Time. Marching On.

My first post in nine months will be about my hair, which seems appropriate after all the whining I've done here on the subject.

I had it all cut off a couple weeks ago. That's right, it's back to the same short style I've worn most of my life. Did you know me then? I feel free.

There is tree stump a few yards from our screened porch door. The tree that once grew there has been gone for years. A proud holly she was, quite beautiful, with the unfortunate habit of blanketing her surrounds with sharp prickly leaves. A minefield 10 yards in circumference brought woe to the careless person who dared draw near with bare feet. Even the squirrels kept their distance.

The stump doesn't drop prickly leaves. It's a low and flat, not too troublesome while mowing. What passes for grass snuggles up to the edge. We call it Hal's Stump. Felling that tree was the last home project he helped us with before he died. Just a month or so before, actually. I hate surprises.

I began growing my hair out after his death. In hindsight I believe it was part of my grieving process, something I could pretend to control during a time when so much was spinning beyond me. I will say the pony tail was kinda fun. But as I sat in the salon chair, my long-time stylist Katie snipping off my long crazy curly gray locks, an almost physical sensation of lightness washed over me.

Hal will always be in my heart, but the ache has finally dissipated. I am giddy.