Locks of Love

I had an appointment at the Aveda Institute on Wednesday.  As the teaching facility for Aveda salons, I can get my hair cut and colored there on the super-cheap…what would be $120 at an Aveda salon is usually about $45 at the Institute ($15 for cut and $30 for a partial foil).  Not only do I get salon-quality results, but I get Aveda products and techniques to boost.  It’s a pretty sweet deal.

As I was thinking about my hair, I pondered its length.  I tend to hear from people I haven’t seen in a while, “Oh my gosh–your hair is SO LONG.”  I smile at the comment, tuck it away, and go on my merry way.  Sure, my hair went a fair ways down my back, but since one of my childhood aspirations has always been to be the next Crystal Gayle, I’d never consider it to be “long” until I was tripping on it.

On my way to the Institute early that morning, I thought about Crystal Gayle and how there just couldn’t be another one of her (especially with the bleach I’d require to keep my ankle-length hair blonde).  I decided to cut my flaxen locks.  No big deal, I think my hair has been somewhere between my chin and my shoulders for the majority of my waking life.  It wasn’t a decision of epic proportions or anything that would end hunger or bring about world peace.

But, it was a decision that would help someone.

I was talking about my vision for my hair with the student and instructor at Aveda when the student said, “And she wants about eight inches taken off the length of her hair.”

EIGHT INCHES?  Holy horse farm.  I had eight inches to cut off? A random fact flew through my head and I blurted out,

“Do you do ‘Locks of Love?’  Don’t they require ten inches?”

The instructor smiled and nodded.

I smiled and said, “Do it.  What’s another two inches?”

Locks of Love is something I’d only heard about from the sidelines.  It’s a nonprofit organization that takes hair donation braids to make into wigs for disadvantaged children who have suffered hair loss for various reasons.  I’d just run across it again on another blog only days before where I read the length requirement.  Other than that, I’d seen women who had very, very short hair after they’d donated their hair to the organization…shorter hair than I’d want to sport.  And, I’d also heard that color treated hair was not accepted.  So, it never occurred to me that I was a candidate for hair donation.  As it turns out, I was.  Being that the instructor gave my hair the go-ahead as “an excellent donation,” I gave my own go-ahead without a second thought.

When it came time to cut, it was completely without ceremony.  No cameras, no reporters.  The instructor showed the student how to put my wet hair into three different ponytails to be cut in three different places.  Huh.  I didn’t expect that.  I’d seen examples of braids being cut off in one fell swoop.  So, I asked the instructor why she’d chosen this technique.  And, I was pleased with the answer.  She explained that when people braid it first and then cut off the braid, the remaining hair on the head has few options for a good, stylish cut being that it was all pulled back to one central point for its removal.  By cutting the hair in three locations at more even lengths to each other, I would be left with more of a bob.

And, I was left with quite a bit of respect for the instructor, having the best interest of both the donation and my appearance in mind at the same time.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Kind of anticlimactic.

My three wet hair ponytails looked really pathetic on the paper towel.  They were to hang out there until the student dried them and braided them together…then they’d join three more braids to be sent to Locks of Love by the instructor later that day.  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who ended up leaving behind more than floor sweepings.

At the end of my time at Aveda, I had a great color and a great cut.  I would’ve left that way regardless of Locks of Love.  But, because of some serendipitous figures in a discussion I didn’t have to overhear and a website I didn’t have to pay attention to, I also left with a sense of satisfaction.  Helping myself helped someone else.

I didn’t set out with the intention of committing a charitable act, but was allowed to be part of one anyway.

A happy accident.

I’ll take it.

________________

Upon reading the Locks of Love donation requirements, they mention that bleached hair is not acceptable.  Locks of Love says to ask the stylist if bleaching might have caused a particular chemical reaction that occurs during the processing and renders the donation unusable.  I’m going to go on a little faith that the Aveda instructor knows the guidelines, but I guess I’ll never really know if my donation passed muster.  Ah, well.

My Black Friday Shopping List

I am going to drop a wad of dough today.  I swear, hundreds of dollars are going to pass from my wallet to greedy hands across the United States today.  Hundreds.  What am I saying?  THOUSANDS.  I’m just that serious about Black Friday.

Here’s my list:

2 Jeep payments to Chrysler Financial – 1 current, 1 past due
3 electricity payments to Xcel Energy – 1 current, 2 past due
1 water payment to my Apartment management company so that they don’t turn off the water (it’s that late)
2 Cobra payments to ensure I continue my medical insurance coverage – 1 current, 1 almost past due
1 rent payment for December

Fun, huh?  Like I said, THOUSANDS of dollars will leave my wallet today.  I look at that list and I cringe.  Past due payments.  All of those finance charges.

It’s not easy being unemployed. 

Those aren’t even all of my bills.  The list doesn’t include the payments I’m not owing at this moment, such as internet connection, telephone, and my three credit cards with low balances (Thank God for small mercies).  The bills in the list above are the ones that I can sort of fudge without hurting my credit score…but are sort of necessary to live.  The sort of scary ones.

How might I find a couple of grand to go on my shopping spree today?

Easy.  I won the lottery.  A lottery of my own money.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I cashed out my 401(K).

Extreme?  Absolutely.  Necessary?  No doubt. 

I admit that I do not cut all the corners I can, money-wise.  I go for lunch and buy coffee.  I download the new Weezer song into my iTunes.  I buy the new cookbook and issue of InStyle.  Not spending that money could definitely add up to a hefty sum, but not a hefty enough sum to cover rent, Jeep payments, and medical insurance.

Yes, I took a hit.  There’s a penalty.  Taxes were taken out.  I no longer have my retirement savings.  Those are facts not to be glossed over.  But, it’s not a decision I’m going to choose to regret.

Though I’ve never had this much money in my bank account–ever–it’s time to make careful decisions.  It’s time to make sure that my unemployement does not leave me with big, bad financial scars that require seven years of recovery.  It’s time to pay up and it’s time to save deliberately (rather than just passively receive less per paycheck as abstract money is rescued from my grubby clutches and ferreted away from my own bad judgment).

It’s all the money I have in the world and there’s no promise of a job or a real lottery win in the near future.

So, this Black Friday, I give thanks that those 401(K) checks I deposited on Tuesday night didn’t disappear from my hands as I feared they would, but made it into the bank and finally showed up as real money in my account this morning.

Now, I shall attack my Black Friday shopping list and take no prisoners.

Packing Black

Marcella Lorna Lorraine Kiviaho Katainen 1921-2009

My grandmother, Marcella, passed away this week.  Last Wednesday, I’d gotten a text message from my cousin Heather, who is nine years my junior: “Gma is in hosp they dont know if shell make it what is ur mom n dads number so we can call them[.]“

I got a text message because I didn’t answer her telephone call as I had guests over for lunch.  Rather than deconstruct the text too much, I’ll assume that an actual phone conversation would’ve been a little smoother.

Not to sound callous (oh, why do I even bother with that disclaimer?), but I’ve gotten a message like that before from my family in Northern Minnesota.  Grandma has suffered from Congestive Heart Failure for a few years.  Sometimes, the messages come immediately.  Sometimes, I’d find out a month or two later that she’d been in the hospital for a couple of weeks with dire health problems.

I tried to manage the information about Grandma’s latest trip to the hospital as best I could.  As a communicator (um…nobody else in my family has a blog), I usually end up in the hub of some sort of communication network.  Reread the text message above.  It says that my own mother doesn’t know her own mother is ailing.  By age 32, I know better than to assume she’ll find out by the implied means, so I got on the horn, too.

I had some decisions to make.  Do I put my life on hold and head to the hospital to see Grandma Marcy?  It’s not an easy one.  If she’ll tuck and roll like usual, it might be a rather ill-timed trip in terms of both money and commitment constraints.  If she is truly at Death’s door, I may regret not driving the 4 hours to see her.  I grappled with it.  Hardcore.  There’s a very real burden that comes with being unemployed.  It makes me feel like I should be available.  I should be able to leave my inconsequential life at the drop of a hat.  I should be able to pack up and go wherever I’m needed at a moment’s notice.

With such distorted thoughts on the brain, I made the important decision to wait to drive north until after Therapy Thursday.  I’m not paralyzed without therapy; quite to the contrary.  What therapy gives me, though, is a chance to sharpen the tools in my toolbelt.  Nobody needs to go to a family crisis with dull tools…those can hurt more than sharp ones.

Bad analogy.

After my session with my therapist Thursday morning, I returned home to write, do some laundry, pack, and keep on communicating.  Having had too many opportunities to be in hospitals in the recent years, I’ve learned that the nursing stations are great liaisons.  Family members in a heightened state of fraught may not collect and convey information accurately, so I go straight to the health care providers.  I’d learned later Wednesday evening that Grandma Marcy was conscious and talking…and was able to speak with her myself.  She was feisty and in good spirits; doing well.  I told her I’d be up to see her by the weekend.

Therapy gives me the tools to say, “It’s not that I don’t believe my family members, I’m just trying to gather the most accurate information to be able to make informed decisions.”  But, know this…that particular statement was something I hadn’t seen for myself until I went to Therapy Thursday.  I had been vacillating between feeling guilty and doubtful about whether or not I should uproot and head to the hospital.  The guilt was because I doubted the accuracy of the information I was getting about my grandmother from family members.  On the flipside, I was convinced that it wasn’t an immediate need.

As I remained in cahoots with the hospital, I found out just after noon on Thursday that Grandma wasn’t reacting well to the diuretics she’d been given to reduce some of the fluid around her heart.  She’d suffered a heart attack and the diuretics were lowering her blood pressure to a dangerous level.

Those facts were, indeed, alarming.

It was time to pack and go.  No guilt, doubt, or questions; I prepared to set the plan in motion.

But, what was I preparing for?  Was I going up for a few days or was I going up for a funeral?  The information from the nurse in the Intensive Care Unit did not provide a pleasant prognosis.  There was no “getting better” for Grandma.  She can’t go on a new exercise regimen to build up her heart muscle.  If she couldn’t get rid of the fluid, she would die.

She wasn’t getting rid of the fluid.

Death isn’t like the weather.  There aren’t meteorologists to forecast a death.  To some extent, there are signs and inklings…but that’s about it.

So, I packed black.

Being single, I don’t have anyone to call if I forget something at home.  No, “Honey, can you grab my black flats?  I stupidly only brought my heels for both the reviewal and the funeral.”  No, “Dammit, can you bring my black patent purse?  I’ve only got my brown Eddie Bauer mini-suitcase.”  No, “I need my winter coat, it’s freezing up here.”

That was not a self-pity campaign.  Those are matters of fact.  Using my toolbelt, I know that I have certain information and can only base my actions on what I know…and can, perhaps, predict.  What I can predict has mostly to do with myself.  By now, I know that I like to be prepared; hence, packing black.  I do not like my dog to be an afterthought, so I will send him to the kennel where he will be at the top of their list.  I do not find comfort in leaving loose ends.  My next moves would be based on controlling what I could and finding serenity despite what I couldn’t.

My process was more like:  Call kennel.  Wear jeans and sweater.  Pack black pants, black skirt, black blazer, black blouse, black wrap blouse, grey blouse, black corduroy jacket, red scarf.  Crap.  Pack black undergarments.  Pack black tights.  Black heels.  Black flats.  Pick a black purse.  Pack it.  Dammit.  Pack tampons.  Dry laundry load.  Cancel Friday and weekend plans.  Make sure to speak personally to goddaughter about missing her birthday party.  Load and run dishwasher.  Empty and rinse coffeemaker.  Flush all toilets.  Throw out any iffy food in the fridge.  Find out if Mom is riding with me.  Pack make-up and hair stuff.  Charge iTouch.  Find phone charger.  Pack phone charger.  Grab book.  Pack Grendel’s towel.  Pack Grendel’s food.  Update all computer statuses.  Keep answering phone.  Track down mother.  Relay information to brother.  Shoo Grendel off black clothes.  Pack lint/hair roller.  Find travel size shampoo and conditioner.  Pack pajamas.  Remember to stop to get gas as the tank is on E.  Skip supper.  Turn off everything in apartment.  Make two trips to Jeep.  Load dog.  Hit the road.

I got to the kennel as it was closing.  I picked up my mother.  I ate supper at 8:45.  We arrived at our hotel room at 11:15.  We slept as best be could.  We rolled with the punches.  We said goodbyes.

It turned out that the black wasn’t needed yet, but having it in my suitcase meant I was prepared for anything that could be thrown my way, at least wardrobe-wise.

I am so grateful I made the trip and spent time with her before she passed away early Wednesday morning, a week after the whole drama began.  Now, as I pack four days after her passing, I just have to reach for all the items I only unpacked five days ago…plus my winter coat.

My head is clear, my laundry is clean, and my gas tank is on E.  Always and forever.

Some things never change, regardless of therapy.

Update Thyself!

Please be sure to update your bookmarks or favorites.  Rather than checking back at Shifting Piles, please go to http://www.andylien.wordpress.com for new posts.

Oh, and just so you know, there aren’t any today.  Gotcha.

I’m still working on the ugly back end of this new mess venture.

Thanks,

A

P.S. I’ll let you know when I drop the WordPress portion of that address.  It will be the “RAH!” heard ’round the world when I do.

Shifting Into Gear

Okay.  Let me bring you up to speed.

Shifting Piles has changed.  I’ve been talking about a new website for so long…and, yes, this is it.  Kind of.  I know–wow!  What a snazzy site!  Not really.  Visually, it’s not much to write home about.  But, behind the scenes, its blueprint is a buxom bombshell.

As you may notice, Shifting Piles is now a part of a larger collection of blogs, all of which will fall under the AndyLien.com umbrella.  And, once I can get my host to make AndyLien.com into a WordPress blog, I’ll be good to go and will start using that as the one and only official address for my work.  The other pages and their names (which are pretty fun…explore a little) will be accessible and searchable on their own as well as by way of AndyLien.com, to double the marketing and visibility efforts.

Let me give you a quick tour.  There is a bit of new material within the AndyLien.com pages, but much of it will also be familiar to longtime readers.  I know I’d originally said that I would have each page titled by a verb, but I saw a local hack rag had done that…and I couldn’t do the same.  It’s one thing to copy something…it’s another when it’s not even a desireable source from which to copy.  So, I went with six basic concepts: People, Places & Things; Marketing & Communication; Design; Food & Eating; Woman Things; and Shifting Piles.

People, Places & Things: Nouns.  I want to introduce you to people I meet, places I go, and things I experience here.

Marketing & Communication: Shop talk.  It’s my professional background and I’m a goon for it.  You might find yourself skipping this page…or being pleasantly surprised by how interesting its contents can be.  We can form an A/V Club together.

Design: My portfolio.  This is hard.  I’ve been in Marketing, Communications, and Design for over ten years now.  What constitutes my portfolio will always be changing.  This is entirely new content at this point and I’m not thrilled with how all of it pulls off, but it’ll improve.  I promise.

Food & Eating: What a can of worms.  You may or may not have known this, but I had my stomach stapled at age 17 and a gastric bypass surgery at age 21.  My history with food and recipes is 32 years long and it hasn’t always been pretty.  This page is to both acknowledge as well as completely ignore that history.  And, it’ll be tasty.

Woman Things: I was surprised to find that most of my favorite writing fell onto this page.  Becoming and being a woman is the best part of being me.  I almost wish I weren’t typing right now as I really want to reread those posts.  Right now.

Shifting Piles: My baby.  Ever shifting things around, I’m not planning to take away any of this page’s content to date.  It is how it always has been.  But, from here on out, its content will probably be a bit more arbitrary…perhaps it’ll catch what doesn’t fit into any of the other pages.

Because I have very distinctly different experience in each of these areas, yet there is obvious overlap, I’m going to have plenty of fun with this new format.  It could change, but this is what I’ll stick with for now.

It’s a grand experiment.

Thanks for coming along for the ride.