Deck Musings

    For the second day since the great white heat of summer 2018, I've enjoyed a morning and afternoon breeze with time on the deck. Ahh, retirement.
   While the to-do list waits, I'll contemplate my recent interest in WWI. We barely studied it in Coach Taylor's class at CHS, but I love history and learning new things. Several new perspectives have been shared through newspaper articles. Some deal with various architectural style of trenches dug across Europe, others with several counties in Arkansas protesting the service obligation to the point of combat.
    I'll share thoughts on the upcoming Centennial of the Armistice - at 11:00 on 11/11/1918, a cease-fire was declared - the end of The Great War, the War to end all War.
    A noble goal after years of horrific bloodshed in Europe which the US joined after years of quasi-neutrality.
   Multiple events are planned and I look forward to participating in those which are centered at Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum and Educational Center and the City Market. I've come to appreciate Hemingway's writing style and his sojourn into the Great War as an ambulance driver which brought him the adventure he sought and swept him into humanity's struggle with loss.
   Ten years after the Armistice, Ernest accompanied his second wife, Pauline Pfeiffer, to her parents' home and from the barn which they fashioned into a studio, he penned a good portion to his famous war novel, A Farewell to Arms.

Hare Today, Goon Tomorrow

     When the Back to School vibe gets into full swing, my memory machine gets cranking. For as long as I can remember, Mother gave me a Toni Home Permanent (Tonette!) before school started.
The smell.
The papers.
The rods.
The torture I endured for pretty curls.
Like I had a choice.
I was a child.



The Toni Home Permanent did not frizz my hair for which I am grateful, but I could hardly sleep at night with the fragrance (?) circling my pillow.

As my hair grew and the perm "grew out" a bit, Mother would use either "spoolies" or "pinkies" to assist in keeping the curls abundant.

 Remember the sound of the spoolie being folded over to trap the wrapped hair?
My curls were numerous and my hair so silky that the waves often carried the indention from the plastic snap-over on the sponge thing we called "pinkies."

Going back to school had more to do with pretty hair, a good hair cut, or a soft wave-only perm than the right school supplies or book satchel or lunch box. Oh, what a nightmare on a first day of school when my forehead looked as if I'd recently recovered from a frontal lobotomy and had forgotten to wrap gauze around the scar. The elastic that held the dryer bonnet in place would make horrid indentations and necessitated an attempt at heavy bangs to cover the abomination.

Here's to all the girls whose mothers "jerk a knot" in their heads to create ponytails and pigtails adorned with big bows to brighten the first day of school.