I wish I was a hat person.
Some people can pull off sporting a ball cap,
a sophisticated little beret,
or even a big, bouncing bonnet.
I envy the woman who can flip on a huge,
furry lumberjack cap and look simply luscious.
Or pop on a straw hat and seem as fresh and beautiful
as an FDS ad.
Not only was my head not made for hats,
it seems sometimes that it was not made
for hair, either!
Every morning I wake up to the Screaming Banshee look.
Wild spikes and crazy curls and frenzied flips
poke from my scalp like untamed SciFi creatures.
I look in the mirror and see
Chewbacca on steroids!
Pasting it down with sprays or gel is a waste of time.
Brushing and combing does no good.
Wetting and scrunching leaves it worse.
To give it a thorough shampoo again is the only remedy.
Needless to say, I have the cleanest hair in the world!
To have the option of pulling on a cute hat
that would not only disguise my hair monstrosity-
but also enhance my looks-
would be a double blessing.
That final, little accessory could be life changing!
So, I decided would give wearing hats another try.
I mean, I've seen middle aged women looking quite sharp
in those little furry dealy-bobs or the spiffy gaucho hats.
Some women even look fantastic in scarfs.
I went to a store that had a good variety of hats
and began trying every one of them on.
I tried to hide, but the mirror was positioned so that every
other department in the entire mall
could see me and my hats.
I tried on the dress hats, the walking hats,
the beanies and the skullcaps.
I modeled the fez hats, visors, Panama hats
and Newsboy caps.
I posed in straw, wool, fur, and felt.
There was something "so not right"
with all of them.
I looked out of place, uncomfortable, manly,
in pain, twisted, or puffy.
Some made me look old, pale, fat, or just plain ugly.
After an hour of struggling with every hellish hat
in the entire place,
I glanced one last time into the mirror...
I suddenly realized it wasn't the hats
that looked bad after all.
And it wasn't even my hair causing the problem!
It was my face.
Fifteen years ago, my four sisters and I decided it was time
to celebrate our sisterhood.
Work, children, and other obligations had
slowly widened the gap between us
and the years had made us practically strangers.
Without realizing that we were creating a new tradition,
we planned a Sister Weekend.
And for fifteen years now -we've celebrated.
Because we all love yard sales -
we have made that the number one priority of our weekend.
We always plan a day of scanning the nearby towns
and country roads for garage sales and flea markets.
We have such a great time talking and laughing
and getting our exercise!
Even now, when I look at certain objects in my house,
I remember the Sister Weekend that I found it
and had to have it.
We made up a game called "What Were They Thinking?"
The idea is to find something at the yard sales
that makes you wonder why on earth anybody would
buy such a thing-have such a thing
or keep such a thing!
We hide our "game loot" and at the end of the day,
we reveal our discoveries to one another.
All the time oohing and ahhhing and
exclaiming-
"What Were They Thinking?!"
Our second priority is food,
so of course we incorporate that into our weekends also.
A nice sit down meal with drinks and appetizers
is always welcome after our full day of yard sale jaunts.
Then it's back to a comfortable motel room
where we'll strip down to our pajamas,
break out the snacks, and share our stories.
We play board games and watch movies
and pass around pictures.
We laugh so hard it hurts
and we cry so hard it's funny.
Through these weekends, we we've grown closer.
The gap has grown thinner.
The memories thicker.
We have become the best of friends.
Our Sister Weekends have become our lifeline
to one another-
a family tie that that has knotted
into a lasting bond of love.
Our sister Barb passed away a few years ago.
But, she is still with us.
She'll be here again for this Sister Weekend.
And so is our Mom.
They guide us to the best yard sales with their wings,
cackle with us as we roar with laughter,
and they cry silent tears right along with us.
Their presence is felt, heard -
and always expected.
So, I may not be writing for a few days.
Sister Weekend starts Thursday morning
and we are all looking forward to it.
Yippee!
We are hitting Route 61
and 61 crazy, beautiful, treasure-packed miles
of yard sales!
Sixty-one miles
of sisterly love-
And two angels in tow...
There is something about this time of year that makes me want to clean and decorate my home.
Maybe it's just a nesting instinct- that urge to fluff pillows and smooth bedsheets and clean windows till they sparkle.
Somehow there is a great satisfaction of changing the door wreath or the kitchen tablecloth or the garden flag.
It might just be that we all need a change.
Although I do dread winter, I anticipate autumn.
Summer has given us too many hot days, too many weeds in the garden and too much yard to mow.
Autumn comes and puts an end to outdoor slavery.
It's a time to relax- to plan and to reflect-
before the two biggest holidays unfold
and the snow shovels appear.
Decorating is part of the welcoming process-
a hint to friends and family to come on in-
have a mug of cocoa -
wrap yourself up in the warmth of
scented candles, baking cookies
and just relax.
We all develop a certain attachment to our homes.
Sometimes it may not seem that way,
but they become a special part of us-
the heart of our lives.
Several years ago my family and I moved from
our home in the country to a temporary place in town.
Looking back, it was a traumatic experience for me.
This is the journal entry that I made at the time:
"It is just after midnight and I write by the light of the Christmas tree. For the first time in eleven years we aren't at our house- the comfort of our home. How many beautiful trees did we have there? How many memories? And why, oh why, does everything that was ever said or done in that house seems magnified into huge glorious days and nights that break my heart? In all honesty, I am homesick. Nothing seems right, feels right, tastes right. I suddenly envy people in their little houses with their perfect little lives with concrete driveways and door wreaths and mailboxes and cute little flowers and mailboxes and bird baths and clotheslines and waving "hello" as I pass. Now I see evening lights glowing at dinner over dining room tables. I see their little trees all lit in the windows and they're all happy and singing songs and snuggled into warm, familiar beds, and they are HOME..."
I truly feel sorry for homeless people and
even those people who never seem to form
an emotional attachment to their homes.
People who are too busy working and traveling
to ever make a soft dent in the sofa cushions,
that never know the colors of the sunset from the kitchen window,
never grow familiar with the family of wrens in the rafters,
fail to enjoy the scent of the nearby lilac tree-
never memorize the hum of the refrigerator at 3 a.m.-
or neglect to know the pesky mouse that skitters about in
the garage on occasion.
I also feel sorry for those people who live in
perfect, plastic homes-
those strict people who have never had jelly on their drapes,
finger paints on their dining room table,
ants in their pantry
or a racoon in their garden.
The same people that would never take a chance
at painting their walls orange or eggplant
or find a yard sale treasure that
fits wonderfully in the living room.
I have a home
and I am proud that it's not perfect.
Some of my furniture is as old as I am.
There is a mouse hole in the laundry room.
I decorate with flea market finds and rummage sale castoffs-
and not because I have to- but because I want to.
Because in some strange way,
I am making a home for these homeless things
in my home.
Right before we found the house that we live in now,
I made this entry in my journal:
"I want a house with a yard. That's where I'd be right now. With the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, and spring- like a flower- blooming in my heart. God has plans for us. A real home. So I wait. And know with utter faith and belief that it is well worth waiting for..."
And it has been.
