Louisa

I had worked my last moment at the library *and* at the clubhouse, packed the last box, tucked the suitcases into the trunk of the car, cleaned the last cobweb from the apartment, thrown the last bit of trash in the dumpster and turned in my keys. All that remained to be done was to return a few library books, fill the tank with gas, and head for Lake George. Except for one little item I just hadn't figured out how to squeeze into the schedule. I needed to get my hair cut. I wanted to start my new job looking as neat and trim as possible, and even though my hair was OK, I suspected it might take awhile to find a good hairdresser in the new place, so I wanted to get one final haircut.

I had struggled to find a hair stylist in Connecticut, and never really found the right one. I had gone to upscale, downscale, mainstream and out of whack places. Some were unbelievably expensive, some reasonable, some huge, some small, but I had never found someone who did anything exceptional with the little bit I had to offer them to work with. I came close, and one of the places was nearby, so I headed there. Only two people ahead of me, so the wait would be fairly short, and I decided to go ahead and take care of this last thing before leaving the state. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and cringed. I still wasn't used to seeing myself so gray and with such short hair. Most of my life I had enjoyed long brown hair - not bouncy and springy like you see on the TV models, but nice nevertheless. Now I look so old.

As I sat and waited, I noticed two women sitting across the aisle from me, also waiting I assumed. The one woman was reading a magazine, flipping quickly through the pages and cocking her head to one side and the other with each new picture or ad. She pursed her lips, sometimes furrowing her brow, or clicking her tongue, but not saying anything. She had thick light brown curls pushed back with a purple plastic headband in the style of a young girl. Those beautiful curls cascaded down her shoulders and halfway to the middle of her back. Every once in a while she would shake her head, and her curls would bounce and dance and shine. I sighed with envy.

I remembered having long hair (I have a college picture to prove it) and though it was always very fine, I wore it loose for as long as I could. My kids loved to hang on to lengths of it when they were babies carried in arms. Sometimes I wore it in an updo for special occasions like weddings or braided it for fun. Once I had it cornrowed and my head ached for days. Now, post chemo, I have thin (read bald) places and brittleness, and no color left at all. How wonderful it would be to have such thick luxurious hair again! I hoped she was not there to have it cut short. What a waste that would be. The woman with her had much shorter hair. Perhaps it was she who was there for a haircut and not the woman with the gorgeous curls.

"Louisa," the stylist called, and the woman with the curls stood up. My heart fell. She walked past me to the chair in front of the stylist. "Climb up here honey," the stylist said taking her arm. I suddenly realized that despite her aging body and wrinkled face, Lousia was in truth just a kid. "Get comfortable," the stylist gently encouraged, holding the chair still for her and waiting patiently while Louisa clambered into the chair and squirmed around.

"I compabull, I compabull, I compabull," Louisa said repeatedly though she didn't look one bit comfortable. The woman with her came over and removed Louisa's headband, pushing the thick curls from her eyes. "We are going on a vacation next week, and have to have some of this thickness thinned out again. Her hair is so hard to comb and gets full of tangles and knots."

The stylist ran her hand through Lousia's curls and nodded. "It has really grown in since last week. I'll thin it out real good so you won't have to worry while you are away." It seemed as if the whole shop had quieted, watching the drama unfold. Everyone held their breath while the thinning shears scissored and swished. Lousia obediently bent her head down, put her hands over her face and sat very still. The stylist worked quickly, filling the floor beneath the chair with soft brown curls. No one moved. It was as if we were all mesmerized, held in an unbreakable spell. The phone had ceased its incessant ringing, the shop door remained closed, no one going in or out. No one got shampooed or used a hair dryer. We all stared at the aging child in the second green chair who was being shorn.

"OK honey, you're done," the stylist said minutes later. The mound of brown curls on the floor was incredibly high, though Louisa looked pretty much the same as she had looked before the haircut. Her gorgeous brown curls still curved over her shoulders and caressed her back. Louisa bounded out of the chair and danced excitedly, yelling, "Lollipop, lollipop, lollipop!"

Before Louisa got her lollipop and headed out the door, the stylist called my name. I was in the chair before I realized, my hair being tugged and clipped, fluttering to the floor in spurts. I glanced down. There were no piles of curls under my chair. In fact, unless you looked carefully, you couldn't see any hair on the floor at all. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked, angry with myself for caring about hair. Lousia wanted less and I needed more. How was that fair? I wiped the recalcitrant tears from the corners of my eyes, mourning the loss of my youth, my health.

"How silly," I thought. "You are getting a new lease on life, the chance to start fresh. Get over yourself, girlie. You have much to be thankful for. You have no need to feel sorry for yourself." It was true. Hair or no hair, I am still me. And I am still lucky. I would not trade with Louisa, who could not care for herself, who looked at pictures in magazines and could not read the words, who heard what people told her and did not understand, who could not go where she wanted.

No, I was the fortunate one in the shop that day. Let Louisa have her lollipop. I had so much more. I took a deep breath, shook out the cape, and walked into my new adventure with head held high.

FINAL FINAL

I stared at the email subject. FINAL FINAL. What was I thinking when I wrote that!?! I was thinking that in the midst of packing and wrapping up work and entertaining Drew's and Kiel's friends as they say farewell, I must have been crazy to have added in completing the final for my Sacred Choral Literature class!

I had planned to complete it last weekend, but somehow I just could not get myself to work on it. It's not that it would have been hard or that my brain couldn't have come up with some answers. It was just that I had no motivation to look at it.

I have left Concordia, I stepped out of that ethereal world, I am up to my eyeballs in the reality of now. I long to be re-immersed in music, but I can't afford time to do that. So rather than pack or be useful in any way, I rented movies and sat on the couch dozing and pretending to watch some mindless drivel as if I were engaged in some productive activity.

I have no excuse. I could say I am tired, but I am no more tired than I have been before. I could say I don't feel well, but I only have the same few symptoms as I have been having. I knew there was some reason for my procrastination, but rather than figure it out and pick myself up by the bootstraps, give myself a good talking to and moving on, I decided to just go with the flow and not beat myself up over a few moments of lazing around.

So I watched movies, I pretended to pack, I drove Drew to youth group campouts, I did laundry, I cooked stuff - everything but work on my final. Somehow, late Sunday, I made a start on the thing. It was a slow start. I reviewed what I had already done, made it look prettier, added some small amount, looked at the questions, and doodled around.

By Monday, whatever had been holding me back passed and I began in earnest to work on the thing. In order to make sure I didn't lose my work (since I was working from different locations), I kept emailing it to myself with exam, Exam, EXam, EXAm to differentiate one version from another. Gradually, as I neared completion and was just proofing and fine tuning, I began using the word Final in the subject line. And I ended up with the finished project being labeled FINAL FINAL.

I mailed it off with a sigh of relief and was surprised to feel as if a huge weight had been lifted. It wasn't hard. It didn't take all that much time. I liked the analyses. I'm still not sure what the hang up was. All I know is that now I am free to tackle the dwindling list of stuff to take care of. 2 more days at the library, one more night at the clubhouse, final packers come this afternoon, movers tomorrow morning, clean, turn in the keys, jump in the car, et voila! And I was still able to loll around on the weekend, thanks to a little help from the boys to finish getting things packed.

Perhaps I am discovering my gentler, less driven side (my non-American side as my friends from Europe like to tell me). Or maybe I am learning from Mark Twain who says,

"Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow."

So until tomorrow, I bid you adieu.

Kidnapped

Other than a vague instruction to keep my calendar open on Tuesday afternoon, I had no inkling that my team had planned an amazing farewell luncheon. Around 1pm, my supervisor appeared in my door and said, "You're with me." and off we went, out of the library into her car and off campus to a quaint B&B called Altnaveigh Inn ( http://www.altnaveighinn.com/ ). We had our Winter Solstice (aka Christmas) celebration there last December and it was such a pleasant time together that we lingered awhile to enjoy it. I was delighted to be breaking bread there again - looking forward to a time of fellowship and camaraderie.

We were seated in the air conditioned Main dining room around a long table, peering at the menu and drooling over the likes of Confit Duck salad, Monte Cristo sandwiches and Seared Tuna. Conversation was light hearted and filled with mention of good memories springing from the various escapades we have shared. On my plate I found a tasty carrot salad filled unexpected ingredients like golden raisins, cranberries, and an unusual dressing. Its bright colors, various shapes and textures, and special ingredients looked appealing nestled in the center of the china plate surrounded by sections of a turkey club and home fries. The sensation for my mouth was unique as each salad ingredient gave forth its particular flavor, and the textures added to the culinary experience. I have not encountered the likes of this salad in other places I have dined. As I savored each bite, it occurred to me that the team sharing the table with me was much the same.

Each person brought their particular skills and strengths to bear on the projects and workflow, bringing with them a unique perspective, a style and approach all their own. In such a short year and a half, I have come to value each one for what they have brought into the daily demands of a busy iDesk. Each person has taught me something valuable, each one watching out for me, bringing me along in their own way, making sure I had a clear understanding, pointing me in helpful directions, keeping me on track. Without them, the year would have been bland, dull, boring and tedious. Just another day at work. Just another load of tasks to complete.

Instead, every morning, I would be greeted by smiling faces, hearts full of concern for their duties and for the customers we encountered, angst about how to get it all done, timid whisperings of fears and concerns, joyful celebrations of births and rewards, tales of cats and dogs, children and grandchildren, friends and lovers. Oh, we have had our share of ups and downs, dealing with overwhelming demands and unreasonableness from all directions. We have had to say the hard things, learn to be openly honest with each other, hold everyone responsible for behaving nicely. But all in all, we walked forward fairly smoothly despite a few bumps in the road. What a fabulous world I have been privileged to participate in!

I shall miss it dearly (can we ever figure out how to move on to new eras without leaving behind people who have become such a part of our lives?). I shall miss the silly things written on the whiteboard; the camaraderie that comes from dealing with a difficult patron successfully, the heads bent together over the Admin Conference table putting together the pieces of some puzzle, the quiet, unheralded sacrifices people made in order to cover the desk and free me up to handle other things - gestures that have been such a daily part of my world. I shall miss the hugs, the little messages left on my chair about places to go and things to see, the flowers that show up in my office (I am gazing with delight on a garden bouquet of bright yellow daisies, tall purple loosestrife and delicate pink allysum as I write), the tears when things fall apart, the continual stream of excellent baked goods on the back table, the hair tearing when a system goes down. I shall miss it all.

But most of all, I shall miss the wonderful women who have taken me in and let me be part of their place, part of their work, part of their lives. I have been unalterably changed by them to my gain. In the quiet of the night, I will remember them and smile. I will remember not because of the huge overflowing baskets of gifts they presented me with - thoughtful presents of engaging books, funny DVDs, tasteful CDs, luscious fragrances, gorgeous scarves, soft blankets, pillows, robes, a beautiful purple glass oil lamp - too many things to even mention (I was completely overwhelmed and deeply touched at how well they know my tastes!). I will remember them not because of all the projects and workshops and scrambling we have done. I will remember them not because of the documents we have created, the evaluations we have endured, the goal setting we have been exhausted by.

I will remember them for being who they are, each one a unique and precious woman with much to offer and a heart willing to share. Thank you for a great year and a half. I shall not forget.