Last night I got my hair cut and colored. It's brown now, or chestnut, I should say. My hair now matches my eyebrows; if you haven't seen my hair lately, this is a big accomplishment. This morning I woke up and found a poem that Matt had written for me:
The New Beatitudes
Blessed are the hairstylists
For they know the truth
That you cannot cut strand by strand
But in swathes and ribbons
As if hair was woven by strands of imagination
Blessed are the comb-makers,
Who provide the tools that add texture.
Blessed are those who mix the shampoos
Who blend the pomades, the conditioners
And hair gel.
Blessed are the makers of barbicide.
And blessed am I
Who watch you emerge from
Nylon sheets and plastic hair nets
Like beams of moonlight on my face
As you discard your shadowy veil.
You pay the girl and walk to me.
You smile at me.
You take my hand
And we walk out together.
Pixies lean against my ears and remind me:
I am blessed. I am blessed!
When Wrecks Go Historically Wrong - The day: July 17th. The year: 1955. After years of anticipation, Disneyland was ready to open its gates. People gathered by the hundreds to experience t...