Month: April 2016

A Good Hair Day

We all (at least the ladies) know what a bad hair day is, right?  I have them regularly, like right now.  Today I’m waiting for guests to come and play bridge, and I sit here with bad hair.  Really bad.  I even need a haircut. Well, into the shower, wash, wash, rinse, rinse, condition, blow dry, poof – “Good Hair Day!

But what is a “Good Hair Day?”  Really?  I recall my wedding day (both of them) and one of the main priorities was that my hair look perfect!  Not close, or nearly so, but perfect.  If that meant hours at a hairdresser and a bag over my head until the event, so be it.  There is something about hair that we women obsess over.  Ask my daughters – I nag about their hair all the time.

At a conference years ago a black woman said that white women obsess about weight and black women obsess about hair.  I disagree.  I think women of any color obsess about both of them!  The scale may just tip a bit more to one side than the other for some.  Skinny women with perfect hair don’t obsess about much of anything, but perfect women like that are robots.  Fat women with rotten hair obsess about both and then there is everyone in between and you can place yourself wherever you want on the continuum.

I wonder however, if we would know a “Good Hair Day,” when we had one.  You see, a “Good Hair Day,” is as much about how we feel about ourselves as how our hair actually looks.  I have had one of the best hair days in my life lying in the ICU after having major surgery and surviving it.  I know my hair looked like hell, my face was bloated beyond recognition due to the eight hours of surgery lying face down on the gurney, and the hospital gown did nothing to enhance the blob of body lying in that bed connected to a dozen kinds of tubes.  But….it was a “Good Hair Day!”

I think too that a “Good Hair Day” is also about how good we feel when we say or do something that makes someone else feel better or live a better life.  Or how we feel when we’ve done something to help ease the aches and pains and sorrows of the world around us.  For Christmas last year and this year, I gave several bee hives, with instructions and all the parts including the bees, to families in third world countries to help them earn a living.  I felt good about that.  It was another “Good Hair Day.”

Have a “Good Hair Day,” even if you are having a bad hair day!

When the Wheel Comes Off

It was Sunday, April 10th, just a little after Noon, and we were crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel returning from a trip to Florida. The speed limit was reduced to 50 mph and the wind was howling a steady 40 mph with gusts up to 60 mph, and white caps on the bay.

White caps on the Chesapeake
White caps on the Chesapeake

Our silver mini-van, affectionately called “Minerva,” was buffeted about, but stayed true and steady on the path.  The bridge is 12-miles long and we were in the last 600 yards when i heard what sounded like a small rock hitting the side of the van.

“What’s that?” I asked my spouse, R, as we tooled along.

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear that sound?”

“No.”

Back to reading my book.  Not more than two minutes passed when there was a loud rattling sound.

“What’s that noise?” I asked R.

“That’s just the luggage rack rattling.”

“Oh.”

Another minute passed. “You know that doesn’t sound like the luggage rack sound.”

“You may be right.”

“Let’s pull over on the next side street and take a look around.”  We did. We both got out of the van and peered at all four tires, under the van, and over the van.  Shrugged as we found nothing visually amiss.  Hopped back in and went back to highway 13 in Cape Charles, Virginia.  The noise was louder now and more a clunking sound than a rattle.  R put on his flashers and slowed down to about 20 mph as I looked up the nearest gas station.  It was 1.7 miles ahead.  We clattered and clunked along.

We pulled into the station.  I went to the ladies room, R went in to ask about the nearest repair facility.  It was a Shell station 7 miles up the road. Back out on the road, we started up the highway.  Not 100 feet later the clunking sounded like a train running us over.

“This van is not going to make it seven miles. Let’s go back to the Citgo station.”

Then the van started to shake, the steering wheel had a quivering life of its own.  R made a quick U-turn across the divided highway, sidled over onto the shoulder, and crept up to the gas station entrance.  Twenty feet into the parking area, the left front wheel clunked off the van and started its independent journey headed for the highway.

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Sheared bolt, four unscrewed bolts. Off goes the wheel
Sheared bolt, four unscrewed bolts. Off goes the wheel

Jolted, but unhurt, both R and I jumped out of the van in pursuit of the meandering tire.  Fortunately, it hit a curb, swerved to the left, and just averted heading into the oncoming traffic when I caught up with it and stopped its progress.  Phew, that was close.

“AAA, may I help you?”

“Sure, we need a long tow.  How many miles do we get for a free tow?” Luckily, we had the premium level coverage.

“You get 100 miles free for any tow, but only one free 200 mile tow per year.”

“Yah.  We need a 120 mile tow.”

Up on the flat bed, Minerva. You're going for a long ride
Up on the flat bed, Minerva. You’re going for a long ride

Four hours later, two in the cab of the tow truck, we are nestling the van in front of the repair shop.  They will pay to have the work done since they had just taken the four wheels off to install new struts and shock, the day before our trip to Florida.  Obviously, the nuts on one tire had not been torqued.

But, the weirdest part for me a least, was that I never worried about any consequences until it was all over and I realized we could both have been killed, along with perhaps several others, had that wheel come off as we were traveling perhaps 65 mph on the Interstate.  Then it struck me how fortunate we were, and how much worse it could have been. I started to cry.  Thank you Jesus.