so skinny, when she turns sideways...she disappears." I have had people ask me outright how much I weigh, after giving me the once over. I remember being insulted in middle school with the old adage, "Heather is a carpenter's dream: she's flat and easy to screw." My personal favorite is been repeatedly asked if I am anorexic. Then there is also being asked why I need to work out, or how many times I work out in a week. Women also seem to feel free to ask me what my clothing size is: can you believe how tacky people are? Most people would never walk up to an overweight person and make comments about their size or ask them their weight. So why do people feel entitled to do both to a person who is on the slender side? Many people may read this and wonder how I could possible complain ...

Tomorrow morning will be the kind that everyone can identify with: the crappy-feeling, first after a break up kind of morning. It will be that much harder to pry myself out of bed, on a Monday, when NPR starts blasting at 5:58am. Nothing is particularly pretty at that hour, especially when I remember that it is the debut morning of my singlehood....super. Warning: possible sarcasm dripping from the rest of my commentary. Normally I prefer to keep my personal life out of my blog. However, the method of this particular break-up was so noteworthy that I couldn't resist. I'm hoping that this story makes others who are in in my predicament feel better about being unexpectedly single. I preface further commentary with the following statement: no men were injured during the making of this blog. I have been dumped in a variety of equally unfortunate circumstances. But I do have to say (in fairness to former boyfriends)that my exes were all kind enough to end things in person. Now I rea...