Sunday, October 18, 2015

My Hair

I've always been rather fond of my hair. It's ruler-straight, fine in texture, and profuse in amount.

It seems to be Teflon-coated. All hair-holders slip right out except for rubber bands.

As to its color, the terms mouse brown, light brown, and dishwater blonde have been used. I used to wonder what would happen as it grayed, and now I know in part -- it's shot through with silver. I call it "salt and honey."

Pleasure Faire Tale

I had attended the Southern California version of the Faire while studying music at UCLA, dressed in a musician's robe and carrying a wooden recorder flute in a pouch at my waist. While there, I came upon four madrigal singers who were asking the crowd if it contained a singer who knew the second soprano part to The Silver Swan. As I was and I did, I came up and joined them for that and several other five-part selections.

While attending law school in San Francisco, I learned of the Northern California Faire, and went with a friend on a day when we could enter for free by bringing banners for a contest. I assembled one showing the scales of justice, anachronistically using fabric glue instead of sewing it.

There were two rounds of judging. While the judges were conferring after the first, the crowd was entertained by a man playing a pipe and tabor. He was absent after the second round, and the mistress of ceremonies asked the audience if anyone would provide entertainment by dancing or singing. So I got up and sang Dona, Dona, also quite anachronistic. But at the end of the song, the audience astonished me by throwing coins on the stage. I picked them up and removed myself.

Later, as I was headed towards the exit, the mistress of ceremonies stopped me. She told me that Phyllis (the head honcha) had enjoyed my singing and wanted me to come back to the Faire as a pass-the-hat artist. hey would admit me for free, costume me appropriately, and give me a license to keep any tributes that arose from my performance. I accepted enthusiastically.

I went back to the Faire, was crammed into Renaissance garb, instructed in basic Faire English, and given my license. However, any money I saved on my entrance fee or acquired for my songs was spent on food, a book of Renaissance songs, and perhaps one or two other remembrances. But it sure was fun.

Enough?

"Enough of that," I sometimes think when I have to get out of bed and face the day. When I have a morning appointment and need to be up and out, or at least awake and dressed.

An appointment and hunger are the two main motivators that get me out of bed in the morning. And they must be strong ones, because they need to outweigh the titanic pull of my bed in the morning.

I love me some morning sleep. Falling asleep at night is often a lengthy task. I rotate like a bird on a rotisserie as each position becomes uncomfortable in a different way. Left side, right side, back, mostly on my stomach. I lift the sheets off my body as I turn, lest I wind up wrapped like a burrito.

The discomfort shifts from one limb to the other, or to my neck or my lower back, or post-nasal slime makes me snort myself awake.

But by morning, my body is relaxed, and I float in consciousness, in and out, or dream deeply in complex and fascinating realms. If I wake, I drop right back into sleep.

And even after I've woken up, if I start to read Facebook or a book in bed, I'm there until hunger or an appointment drives me out.

But it's really the morning sleep that I love - like a shy forest animal that was skittish last night but has become tamed overnight, that I can now take in my arms and enjoy at will.

I love me some morning sleep. I can't get enough of that.