Weekly Photo Challenge: Mine

“Mine” is an interesting challenge for a photo. What do any of us really possess? My car isn’t really “mine”; rather its the family’s. My house isn’t “mine.” I didn’t make the clothes I wear. But my hair? That’s mine!!

This is a photo from the early ’50s, right before my first haircut. As you can see, it’s long. I loved my hair. Each morning Mother braided both my hair and my sister’s hair. We’d moved from Arkansas to Kansas shortly before this photo and the combination of hair to braid before school and more two more pre-school children got to be too much. I had to get my hair cut.

I remember putting up quite a fight. And because I became so angry and wouldn’t agree to the cutting, I had to stay home when the family went somewhere, maybe Marysville, for a Jerry Lewis movie. That’s what I remember: getting punished  for wanting to keep what was “mine.”

I also remember really dreadful home permanents which made my short hair look pretty goofy.

Needless to say, as I got older and could take care of my own hair, most of the time it was long. Never as long as in this photo, but almost. I can’t tell you how much money I’ve spent on my hair over the years. And each time I move, the most important thing I have to find, even more important than a home, is a good hairdresser. Currently, I make a 45 minute drive to get my hair cut and she’s been cutting it for years.

So while I don’t have a real possessive streak about much of anything, even if I don’t want to lose it, I am possessive about my hair.

Hair. That’s what’s MINE.


Weekly Photo Challenge: Free Spirit

This is my brother, Jack. I don’t know anyone or anything which has more free spirit. He lives in Hawaii and recently tested out for his Merchant Marine Captain’s certificate. So now my brother is Cap’n Jack. I mean, really.

Captain Jack – with flowers behind his ears.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Comfort

Now given the reputation of pit bulls, you might wonder how I could put “comfort” and “pit bull” in the same frame. But there’s a funny thing about familiarity: once you get to know an unknown, it’s not nearly as scary. Case in point, Mittens (yes, mittens) the Pit Bull, my great-grandchild.

When grandson Michael who is in the Navy came home for Christmas last year, he brought his dog. She adopted us as grandparents. Sometimes overly so. But the well-muscled Mittens against the white puffy comforter and the blood-red pillow, make for interesting contrasts.

And I found out something interesting in the bargain. The dogs we fear, i.e. pit bulls, are actually the breed American Terrier. Has a very different ring to it doesn’t it? There’s probably a lesson in there for all of us about stereotypes and misinformation.

Mittens the Pit Bull