YOUR ROOTS ARE SHOWING
Banyan Elder, St Petersburg, Florida (Downtown)
Your Roots Are Showing
Another lifetime ago in a galaxy far far away, it was the last day at my hair salon, that is before the shelter in place orders (not to be confused with mise en place, although . . . or sip in place #sip) the stylists were joking about the amount of color corrections they will be deluged with upon returning to work, for what was then the first round of our collective three weeks of staying home. The idea being that many will peruse the hair care aisles in local pharmacies for DIY hair color kits . . . Quelle catastrophe! We all giggled because nothing shouts out _______ (fill in the blank) quite like one’s hair roots. I imagine as far back as Cleopatra hair dyes were one of the most potent beauty regimes, so I’m guessing from a thousand years ago until today they continue to benefit one’s moods, images, age deference, seduction, and confidence levels. The correlation between good hair and one’s confidence is a bit staggering I’d say . . . until maybe now.
As I waited for my color touch up to do its magic my thoughts drifted to my time in Moscow in the early 1990’s. Mikhail Gorbachev was the last leader of the Soviet Union and the country was moving toward social democracy. I noticed many of the women had nearly the same color of red in their hair, varying by degrees of their natural color, but it was the same red/orange tint. When I asked my translator what was up with all of the red/orange hair she shared a similar giggle to what I just had, saying it was the only color imported as the country opened up to more and more of the outside world. The memory left me with a shudder as having lived in Moscow for a few months during that time; I witnessed empty store shelves, long lines – people waiting for provisions, for food, and as I recall medicines. Once to my translator’s horror I asked if she would translate for me as I stood in a line to eavesdrop or strike up some conversations. The queue was full of frustration; the mood I would argue was fatalistic. My translator was concerned for my safety as obviously I was an outsider, but I waited for nearly 4 hours for one stale piece of cake conversing with many thwarted redheads who still speak to my memory.
Time for hair toner, thoughts of Russia were interrupted.
Now it’s our turn, like so many in the world, to practice our patience as we wait in lines, wait for our freedoms to be restored and hair salons to be re-opened. It strikes me that yes we as nation are unprecedentedly vulnerable at the moment. I would say perhaps even more vulnerable than Pete Davidson talking about his late father on Netflix. We are all equally vulnerable to our thoughts exposing the truths of who we are and yes beholding the consequence of our actions, all of which may very well be a beginning of humanity’s (of our, of America’s) saving grace. Exposed we alter our gaze inward-- we are called upon to reflect (I dare say some of my Kentucky republican friends in this time are reflecting on casting their vote for Amy McGrath, well at least I am praying they are.)
Ironically, in this time of obligatory facemasks, we are not so easily able to hide from our singular truths or for that matter our natural hair color. Hair confidence aside, the only way through is through and it seems increasing clear that our survival relies upon expanding our points of view, adapting tolerance and once and for all accepting we are not in this alone.
May I suggest taking comfort in the clutter, lingering in the moment, dreaming of better days ahead and I might add, dedicating your desires to a sane, solid purpose. BTW it is a good time to learn about rhythm - yours and the earth’s. If you are fortunate to live with a musician give thanks and praise for music along with laughter seems to be the ultimate soul-retrieval, spirit freeing catalysts for getting through.
Yes Dance, Please Dance.
Stay True World,
Maggygrace