Hair to-do

Being chronically dissatisfied with how my hair looks on any given day, I'm extremely sensitive to feedback from others on my hair. The last months have been especially harrowing, since I've gone through a cycle of:

Long-ish

Medium-ish

Shorter

Short

Crazyshort

When I started -- at long-ish, around the time the current picture was taken -- I got tired of the ceaseless maintenance. If you do any exercise and are likely to go outside in "weather," curly hair that is more than about four inches long is hard to keep looking groomed and grownup.

Also, I had the mad notion that if I cut it short, I could let the grey grow in and stop coloring my hair. (I somehow avoided recognizing that the final result would be that I'd look like a large, stout, old man with an odd taste in handbags...)

So I went big-time short, and I got good comments on the first version. Encouraged, I went shorter. By the time I hit crazyshort I was getting ambiguous comments like "Oh, do you like it like that?" and "I just loved your hair longer..."

Such feedback sends out danger signs to my psyche, so I decided to change course and go back to at least medium-length bob. Women, you know what that is. Men, don't bother, and why are you reading this, anyway?

How long does it take to get there from crazyshort? How long did it take to excavate AND caulk AND decorate the Panama Canal? How many eons elapsed between someone noticing they had five toes on each foot and base 10 mathematics?

We're about five inches longer than crazyshort now. Still not tangling up my bicycle wheels. No danger of smothering babies I should choose to cuddle.

Predictably, no feedback, either. So, waiting, waiting through that endless in-between place...

In the meantime, I'm cruising the Styling Products aisle of the drugstore. I'm using the blow dryer, flat iron AND airbrush. I am considering hats, and even wore a spangled beret to church and Christmas Eve dinner with my family and NO-ONE SAID ANYTHING! Pretty conclusive proof that I have sunk totally below the fashion radar and it just doesn't matter what the f*** I do with my hair! How interesting to realize that my thoughts on hair styling are about as relevant as the mediaeval monks' obsession with a choice of cowslips or anenomes.

Ok, good to have that settled.

China: What are you thinking?

I am sort of loving the hoo-ha that China is kicking up about the jailed dissident, Liu Xiaobo, and the Nobel Peace Prize.

It reminds me of the fights that would break out when my children were small. At one point in child development, "my feelings are more hurt than yours, so I must be right" seems to take hold. I think it emerges, briefly, around the age of four. Girls seem more susceptible than boys, but it's pretty gender-agnostic. With decent parents and teachers, the four-year-old will move away from the need to be the biggest drama queen and the biggest manipulator on the block.

I think China missed a crucial stage, whether at the age of four or at another point in history. When a powerful person or entity is stuck at this stage, the first victim is any notion of right or wrong.

So, here's how it seems to play out...

Assume these thigs to be true:

1. You're a corrupt repressive totalinarian regime.
2. Someone who who opposes you does so peacefully yet openly, in view of the world's news media.
3. You publicly jail and otherwise oppress the protester.
4. There is a well known international prize for people who are punished for peaceful protest against oppression.
5. That prize (the Nobel Peace Prize) is awarded to the protester.

OK - now please explain: why the world would honor your hurt feelings, and reverse or denounce the Nobel Committee's decision?

China - go to the naughty chair. You have one news cycle to apologize and take it back.

Bliss -- is that all there is?

I'm coming up to my 66th birthday, so it's likely I've had a bunch of major peak moments, ecstatic experiences and mind-altering drugs to give me a pretty good idea of what "bliss" is all about.

But the fact is, it's not about being high, in love, or at the apex of a career. I had a bliss moment today as I came home from work, and I want to explain how it felt, and what the components were.

Still with me? Maybe once you figured out there wasn't a hot, monkey-sex scene, you tuned out.

Here's what added up to a bliss moment for me at around 6:27 pm Pacific Standard Time today, August 4, 2010.

• I spent a few hours this morning feeding breakfast to and otherwise entertaining my four-year-old twin grandchildren, Tess and Jack.
• While with the twins, I was on a conference call with a world-class new client, San Jose Rep.
• I had a meeting with an important business-development client, and we spent about half the time talking about our favorite British TV programs, especially comedies. "Yes, Minister"? "Vicar of Dibley"? "Blackadder"? Anyone?
• The awesome team I have -- Jodi, a well-respected journalist and editor, and Jen, a bleeding-edge social media expert -- met with me and our e-marketing partner to move a very complicated proposal forward.It worked! I know what I have to do!
• I'm coming home to a clean house. Thanks, Robin!
• My daughter - the mom of twins -- wants to go to a movie with me this weekend.
• The weather: during my two moments of exposure, about 6 am at 6:35 pm -- it was heavenly... a cloudless sky, light breeze, about 72 degrees F. OMG, San Jose is the place you go when you die if you've been really, really good.
• I'm going to have steak and a sweet potato for dinner. And maybe a little Martini with extra olives.

So that's what it takes. And you know, I'm totally ok with that.

Penicillin Rocks!

On Monday of this week, I was about as cheerful as a 65-year-old, single, overweight, working grandmother is likely to get. My job was busy and interesting, my hair was looking good, I'd weighed in at Weight Watchers some 5+ lbs lighter and had enjoyed two great mornings with the grandtwins over the previous weekend. Good times!

By Tuesday morning, I was as sick as I can remember being in 50 years: weak, scared, hurting, feverish, slightly delusional and hopeless. A cunning one-two punch of strep throat and shingles with a chaser of guilt about staying home sick

Thank you, Alexander Fleming, for noticing what happened when some mold grew on one of your petri dishes filled with gram-positive bacteria in 1928. Thanks to Ernst Chain, Howard Florey and Norman Heatley who each contributed to the lengthy R&D phase of extracting, producing and stabilizing industrial quantities of Fleming's discovery, penicillin.

TIME magazine called penicillin "the most efficacious, life-saving drug in the world." Shout out to TIME -- this stuff is ferocious!

And thank god for bringing me down with a bacteria, and a gram-positive one at that.

It's now Friday. Hair isn't quite up to Monday's standard. I'm not energized, but I'm functioning. I'm not despairing. I can look forward to things to come. Off to work, thanks to Alexander, Ernst, Howard and Norman -- my guys.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

No longer a Walmart virgin...

(Above: Costco. To right: Walmart)

I don't know why it's taken me this long to go to a Walmart. Ok, that's not true. There are two main reasons.

1. I've never lived near a Walmart and not near Costco, Target or other mega-shopping option.
2. I have a negative attitude towards Walmart based on media coverage and my perception of the company and its business philosophy.

However, I always thought I was probably missing out on something, given the chain's relentless popularity. Up to now my attitude has been mild curiosity, but not quite enough to impel me to travel long distances to check out the Walmart experience.

Last week, I was driving home down Senter Road from a client meeting in East San Jose. Just a mile or two from my house I drove past a Walmart. "So close," I thought, and yesterday I set out to explore this cultural icon.

My first impression was that the parking lot wasn't as huge as I had anticipated, and I was glad to find a parking spot quickly. My second impression was "Oh man, it's goin' down!" -- two police cars drawn up by the store entrance, and a posse of uniformed cops, one of whom was shaking down a grubby guy who seemed to have set up business soliciting donations or signatures. My third impression, about the time I took this picture, was "let me out of here."

Was it the ugly painted-concrete floors, the harsh fluorescent lighting strips, the combination of crammed fixtures, half-depleted shelves and large empty areas, the smell of lysol? Was it the irritating maze-like layout? Was it the relentlessly down-market selection of brands on offer? Was it that everyone I could see was 2' shorter than me? Sure, but all these weren't quite enough to account for my pressing need to leave. After one circuit, not even stopping to pick up the toilet paper that was my reason for shopping, I decamped past the cop cars with a huge sense of relief.

Now I had to break down the experience. Was it the store? Was I having a reaction to the people shopping there? Was it me just not being in the mood for crowds and consumption? In a spirit of investigation and because I still needed the TP, I went right to my local Costco.

By the time I walked through the enormous Costco door along with hundreds of exactly the same short folk as the Walmart shoppers, I was almost whimpering with relief and the excitement of bulk purchasing.

So that settled it - the problem was not me or the shoppers, it was Walmart. I got the TP, found some excellent steaks and some fabulous artisan whole-wheat bread. To record the glaring difference between the two stores, I took a picture while I was waiting in the checkout line.

Now that I compare the two images, it's hard for me to find a clear visual clue to my different reactions. My best guess is that Costco's high warehouse ceilings are easier on the spirit, and the lighting isn't so oppressive.

Whatever the reason, that Walmart gave me the full-body oogs, and it will be a long time before I try another one.

O Tannenbaum...

I was determined to keep Christmas going until Twelfth Night, in the good old tradition. But Twelfth Night is next Wednesday, right in the middle of the work week. So I decided today was the day, and I de-trimmed, de-lighted (not as fun as it sounds...) and put both my yard tree and the indoor tree, plus two wreaths, out for pickup at the curb.

But I definitely had a moment with the indoor tree. A Noble Fir - the first I think I've bought - the tree was elegantly proportioned, just the right height to fit in my front bay window, with regularly spaced limbs and no worrying sparse areas. And the needles have this amazing bluey-green underside, so that from below, each branch looks frosted. Untrimmed, destined to move out the door for good, it appealed to me and I truly saw it as a blessing, not a needle-shedding nuisance.

I said goodbye formally, and took a last picture of the perfect, beautiful and fancy needles.

Soup of the season, soup of the day

For some reason I have become very interested in making and eating soup. I think it started with a very large container of dried mushrooms I found at Costco. Included were Porcini, Morels, Brazilian (?!), Ivory Portabellas, Shiitake and Oyster. Although weighing only eight ounces, the container was more than 15" high and 5" on each side - now that could be lifetime supply...

I've used all but the last 4". I've done pasta, stuffed peppers, and two large batches of home-made mushroom soup, pictured here at the simmering in butter phase, before liquids are added.

This last batch I made for Sunday dinner between Christmas and the New Year, with Alison, Brink, Susan and the twins Tessa and Jack. Adults were pleased with the soup and took second helpings. Jack and Tessa, as typical three-year-olds, were still working on the crack cocaine supplied by the Christmas season - toys, sugar and irregular schedules, plus a touch of parental stress.

Cooking for my family is without question one of the most satisfying things I can do - I could be happy making toast. However, there is nothing like a challenge ingredient to up the stakes and make life a little more interesting.