Gloria Ferris

one woman’s view from a place by the zoo in the city

My Favorite “Secret” This Week

with 2 comments

And now, I am writing the post that I wanted to write yesterday.  Each week on Sunday, George of Brewedfreshdaily posts his favoite secret from this week’s Post Secret.   I could, of course, go to Frank’s website on my own and  not wait until George posts, but it has become something of a habit for me. Ever since, we interviewed Frank Warren on Meet The Bloggers I have wanted to bring Frank and his travelling exhibit to Cleveland–one more goal for 2008.  This week, this postcard curly hair really spoke to me. 

When I was younger, I had VERY curly hair.  I wished for long straight hair from the time I entered school.  I wanted to have long braids.  I wanted to wear pigtails.  I wanted a permanent for goodness sakes’. All of my friends talked about the experience and I envied the smells, the beauty parlor, and all that it entailed.  A bit over the top wouldn’t you say?  I don’t think so. Each morning I had to rise one hour earlier than ALL of my friends so that my mother could begin the taming of the unruly curls that stuck out every which way on my head and had tangled into a good replica of Medusa overnight.  

In high school, I took over the task of controlling the unruly locks.  I ironed it.  I tried taming it with orange juice cans attached to my head.  It is a wonder that I didn’t see UFOs.  In fact, I am sure that at times I MUST have picked up radio signals.  And then, I went to college and then unruliness of the curly, red hair just didn’t seem to matter that much any more.  I had finally accepted that my hair had won the war.  No longer did I feel the need to battle it each and every day and wish for something that I did not have.  I accepted myself and my hair for what we were.

When I did that, my curly hair and I had a great friendship for thirty-five years.  Now, I wonder where it vacations in winter because my hair is poker straight from November until March when the curls will begin to arrive a few at a time until summer when they arrive in full force only to begin to dwindle as the temperature slides.  I miss that big, curly hair more and more with each ensuing year, but maybe what I miss is the youth that it signified.  I may not have the long flowing curls of yesteryear, but I do carry the lesson learned each day of my life.  Accept who you are, make the best of what you have, and venture into the world,  do not waste time with curls that have a mind of their own.     

Written by Gloria Ferris

January 22nd, 2008 at 11:41 am

Posted in quality of life

2 Responses to 'My Favorite “Secret” This Week'

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  1. thanks for giving me those curls mom. haha
    i feel the same way as the lady who sent in that postcard.

    KT

    22 Jan 08 at 5:58 PM

  2. Many people who have known me in Cleveland might never guess that I have the same red, curly hair. When long hair was “in”(back in the 60s and 70s), I wore it down my back and the stuff was literally like a tent. Tangles!?! Oh yes; my mother became so irritated with me while combing out the pigtails one Saturday afternoon (so my bayou soaked locks could have a shampoo), that she gave up with only 1/2 partially combed and sent me with my father to the barber. I was “pixied”. After that it was a “let it grow” protest against those “tangle sessions” and the abrupt shearing. When my sister was married, we (the wedding party) went to the “beauty parlor” (my first time) where we were introduced to Wella Balsam. Omigod! That stuff changed my life. I had never seen a comb float through my hair after a shampoo. But ultimately with most hours spent in dance studios the business of long hair was just too time-consuming. I cut it in 3 stages from waist length to shoulder length (totally unmanageable) to shag (for one day) to Annie Lennox buzzed all in the time of a month. That was 1981. It remained 1-2 inches long for about 2 decades. Now I just deal with it and whatever it plans to be on a particular day. Never, never put a hair dryer near my curly locks or watch out! Tent city! The winter weather allows it to relax, but in summer some sort of pomade keeps me from sporting the Irish fro. Still, when I just lose patience, it is easiest to simply cut the damn things of and be done with it. Worked for 20 years for me. Of course the radical haircut also helped to brand me as a rebel with a cause and no holds barred on sharing my rebelliousness. Now the mop needs a cut to be out of my eyes, but after having it mini and inconsequential for so many years… I could sort of care less. I guess I have to get it cut before the temps rise so no one can see the curl right in the middle of my forehead.

    Susan Miller

    27 Jan 08 at 3:31 PM

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