
Happy Birthday Joy

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Thank you Gilbert and Sullivan! (Mikado).-I’ve added you to my list of quotes and listings .
BUT my lists are not little.Nor ,unlike the list Koko sings in the Mikado,are my lists about the people I would like to eliminate -the “pestilential nuisances,”….the unfortunate person with flabby hands and a weak handshake, the lady novelist ….My lists contain things to do ,to get ,to strive for .They stretch back years.
In fact I was going through some of my old writing the other day ,looking for pieces about babies and discovered a list written in the Darwin Hospital 40 years ago . .What struck me about this list (apart from it still sitting there all that time):
What reason did I write it ?
How stupid to go writing lists on the day after a birth
Did I actually do the items listed ?
So why do we /I write lists ? I write daily ones ,weekly ones ,yearly ones-ie goals for the year and then fit the months and weeks to the goals. These lists I do evaluate ,but often the same goal recurs year after year .
I write shopping lists ,birthday lists, task lists ,books to read and find in library, films to see,Spanish phrases to use or find meaning or learn questions to ask doctors/psychs/ google ,you name a list type or subject and I have it.When I was working used to number items 1-5 and start at the beginning.I rarely got past the no 2s.Because lists regenerate themselves :there are lists within lists.Rather like renovations -start off doing one thing and others pop up.Sometimes it can be like starting a fire ,and one should tick off and eliminate or lists and renos become raging fires which consume the creator. Like Phoenixes rising .
Reasons for List making (I am comfortable disclosing these reasons)
Makes me feel like life is in control ,that I can look at a list and tick at least one item off and feel like I have accomplished something
Seems like I am organised ,and my life is mapped
Keeps me busy
Prods memory
Stops my jumping from one thing to the next and not completing
Stops me buying duplicates or foodstuffs I don’t need
(This does not always work.I have a large stock of chic peas and sanitisers from the recent CV time-just because I couldn’t manage to read a list and hold stuff with my gloves,as well as hurrying to leave shop before too many people
Have you ever purchased your own Op shop donation?)
Other reasons (not so comfortable about these)
My love of lists started as a child when we moved between countries or between places in the same country ,and between schools.Lists made me feel like life was sustainable and the core of it would stay the same ,as I was instrumental in composing my own lists.
Lists trick one into thinking that life is predictable The fact that a number of items are not done or never eventuate is irrelevant .They have been written down and still somewhere in the world they exist ,done or not
Anxiety shifter – I can list an item even if unable to do it :with mathematics for example which I never really understood ,I could write a list of formulas and felt better
Procrastination
I feel needed .I have some important things to do .Lists fill in empty spaces and unused time .They also compensate for the things I should be doing instead of writing the list
Some lists are creative and imaginative.There is an art in list writing and tallying up.Its a jogger of memory and can spark future possibilities ,many of which are not achievable.But no matter
I am a list addict .I just hear the word”list”and feel happy.It has a soft ,comfortable sound which resonates in my busy head
See -I’m writing a list here and I should be composing a creative blog entry
If you are reading this ,please let me know about your listing habits.I can add your reasons for making lists to a list.
And No,I didn’t do those items in the Hospital/Baby list.No lists for a while either .Babies are a listing cure.


Last night tonight
Last time
To hold you tight
Tell you all about
The world .
Holding you close
Sweet smelling child
Singing you dreams
Whispering
She’s coming home tomorrow
Last chance
Breathing together
Lying intertwined
I love you
But you’re not mine.
She’s coming home tomorrow
The love of your life
She’s back with you tomorrow
The love of your life
She’s here tomorrow
Last night tonight.
Lie here with me
Skin to skin
I’ll hold you tight.

Op shops have been lost. Since Covid. And for some reason earrings and scarfs are associated with the Op shop. I have missed them all.
Op shops have been closed here in Fremantle for the last 6 weeks or so, during our social isolation. I admit that I have missed them. My spirits rose this week when Vinnies and Good Sammys announced their reopening. But the Fremantle ones are still closed so I will have to wait for my Op Shop fix.
Because the Op Shop is a fix. A time waster, a distractor, an economic benefit to the shopper and the recipients of no longer wanted goods, an equaliser. A fix nonetheless. The Op shop sorties boost my spirits. Op shops take me off my route list: the lists which guide my day, a neat or not so neat list of jobs made each week, and then transferred each day to my diary. Items include shopping, appointments, exercise, books to read, writing times. A mushrooming memorandum of my life.
In town I dutifully go from one shop to another ticking off food items as I go,and then finding the coffee reward .On the way though, before or after, I can nip into an Op shop “just to check if there are any large saucepans“(I am laudably cooking healthy food in large quantities during this time)“We need some more plates”(to replace those I drop daily in a rush to get outside in this blissful sunny weather and sick of cooking).
Inevitably I make my way to those racks of brightly coloured assorted clothes. Yes ,I need a warmer sweater, a strapless summer dress, a dance frock,(in the pre Covid days that is). And always there are scarves: all the colours I love, red and orange and yellow and the occasional blue. Silk scarves ,a bargain, cotton scarves,flimsy wisps of floating georgette or strongly stated satin; in winter knitted mohair and pure wool, patterned and plain, warm around the neck. Sure to set off my standard outfit of jeans and top, and jacket.
I get to the counter and there just happen to be some earrings that go with the scarf or scarves. More bargains to join the earring collection I have at home, perched on the window ledge like so many sparrows: earrings for every day, every mood -and it used to be for every gig. I used to have large dangly earrings, brightly coloured to match my brightly coloured hair. Now the brightly coloured hair is grey and my ears cannot sustain heavy earrings -but some of them remain on that ledge.
Blue wooden ones and some twisty lolly looking ones from a couple of trips to Melbourne, a wooden orange owl, one of a pair from the same place bought at a garage sale, a fun morning with my daughter in law wandering the street sales, the dangly retro ones powder blue and pink from my daughter in law, my favourite happy ones .The small beaded ones from the Fremantle bead shop,now closed, one ill matched pair remaining from several I bought so that I can lose one and still have a pair. $4 a pair ,so several to lose.The small skull ones: pink and orange and red pairs from the same place .But I dont wear them now because I no longer find the skulls amusing .
In fact , as I wrote at the beginning of this blog-I can’t go to op shops during this time of Covid. So my distracting and calming game of Lets Pretend To be Somewhere/Someone Else has been paused. Scarves and earrings are effective, easy ,economical and flexible transformers.
We can all afford a scarf or a pair of earrings. The fix is harmless and a happiness booster. A brief moment out of the lists sitting in our heads and we can transform ourselves. We can move to another unspecified place and just be whoever,wherever,however. And Hats?Well thats another story.

PS Op Shops in Fremantle are opening on Monday. Just in time -I need some warm scarves .

“…..only God ,my dear, could love you for yourself alone and not your yellow hair“WB Yeats For Anne Gregory
So why not blog about hair and life ,and how hair, or lack of it, defines identity. Or maybe I should say contributes to defining a part of the self. Outward appearance is governed by body shape and movement, and dress. Hair is a highly visible and easily changeable component of dress .
So now I have the shortest hair I’ve had since I was 18.I f I can find the shot I will put it up : a family photo taken after my graduation, mortarboard sitting heavily on top of a flat bowl haircut and a round face. Why? Well from memory I think it was a gesture of independence and difference.Yes my parents who until then had gone on about my Veronica Lake hair style that would make me blind in one eye, were shocked and upset. It would spoil their daughter image.I was not beautiful, nor outstandingly talented ,and was amongst young women at university who often were (or I thought they were). I got attention by dressing strangely, arguing, and cutting my hair.
Over the years I have had hair of varying lengths and colour, but never that short again -until today. Once before I cut it from long to shorter and that was not a gesture of defiance, just getting older and wanting a change. I regretted the cut immediately(See Barcelona Haircut below)
That was in my 60s when I had completed a long walk on my own – the Camino Frances, a striking out for adventure away from family. I left home for the second time .
I am ambivalent about this most recent shearing .The reason for the cut is that the hair growing during and after chemo is baby hair, fluffy and tufty. I look like a half bald clown when it sticks up around my head. A deluded saint, sporting a lopsided halo. The local barber did a good job of cutting off those downy bits.( See photo above.)
Now when I look back at the old photos where my hair was varying degrees of length, I just feel a recognition of the person I was. I acknowledge the mix of identities I grew into along the way. The loving, romantic, soft mother and wife was one I liked. There is some nostalgia in looking at family photos not seen for many years. It”s like viewing a documentary of interconnected lives. However the pervading feeling is of a sort of contentment, and huge gratitude for the special people in my life. Also for the person I was, with all the imperfections. Family then and now loved me for myself alone. And I hope God loved me too.
The paragraph above does not contradict what is the crux of this blog. Hair for men and women holds several possible connotations in relation to identity. One of them is mentioned above -women with long flowing hair of a certain style may be perceived as owning, or position themselves as having, all or some of these qualities : romantic, loving, gentle, fey, vulnerable, mysterious …….The most transparent and frequently held belief around hair concerns sexuality. The hair of women and men commonly diminishes with age, But it is interesting that whilst bald men may be seen as as sexy,bald woman are definitely not.
Even short haircuts in women are seen as a sign of the end of sexual activity; women cut their hair as long hair framing the face “drags your face down”,”makes you look older”,”makes you look like mutton dressed as lamb ” . “Its too hard to maintain”.
While I don’t necessarily agree with any of the above sentiments, I admit to holding them at some stages in my life. I also recognise that times have changed, views have changed. Short hair is back in. My very short haircut is “elfin”.
Hair is one of the easiest elements with which to hide deficiencies in appearance: imperfections like weight, wrinkles, sagging breasts, double chin. Men still don’t have to disguise all of these ? Maybe I’m making sweeping judgements again. It seems from the perspective of an old, married, happyish, sexually Ok woman that older men don’t agonise about their hair or about their appearance generally.
Women,in my experience, like dressing up. We contemplate changes in appearance because our external self mirrors a number of assumed identities, our multilayered selves. Style of hair, length and colour figure prominently in our make believe. And a periodic reinvention.
Generally we like longer hair because it can be altered. Unless we are Sinead O’conner, young, beautiful with an exquisite bone structure .
Barcelona Haircut This is not like the Waifs song
I haven t cut my hair to avenge
Or just to test
Your love for me without
My multicoloured strands
Long.
I didn’t cut it to atone
Or make a point
Not a symbol of moving on
Or finding God .
Perhaps a little wish to explore
Possible reinventions.
Oh how I wish
I‘d kept the swish
Against my cheek
Untidy hair falling
Held together by a scarf
With all my womanly art
Of looking groovy.
Couples everywhere
Holding hands, eating out
Sipping sangrias in sunny Spanish squares
And there’re women with hair
Long hair in bits hanging down
Long hair smooth
Long hair curled
Long hair coloured, tied in bunches, plaited, twirled
Long hair everywhere
On every street and square
This cut ain’t groovy at all
It isn’t even cool
It’s an unremarkable
Haircut
Will you still love me?
Ha!
Suzette Thompson
Note : Credit to Australian band The Waifs.Donna Simpsons song was an inspiration for this poem.
Also WB Yeats poem For Anne Gregory “Only God ,my dear, would love you for yourself alone and not your yellow hair”.

1967 Graduation and proud parents

