i still have bad hair days...

Time for another trip to the hairdresser today. Actually, it was hardly time for it at all, since it seems like just yesterday I had the last cut, and I love my hair at the moment. But I thought that if I didn't use my not-double-booked appointment today, I would be tearing my hair out by the next one, thoughtfully booked more than a month ago to avoid missing out in the mad Christmas rush. So I went, had my hair marginally trimmed, and came home. I suppose it looks better.

I'm still washing with water most of the time and it's OK. The hairdresser hasn't noticed. Or if she has she hasn't asked what on earth I'm doing to my hair! She certainly hasn't told me it's wonderfully soft.

That's OK though. Most days my hair is alright. Sometimes I have bad hair days when it is greasy and lank and my scalp itches. The last few days have been great, but a couple of weeks ago I had to resort to a quick sodi-bic wash to cut out some of the oil and settle my scalp down. Since then it's been dandy. I can easily go two, maybe three days without washing it (for a chronic daily washer, that's huge!) and the texture is soft and nice.

I'll stick with it for now... still loving how cheap and easy it is.

50 self portraits later...

chameleon. not.

My poor hairdresser!

I went and had a bit of a do today. Not just a cut, but a colour too. First I asked her if I had nits or lice. I'm paranoid I've caught nits or lice from the kids at school... they all come cuddling and smooching and unintentionally rubbing their nit-ridden hair across my arm or shoulder or (shudder) head. I can hardly push them away, though I walk a fine line... don't want them to feel unloved by not touching them, but would prefer not to be accused of child abuse either. I figure most of them need a few hugs, so I return the hug and step away quickly. However I always wonder if those lice might not have jumped on over to my hair. I am pleased to report, to now, they have not.

Anyway, this was what I had done:

Before

After

Maybe the pictures aren't so outstandingly different, but for me it's a huge change. I'm in shock. So is my hairdresser. She thought I was going to cancel my appointment, and I very nearly did!

I don't know. It's like the hair straightener issue. Much to Charmaine's amusement (or is it chagrin?) I have continued to resist purchasing a hair straightener. I even managed to restrain myself from buying the $3 pair I saw at the op shop! Every time I get my hair done Charmaine deliberately pulls out the straighteners and irons my hair in an attempt to convince me I need them. She even told me today that if she is ever offered a free set of hair straightening tongs by a supplier she is going to accept them and pass them straight on to me! I still think hair straighteners illustrate our obsession with perfection, appearances and illusions. I still don't think I really need them.

The same goes for hair colouring really. I am gently graying. Catch me on a bad day and I don't like it, but mostly I don't mind. That's life. I have few wrinkles, but at least my hair shows I've seen a bit of life. I want to be someone who embraces my aging and enjoys each phase of my life. I don't need to colour my hair.

Which is why I really can't explain why I decided to go ahead and colour it. I think Frank said 'You'd look nice with a bit of blonde in your hair' one evening, I went to the hairdresser soon after and the appointment was made. All month I've wrestled with the booking. I nearly cancelled a couple of times. I was musing to a friend the other day about whether I should do it or not (mountain out of a mole hill) and she told me it's just a hair colour - do it and enjoy it!

So I did. I sat in the chair and said 'Go ahead, dye my hair'. So now I have a chocolatey brown base colour with soft copper and blonde highlights. Frank thinks it looks fantastic, Charmaine loves it, I like it. But. But. But. Mixed in with the appreciation of my new look is a strong case of dissonance between what is and my ideal! What about the chemicals I've been purging from my diet and home and life? What about the environmental impact of dying my hair? What about the principles and values I hold dear?

And for goodness sake - why stress so much over it? It's a hair colour for goodness sake. Enjoy it. Revel in it. Stop turning everything in your life into a damn crusade Cecily! We've had enough crusades. Chill out and embrace change. Come on. Pull yourself together girl!

Really, I do like it.

me and my big mouth

I discovered today that my hairdresser thinks Frank is slightly crazy, and right now she probably thinks I am too. After our over-the-hair-cut conversation I'm beginning to wonder myself.

We were talking about the pulp mill, as you do. Every conversation around here somehow ends up at the pulp mill at some point or other. (Unless we already know the other person vehemently disagrees with us, and in the interests of health and safety we mutually tactfully but obviously avoid the topic all together)

Anyway, Charmaine was chopping away at my hair this afternoon when I mentioned my husband had also been in for a cut this week and did she know who he was?

"Oh yes," she said "Frank. He was in here the other day! I know who he is. He's very passionate about certain topics like the pulp mill isn't he?"

I laughed and agreed that yes, he is very passionate in his opposition to the mill, we both are.

Charmaine went on to report the way she had cut short Frank's passion on Tuesday because the girl who was cutting his hair is strongly in favour of the mill. Her husband is a log truck driver. That seems to be the way it goes here. If you work in forestry at all, you support the mill and cannot conceive it might be bad for the environment - feeding your family takes priority over ensuring your family have a world to live in. Fair enough. I don't work in forestry, I don't drive a log truck (fortuitously, after my most recent driving endeavours!). Before you accuse me of ignoring this side of the debate, I have spent some time trying to understand it. From what I can gather, Tasmania has a long history of considering the forests theirs for the taking. We have forgotten that those forests nurtured convict escapees and protected them from recapture... and all the other nice things forests do for us. This slash and mill mentality doesn't seem to have been such a problem until Gunns came along and introduced tree felling on a grand scale. Somewhere along the way stands of trees became mass commodities; dollar signs that overshadowed any nurturing or healing value the trees might offer.

But I digress... suffice to say, Frank's most winning arguments against the pulp mill were smothered in the hair dressing salon in the interest of peace for all hairdressers.

As Charmaine relayed the conversation and defended herself against the accusation of 'fence sitter' (a dirty word in this debate) I offered a half hearted smile of encouragement, all the while thinking, "Frank and I also see both sides of the debate, but we are concerned for the long term health of our state. We cannot see how chopping all those trees down will leave us better off in the long run." I managed to hold my tongue - a good thing since the other hairdresser was only standing a few metres away. I wish I'd continued to hold my tongue when the topic of conversation turned to hair straighteners!

I have this little thing about not purchasing a hair straightener. I love the resulting pencil straight hair, but to me it epitomises our culture's obsession with appearance. While there are people in the world who cannot afford to eat or live in a house, I cannot buy a hair straightener to line my lifestyle with greater unnecessary comfort. I realise the logic here is subtle, perhaps even absent, but somewhere in my mind there is a link between world poverty and hair straighteners. It's as simple as that. And I am perfectly within my rights to maintain that link. But the hairdressing salon may not be the best place to expound my belief. really. not at all.

To her credit Charmaine took it well. She even seemed to understand where I was coming from. And she happily straightened my hair as a special once-a-haircut treat. But I wonder what she was really thinking of Frank and I as I walked out of the salon? Slightly crazy? Cooky? Weird? Odd?

I love this salon - they're practically the cheapest in town (more of my 'won't pay $50 for a hair cut when some people have no food' reasoning at work there... thankfully they do a mean cut too!). But I'm a bit embarrassed to go back. Are there any other cheap hairdressers around here?