Sunday, May 02, 2010

Ed and I

Saturday. Late, very late into the day, Ed and I go to get his haircut. He likes a place where a clip costs $14 and a beard trim goes for $6. Since he cuts his hair maybe four times a year, it becomes a chore to work through the dense tangle of curls (to be fair, thinning on the top now). I come along, because he gives the cutter no direction. One day he came out with a mullet. The last time I had to use kitchen scissors to take away the Harpo Marx look his cutter seemed to favor.

At the end of yesterday’s session, Ed was a man of style. We wrote down the cutter’s name (although the turnover at Great Clips is terrific) and went home.


Sunday. A repeat performance weather-wise, only warmer and without the gale-strength winds that cavorted up and down the Yahara the day before.

We take stock. I have two errands, Ed has one. After that we can mingle work hours with outdoor time. I’m pleased with the plan.

Frames. We start with a look at the frames I’d picked for my second pair of glasses. The frame shop is not crowded. I show Ed my selection.

He frowns.
I like the ones you have.
Yes, but I need a second pair. If mine break, I can’t work.
The ones you’ve chosen here (he says "here" with a slight emphasis, as if “here” is a dumb place to shop, given the bargains elsewhere) are harsh. Square, against your round face.

I’ll let that last comment go. I reach for a pair that everyone in the store had loved on me the other day.
Is this better?
I like the ones you have.
Okay, but is this better than what I had on a minute ago?
Yes, nicer, sure.
They’re also $100 more.
They’re awful then. Stick with the ones you have.
But I need something to jazz things up a bit, especially if I am about to lose my youthful hair color!

(Ed has convinced me to let go of an attachment to color that recreates what I believe may have been the hair of my childhood.)

Still, I pay for the cheaper frames (no glasses yet – that’s next month’s budget item) and we leave.

Next stop: Whole Foods. We need fruits and milk. As usual, at the checkout, we remember that the reusable bags are in the car. Ed, the guy with the sleek, nice (but cheap) haircut, Ed with the boyish, lovely shorts, Ed with the grin of a kid who has a summer of play before him, runs off to get the bags as I finish the transaction.

The teller begins to bag our items, but I stop him. No no, we have reusable bags, remember?
Yes, sure that’s right. Your son went to the car to get them.

I freeze.

And then I take stock. Me: jeans, a flowered Mexican shirt, long multi-toned hair pulled back with a red band. Jesus, what am I thinking? No, worse – what is the world seeing??

Ed’s back with the bags. I slowly face the checker. You didn’t say son, did you? I want him to look at both of us now, as we are before him. I dare him to repeat it.

He’s flustered and a little confused. I probably wasn’t really looking...

Sure as hell you were. And now, finally, I can be angry and frustrated with both of them, without guilt, without holding back. You said it looked fine! No, Ed, untinted hair looks grandma old!

Ed shrugs. What’s wrong with looking 57? 

Fifty-seven? I have never minded parading my age. I’m 57, I’m 57, I say it up and down! But my oh my, how early must have been that pregnancy, and how nutritious my prenatal diet to have produced this robust boy, my son, my son, so proud of my big boy now, look world, there he is, grabbing free samples at the food store as mom shops for supper. Hey, daughters! Your brother is here by my side only I have to go to work now so maybe you could come over and babysit??


We are on our third errand now, his errand, the pick-up-the-old-and-small-and-best-of-all-cheap sailboat and tow it to his farmette. There, I take out my computer to work while he putters, fixing his motorcycle.


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Later, we take a quiet walk. A retired person’s pace, I suppose.

Leaning against the big rock, I allow myself a grin.


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We stay a while, listening to the birds shout out their folk song. Not too old, not too old!


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6 comments:

  1. Nina, Not too old. The 50s are great, the 60s even better. I'm crossing into the 70s and wonder if it's too old but consider the alternative. At some point, you'll retire, I just did. I think, for you, it will be a wonderful time because you're gifted at using time well. Happy Birthday and enjoy the Summer.
    Bev Bliss Shultz

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  2. Nina, you are one of the most beautiful people I know. I also happen to think Europeans "age" more gracefully than Americans. I remember sitting in law school in your classes(nearly 9 years ago now!) thinking if I can look like and act like Nina as I "grow up", I will be leading a great life. So, keep enjoying life, even if it means your hair color isn't what you'd like it to be. And think: just last week, I pulled a gray hair out of my hair and I'm 34. I nearly freaked out when I realized it was pure gray and not blond as I had thought. Brian (whose hair is grayer by the minute) insists it's a badge of parenthood. I'm not yet convinced.

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  3. He thought Ed was your son? Unbelievable! I get mistaken for my friend's mother all the time (she's 3 years younger)and I find it hard to be as good natured about it as you seem to be. I even burst into tears at the Mt Horeb Art Fair last summer.

    I was really hoping you caught a photo of that double rainbow last night. I didn't have my camera. Maybe Madison Guy got it. Hope you at least saw it. Wait! If you'd seen it, it would be here.

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  4. That post was fun. I colored my beard and mustache once, and it looked like I had gone apple-dipping in a vat of tar.
    You look great. Your father appears to be aging, however...

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  5. Nina - I have very short silver-gray and often, clerks will say to me..."Would you like a senior discount, sir? Then I say, "I'm a girl, and I'm not old enough." I've taken to wearing long dangling earrings so at least they get my gender right. Sometimes I think it is funny; sometimes not.

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  6. Bev, you do make me feel in controland far better than I deserve to feel! Thank you!

    Sara, you should be rewarded for all the good that you do me... May your third be a perfectly easy baby!

    Donna, no, I completely missed it. Probably too busy chasing down my son, Ed...

    George H. -- you are always where I'd like the reader to be. Thank you!

    Trudy (and Donna on this too), I shocked myself. I burst put crying when we got to the car. Ridiculous, but... true.

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