June 22, 1978: Tangled

One of the difficulties of having long hair is that I shed.  I find long red hairs on the bathroom throw rug, along the edges of my Persian carpet, and even in Petey''s (sic. toys)-or tangled up in his construction trucks set.  A hair around the axle can paralyze a little car and, of course, they fill up my vacuum cleaner.

If my hair were shorter, I'd probably still shed, but I don't think it would show as much...And maybe I wouldn't have to fish hair out of the tub drain (though it does give a swense of accomplishment when the water starts burbling down again).

Perhaps I ought to try a harinet-maybe one of the "invisible" ones.  My Grandma always wore a hairnt, a deep brown one with wide mesh. not compromising at all with her steel grey hair.  She always wore her hair in a long braid wound around her head or in a big bun at the back.  I suppose that's what I'm aiming for-to do my hair like Grandma did.  It's just now long enough to put in a bun after four years of growing.

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"Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas
Ease after war, death after life doth greatly please"
-Spenser

I read this in Gladys Taber's Stillmeadow and Sugarbridge (I hope its true)

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When Petey had pneumonia and was having arterial blood gasses tests every hour-screaming with pain, the doctor told me he was going to die, and (Petey) said "I want to play with the angels".  He was in such terrible pain, and I could only watch the heart monitor and breathe with him-willing him to absorb more oxygen/to keep breathing, and pray.  Then I thought perhaps it would be better if he did die.  I thought 'I can't bear this suffering'.  But he recovered, and he's had a year and ahalf since of being happy; taking music lessons, riding his bike, playing with the neighbors, going to ball games and movies, the carnival and the circus.

I'm glad he had this time, but when the time comes that he must die, I hope it's a transition as easy and pleasant as sleep.  He's not afraid of dying-of going to Jesus, being "caught up in the rainbow"...except for one thing, "I'll miss you, Mama".

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Vicky and Julie were here-and Cindy and Lolita.  Julie was practicing her gymnastics on the frong lawn; cartwheels and cartwheel roundups.  Four year old Cindy and 5 year old Lolita were trying too.  The lawn was covered with flying bodies.  Cindy just managed to get her bottom in the air, then collapsed in a heap.  Lolita did better, but couldn't keep her legs straight.  Petey just stood patiently watching.  He knew he couldn't risk it (much more sensible than his Mother, who was afraid he might), but didn't seem at all envious.  Then, out of sheer exuberance, Vicky tackeled Julie, Lolita tackled Vicky, and Cindy and Peter moved in from the fringes.  They were all in a heap-like puppies.

They tied Petey's jump rope to a cutoff branch of the sycamore tree and swung on it.  Julie tried to climb the tree in her stocking feet, but our sycamore has no good hand or foot grips, and the branches start high.

This summer, for me will always be captured in a pile of laughing children.