The Haircut

20200301_160056                                                                                          © jb katke

“My God girl, who got ahold of your hair?”

Spoken by the hairdresser who was about to give me my first professional haircut. I was appreciative of her expertise concerning what to do with the mop on my head. But I could have done without the belch in my face.

I was a twelve year old, soon to enter my teen years and junior high school.

Finances dictated how our family lived and Mom knew every shortcut in the book of economizing. During my childhood, she cut my hair.

While I don’t recall any of that, I do remember hiding whenever she came at me with her comb. My hair was thick and full, combs hurt. Why didn’t we have a hairbrush in the house?

Thankfully, Aunt Jane was sensitive enough to realize the potential ridicule I would receive if someone didn’t intervene. She took me to her hairdresser. That became a regular practice until I was able to continue it on my own.

I marveled at having so much attention to the grooming process. Long strands of hair fell as I got snips here and clips there. The beautician put her face up to mine to get a precise measure of evenness at my ears. That’s when she chose to let loose with a healthy burp, compliments of her drink.

The Detroit area is known for more than just the automotive industry. We also take pride in Verners Ginger Ale and Sanders Hot Fudge topping too.

It was the Verners that did it. For being non-alcoholic, it still packs a punch.

Since the hairdresser brought up God, I’ll continue that thought. I’m grateful for mom teaching ways to save a few bucks. I’m especially grateful God put it in Aunt Janes heart (and purse) to rescue me from what could have been a devastating school experience. Kids can be cruel.

On one of our later visits I recall the weather getting stormy. The sky was an ominous shade of green. There I sat under one of those cone shaped hair dryers.

Thankfully we arrived home before the sky let loose. I shudder to think of what might have been. As always, God was on duty looking after my well-being.

 

The Blue Season

 

 

We are fast approaching the blue season.

No one wants to be identified with what the world calls it. Depression. Down time or a case of the blahs doesn’t sound so bad. But it feels awful. I know.

We all have some form of heartache.

Too many of us have lost loved ones this time of year and the absence screams at you.

Why should this time of year be more painful than losing a loved one any other time?

In my case, it’s those Norman Rockwell scenes that appear. The pictures that depict what our family gathering will not be. The memories of what used to be

The holidays can look as bleak as this festive but hollow turkey.

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© of JB Katke

It’s all where you place the syllable.

My dear departed mother used to tell me about putting the emphasis on the other       syl-i-able. She meant for me to look on my situation differently.  The good Lord gives us enough opportunities to do just that, because nothing stays the same.

Not all change is bad…so I am told.

A few years back I inadvertently found the secret to overcoming the blues. It’s about taking my eyes off self and really seeing others.

A family from Great Britain were renting the house across the street. Being in the US meant back home there were going to be some empty seats at the table. We had some empty seats of our own and invited them over for Christmas dinner. It was a memorable evening for all of us.

The reality is not all Facebook lives are necessarily as they are portrayed.

Perspective changes, when you suddenly realize how much you have to offer and be grateful for.

Note to self

Joy comes when you lighten the load of a heavy heart.

Honoring Dads

 

Oftentimes I have heard that girls marry someone like their dad; likewise boys marry a girl like mom. Sort of I did, I know my husband definitely did. I could go to great lengths telling you of the fun my mother-in-law and I shared, but today I celebrate fatherhood.

Just like Dad.

My husband is a hard-working devoted family man. Just like Dad. The two of them served in the Navy. Both men are thinkers. But that is pretty much where the similarity ends. My marriage partner is a man of few words and a problem solver at heart. He enjoys a challenge and gets aggravated at things that keep him from achieving his goal. Giving up is never an option. He teaches me patience.
This love of my life loves and supports our children. But he’ll redirect their thoughts if he deems it necessary. He desires to always be available for them, which is hard when we all live in different parts of the country. Some decisions are made for us, so we deal with them.

A character.

On the other hand, Dad was a talker. Always thinking up ideas that were mostly wishful thinking. I can still see him tapping his forehead saying, ‘Twenty-four hours a day,’ indicating his mind never stops.  To say he was a character is putting it mildly. I still laugh to recall my dad trying to figure out how the light went out on our regrigerator, nearly shutting the door on his head in the process. Dad was a hard-working man, his first job was delivering newspapers.  Even in his nineties he could give you the names of those on his route that refused to pay him. He readily accepted responsibility in providing for his widowed mother along with his own family. He taught me appreciation.

Grateful

I’m grateful for both of them. My life is what it is because of these two influential men. Oh yeah, God too. He knew exactily the kind of men i needed. Open-minded problem solvers that know how to have fun. I love you guys dearly.

Happy Father’s Day