Old-Fashioned Fruitcake
Up with the rocket and down with the stick, as the saying goes. Well and truly up for Phase Four, and down, down, down for Phase Five. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a disaster – the house did not catch fire, nor did the kettle break – but it was definitely a wash-out.
I did get some things done, but in an absent-minded “oh yes, I’d better do this” kind of way. Anything which might have called for some enthusiasm to be worked up I just… didn’t do.
I think it was the hats that finally clued me in.
I own thirteen hats, and as I walked to the yarn shop to obtain materials for the fourteenth hat, I brooded. More than that, I mused, I prayed, I meditated. On such subjects as simplicity, the significance of hats, and the wisdom or unwisdom of buying yarn for another hat.
And this is what I realized: the reason I have so many hats – the reason why I have trouble getting rid of any of these hats – is that they represent the people I could be.
Hair, makeup, and beauty are a bit of an odd topic for me, I must admit. For one thing, I don’t wear makeup. And while I do have hair, it’s pretty well always under a kerchief (unless I haven’t got dressed yet). Mind you, the hair has still been changing, it’s just that no one saw it but me and the Caped Gooseberry.
Some years ago I had a sudden change in the length of my hair, from long enough to sit on, to short. But while it was fun for a while (I even stopped wearing kerchiefs all the time for a bit), it was quite high-maintenance compared to long hair, to my surprise. The reason being that I hate having hair in my face or on my neck, and short hair needs frequent trims to ensure this remains the case.
