The Curse of the Eclipse
Weird things tend to happen to me when the moon turns vengeant (aka red). I have always loved the moon, full or otherwise. I have always loved the folklore associated with the moon. And yet, eclipses (if I am paying attention to them) tend to bring some strange unknown factor to my life.
When I was fifteen, my best friend Angi and I were sleeping out on her trampoline. The weather was gorgeous, much like last night. It was a bit on the chilly side, but wonderful with a warm blanket, some hot pizza and some Mango Mystic, my teenage drink of choice. We had a CD player playing as we chatted and laughed, and got so giddy because that is what we did when we were together. We laid on our backs, gazing at the sky, listening to the wind whistling through the trees and the gorgeous sounds of John Lennon and Paul McCartney on repeat. And then it happened. Strawberry Fields Forever took on a whole new tone, it seemed to be playing in a minor key, and I swear, the branches in the top of the poplar tree formed a face through which the red moon eyes shined out at us. It was very creepy, and lots of sugar and energy build up from a sleepover seemed to make it worse.
And yet, I look back on that creepy night with the fondest of memories. It was wonderful and creepy and wonderful. Even then, although we were slightly scared, we still thought it was wonderful.
Last night, as the shadow of the earth slowly eclipsed the moon, I was reminded of those silly times. We were so serious, though. Teenagers always are. Everything was serious and dramatic and grown up in our ancient 14 year old minds. Last night we sat around the dining room table with our friend Shem, sipping hot cocoa, gazing at the moon and laughed at our foolish yet sincere selves from way back when. We discussed current events and weighed in on topics of great debate whilst basking in the soft bloodshot glow of the great eye in the night sky. It was a delicious way to spend an evening. And everything seemed normal and not creepy or out of the ordinary at all.
This morning, however, Faye came into our room looking like a washed up 80's glam rocker. We laughed at the bedhead and shrugged it off.
But something about it bothered me. I didn't remember her having bangs, or any hair that would stand up like hers was doing. Before we took Keith to school, I called her to me so I could comb her hair and fix it for the day...
...and I learned she hadn't had bangs like that the day before. Or the mullet she had tried so desperately to pull off. I brushed out her beautiful once long hair, and it was so straggly and thin, I was surprisingly sad. I never thought I would be so attached to Faye's hair, but I was truly and genuinely sad about it. She told me instead of putting away the scissors she had volunteered to do for me, instead she had taken them to her room and given herself a makeover the day before. I am not sure how I didn't notice the mullet until this morning if her story is true, but there you have it.
So, I had to take her in to get her long nearly down to her bum when it is straight hair cut into a bob.
And it looks so cute!
Yet I still really am sad about her long hair. I was learning to do all kinds of fun braids with it, and really enjoyed fixing her hair every morning.
And she wanted Rapunzel hair, so long and flowing.
As we drove to get her hair cut, she said, "But do you want to know the secret of hair, Mommy? Hair grows. It will grow back and I can have it long again one day."
What wise perspective from such a young child!
She is a little sad about the short hair, but she loves the new hair cut. It was very weird for her when she took a bath before bed, to not have the weight of her hair or to have it clinging to her back when it was wet, but all in all, she is very happy with it. And I think she just looks darling!