The necessity for a gel-like hair product to keep my much-shorter-than-usual-hair out of my face arose when I cut it myself Wednesday morning. Most often, I cut my own hair but sometimes it isn’t quite right. I saw clients all day with it the way it was. No one said anything disparaging. One new client even remarked, “Wow, I love your hair!” Curly hair is, perhaps, more forgiving than straight hair. Booboos can be hidden in the waves. Still, I knew my handiwork left some glaring mistakes in its wake and in the waves. I wanted some help.
Before taking matters into my own hands, I had tried to connect with three different hair cutters whose work I like. Just to treat myself to a good cut - something I like to do at least once a year. Not one was available Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday... not until the following week.
Why not wait? It may sound really weird to most folks when I confess it... I prefer to cut my hair a few days before the new moon. When the moon begins to wax, the cosmic energies encourage growth. It’s also the optimum time to plant seeds, seedlings or to put full-grown potted plants or trees into the ground. So, my preferred window for a haircut was Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. Besides, it badly needed a cut.
So I got out the shears given to me by a former writing class buddy, Perry Brown. Among other things, Perry had been a barber in the 1930’s. A few of us classmates helped him and his wife Muriel with packing five years ago as they prepared to move from their condo in Van Nuys to Yountville’s commodious Veteran’s complex in northern California. As a gift of gratitude, Perry gave me his precious shears - sharp as ever and rarin’ to go. They’ve served me well since 2007. Perhaps they need sharpening now. Perhaps a poor craftswoman blames her tools.
When none of my usual hair-rescuers was available. I set up the mirrors in the bathroom and began to snip. In the past, when I’ve butchered it badly, Ruh, my most faithful hairdresser since 1985, has scolded me but always managed to fix it - maybe with a twinkle of understanding in her eye. While she was sorry to see me stop coloring my hair with Henna back in 1992, she knew I’m just not the salon type. I get antsy and feel as if I’m wasting time just sitting there reading women’s magazines or watching with horror and fascination what the other gals in the salon are doing to patrons or what the patrons are enduring for the sake of beauty. I don’t like the smell and I abhor the thought of putting toxic chemicals into the atmosphere and on my body.
The squeamishness about chemicals has made me seek alternatives to the usual beauty preparations over the years. Coconut oil for skin lotion, olive oil for make-up remover, as natural a sunscreen as I can find, aluminum-free mineral salt deodorants and a lovely face scrub made of ground oats and almonds all work just fine for me.
A couple of years ago my younger daughter thoughtfully put a push-pump bottle of hair gel into my Hannu-Clause Holiday stocking. It had very few unpronounceable ingredients. I was delighted. Alas, they stopped making it. I was out of gel.
Wednesday night my beloved was at camp. I went for a walk after my last client to enjoy the beauty of what Tropical Storm Fabio whipped up for us... a glorious sky, humid warm air and eventually a little rain. L.A. felt, looked and smelled like paradise! I walked for an hour and a half. Sunset was picture perfect crimson, salmon, purple and Maxfield Parish electric blue. Many folks were out and about just to enjoy the “real weather” which we don’t often get in southern California. When it began to rain, it was 8:30 at night and I happened to be passing Floyd’s Barber Shop on Colfax at Moorpark. I went right in and signed up for a haircut. Marci did a decent job without scolding me. She even told me about a shear sharpener who comes once a month to their shop! But my hair was certainly short! Now it needed some gel to hold it back out of my face. I walked home inhaling the rich scent of the earth calling out for more from the too short downpour.
Years ago, I found a book at a garage sale that has served me well. Now covered with Henna, well used and generally battered by my seeking alternatives to chemical beauty preparations, I pulled it out Wednesday night to see what I could find.
PERFECT! “Hair setting Gel,” it read. “Boil two tablespoons of flax seeds in a half pint of water for 30 minutes, add a cap-full of vodka or other spirits.” (I had Irish Whisky) “Add perfume if you like...” To the the strained and cooled goo I added a touch of Glycerine with Rose Water and voìlá! Good smelling hair gel with no unpronounceable ingredients. But please stand back - the results may be intoxicating. Hic!
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