Wild about my wild gray hair!

What a treat! A few nights ago, exhausted from an extended day trip to hike around Dinosaur National Monument (the Colorado side; the hardly-any-people-there-because-there-are-no-dinosaurs-there side), I didn’t even bother combing out my clean wet hair after a very long hot shower before my head hit the pillow.

I knew I’d have to rewet my hair in the morning anyway; to add the normal dose of product to help poof-out my straight fine hair, turning my head upside down hoping to give it even more poof as I blow it dry.

All of that is pointless of course because all that poofed hair is again straight and fine and just hanging there “strangy” as my Granny called it, within 10 minutes of leaving the house. “Baby, your hehr is already strangy; and I just brushed it. Good heavens. Glenna Mae!” Granny would call to my mother in the other room. “Why is this child’s hehr so strangy? What kinda shampoo er you using on her hehr?”

Decades later and I still have a problem with strangy hehr. So you can imagine my surprise -- and sheer delight -- when the next morning, after sleeping on clean wet hair without combing it out or adding poofing product, I sleepily glanced at the mirror and saw… poofed hair! Impossible. I splashed some cool water on my face and looked again. Poofed hair; poofed hair! How is that possible? I had poofed hair. No product. No blowdryer.

The next night, I tried it again. Could it have been a fluke? Next morning, poofed hair again! But something caught my eye. Silver. Wild, wavy. Another one. And another. They were poking out through all the dark brown like familiar strangers. Not a straight gray one among them. All wild and wavy and silver in the light. The gray ones were causing the natural poof, which lasted all day, mind you.

My old routine of wash, add poofing product, and blowdry upside down was taming those otherwise wild gray hairs that seemed to come out of nowhere. I am quite just too pleased about this moment of discovery.

What a terrific and unexpected life cycle treat! Straight fine dark “strangy” hair my whole life. To realize suddenly that I’m transitioning to wavy thick silver hair is just too cool. And I don’t have to do anything. Nothing. No product, no blowdryer, no wet comb-out, nothin’. Brush when dry. Wavy hair; I’m going to have wild wavy hair. And that means I will be able to have those cool haircuts that I could never have because they’re for poofier hair. A whole new look; how fun!

I heard my daughter sing tonight; and learned a heart-wrenching lesson in the process

My daughter, who is in her early 30s, will sing with the church choir during Sunday morning service tomorrow. For the first time. Ever.

“Mom, do you have a few minutes to help me with something this evening; for about a half-hour or so?” There was something shy and vulnerable in the way she asked; a tone that immediately held my attention. “I need to practice my song parts… and, I want you to help me, if you don't mind.”

I was so tickled when she decided to join the choir a few weeks ago. I had no idea she had an interest in singing. She’s always loved music, was first-chair cellist through junior and high school, and often went with me to recording sessions and gigs from the time she was a baby. But she’d never indicated any interest in singing. Naturally I was eager to oblige her request. But I was still struck by the shy and vulnerable tone.

"I have to do the warm-up exercises first,” she fumbled with a small digital voice recorder. “I recorded my singing lesson.” Singing lesson? “I had a singing lesson from Jim Werner; he’s also the choir director. Will you help me with the first note? Shouldn’t we stand up?” I hesitated, my lazy singing attitude in conflict with the serious focused singing of my younger days. I stood up as she pushed the play button on her voice recorder. She and Jim Werner were running scales. She pushed the stop button.

“You got the note?” She asked, quietly. I repeated the scale as I’d heard on the recording. She started to join me, then stopped, and sat back down. “I’m nervous.”

“About tomorrow?” I asked. “No; I’m nervous singing in front of you,” she said, then looked down at her bare feet. I never expected that.

“Why? Why me?” I listened as she shared; and learned so much about my daughter in those minutes. "When I was four or five years old I remember you told someone that I didn’t have good pitch,” she said, “so, I didn’t sing, but I always wanted to.”

My heart sank. Her name is Melody. Had I so influenced her decision to keep her music inside herself? When she was four, I was ...

Art: Just have to do it sometimes

"Containment" - collage/mixed media

I was inspired to "just create something" after Friday's local Art Walk here in Grand Junction. Specifically, Faye Timmerman Traudt's three dark gray oils on birch at the Oakley Gallery, Elise's all-red acrylic on yupo at +1 Gallery, and the collages at The Art Center all caught my attention reminding me that it has been too many months since I last sat at my art table.

The past few weeks have been somewhat overwhelming: the outrageous heat, the fires, growing business, moving to our new offices, looming deadlines, a lot of new and interesting observations and discoveries.

Apparently all of this in combination is reflected in the piece I ended up assembling this weekend. I had to use what I had around the house: a lone piece of yupo, some metalic acrylic paint, a foil yogurt top, a piece of textured red paper, a dab of pearl-x powdered pigment, a shiney piece of confetti that Faye picked up for me at a Bette Midler concert, netting from a grapefruit sack, and a piece of turquoise from a broken earring.

I'm calling it "containment" for now. I still can't decide though on its orientation: I turn it all four angles and they all seem to be the right one. Odd.

Glad we went for First Friday. Glad I used creative time and space to channel some stress and overwhelm. Feel much better as a result. Whew. I can focus again. Art. Just have to do it sometimes.

Met up with Grand Junction's Annie Whiteley, Top Alcohol Funny Car Racing Champion

After a light dinner at Tequila's on North Avenue in Grand Junction last night, my husband and I crossed the street to look at what appeared to be a car show in the Teller Arms parking lot. Wishing we had a camera with us, we asked if they were going to be there the next day. We were told no because they're race cars showing before a big race Saturday night at the Western Colorado Dragway (Grand Junction).



Annie Whiteley with part of her 3200 hp Alcohol Funny Car.

Race? What race? That certainly explained why the cars we were looking at had cages inside them and parachutes on the back. There were also dragsters in the lot.

So, this evening, we decided to go check it out. We looked on the dragway's website, Facebook page, even looked in the local newspaper trying to find information on ticket sales, starting times, anything. We found nothing, but our curiosity was growing.

We jumped in the truck, headed to the dragway, figured we'd take a chance. We'd never been to the dragway so had no idea what to expect.

As we drove up the hill, following the signs to the dragway, rounding the corner we were stunned to

Freedom in Limits

Some people hit their breaking point early in life. Others hit it much later. And of course some never hit it at all.

I'd always considered myself a strong person; strong in spirit that is. The problem is, I never knew my limits, so I was always pushing the envelope a little more, a little more, the whole time wondering if I was about to hit my limits. From raising my daughter on my own, putting myself through college after having dropped out of high school, conducting research in international conflict zones, to flying airplanes and riding motorcycles, and yes, starting a magazine in a down economy late in 2008.

That's the problem with not knowing my limits my whole life; the fear of wondering if any second I would hit them. Oops.

And then it happened. Late November 2011. I broke. My daughter lay in a tented bed in the VA Hospital barely alive after a horrible drug overdose. ...

In loving memory of my beautiful Patsy Jean...

Patsy Jean Hartman 1/99-3/13

My shy loving beautiful whippit-labrador 14-year-old Patsy Jean left us today. She went peacefully, head across my lap, my husband Bob on the other side of her. I feel the loss of her so deeply...

So beautiful, so quiet, so elegant, exotic. Everyone who met her, was enchanted by her grace. She was with me through thick and thin, through... everything.

We weren't ready to let her go today, but we knew it was the right thing to do. I want to write about the wonderful memories, but I'm too overwhelmed with the loss and so many years of memories that I can't right now. I miss her so much...

Patsy Jean? I love you. Thank you for giving me so much comfort, love, joy. For your gentle nature, your awareness. I miss you. I miss you so much sweet puppy.... I love you.