Modern-day Austen? I think not!

Since I'm trying to do what I can to recover from my cold, I spent most of the day today sitting on the couch, watching movies on TV and reading Jane Austen. It's not a very auspicious beginning to my new curly life, but it was interesting to read Austen's characters and then observe the actions of my family members. If I had her skill with a pen (or computer keyboard), they would seem to be straight out of one of her novels. Some of them would be silly characters, like Mrs. Bennet in Pride & Prejudice. Some would be hypochondriacs like Mr. Woodhouse in Emma, and one or two would be like Henry in Northanger Abbey, always ready to tease...

My favorite observations of the day:

- My 80-year-old grandfather, visiting for the holidays, walked in the door after his two mile walk this morning and announced, "I'm home! I'm home, you lucky people! You lucky fools!"

- After spending the day with some friends, my grandparents told me all about the visit over dinner. My grandfather laughed, "Oh, that mother was jolly!" Replied my grandmother, "Oh yes!" To me - "You would have liked it. She was very jolly!" (This was the first time in my life that I have heard either grandparent use the word 'jolly.')

- My mother's 'friend' is in town for the holidays, and his father called tonight. When the call was over, my mother immediately asked about it. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes. They were just itching to make a phone call."
"Oh."
There was a moment of silence, and then, "Were they calling from your sister's?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
And that was it. There was no further curiosity about the telephone call from anyone.

(That last was probably one of those "You had to be there" moments, but it was very Austen-esque.)

More Than Just Hair

I was looking at this new book of mine today. (You know, the one that teaches me how to be proud of my curly hair instead of trying to hide it behind a blow dryer.) I noticed that the slogan across the top of the book's cover says, "More than just hair . . . it's an attitude." I admit that it sounds incredibly cheesy, but I like it. It fits with what I was trying (and probably not succeeding) to say yesterday.

I've spent the last ten years of my life trying to fit into the world around me. Trying to wear the right clothes, to use the right slang, to live the right life . . . and that includes my hair. It may sound crazy - especially to someone with straight hair - but the world around us teaches us that beauty means straight hair. Straight, shiny, swishy hair. Those of us with curly hair spend hours trying to flatten out the kinks and erase the ringlets so that we fit into the acceptable idea of perfection. And then a rainstorm or even a sprinkler comes along and ruins it all, leaving big, frizzy puffballs instead of hair. (Remember Monica's hair in the Bahamas on that classic Friends season finale? I've had worse hair than that.)

Well, this is my act of rebellion. No more blow dryers, flat irons or curlers! I'm saying goodbye to straight hair and a life of trying to fit into a straight world's idea of who I should be! I won't always talk about hair, but I am going to do my best to be worthy of the potential of my curls and live a life that is free, spontaneous and crazy, full of love, laughter and . . . well . . . life! And I'm going to write about it all along the way!

After that introduction, it seems somehow ironic that I've spent the first three days of my new curly life sacked out on the couch with a cold...

Living curly...

My family moved to California the summer of my sixteenth year. I became a city girl, a beach lover, and a curly girl all within a few months. Up to that point, my hair was dirty blonde and stick straight, just like my mom and my brothers. (My dad's hair - when he had any - was dark and wavy.) My hair had been gradually darkening over the years, but that summer - my first in California - was when I discovered my curls.

Now, almost ten years later, I have dark brown hair that - depending on the day - falls past my shoulders in ringlets, ripples and waves.

When I was eighteen, my best friend (whose hair was gloriously thick, shiny and straight) told me that I should learn to straighten my hair. She thought it would be pretty, or at least prettier than my frizzy rat's nest. I spent the next seven years fighting curls and frizz with blow dryers, curling irons, goopy gels and velcro rollers - anything to have straight swingy hair like everyone around me. Anything to fit into the idea of Pretty. I lay awake in my bed at night, dreaming up new ways to create sleek beauty out of my crazy curls. I dreaded rainy days and sprinklers and avoided swimming like the plague, for fear that water on my hair would turn it into an uncontrollable frizzball. I wore jeans and sneakers when I went to the beach so that I would have an excuse to stay far away from the waves. I tried everything I could think of to be as straight as possible.

Two days ago, my unbelievably-straight-haired mother gave me a book for Christmas: A handbook for girls with curly hair. I laughed, but then I read it . . . and decided to become a curly girl.

So this is me. Curly-haired, creative, laughing at life and embracing all its glory - I'm throwing out my curling irons and the straight-haired life and making my own way, crazy curls and all, and I'm inviting anyone and everyone to come along for the ride, whether your hair is curly, straight or somewhere in-between.