This morning I enjoyed a very warm cup of tea , (Ahhh and Yum and perfect for getting the day on it's way.) My favorite brand: Twinings! My favorite flavor: today it is Earl Grey, with a dash of milk.
While enjoying my tea, I spent some time reading some new blogs by my new cyber friend, J A S. (Good morning to you by the way!)
I had a girlish laugh at his blog entitled, "There will always be..." (unfortunately no longer available. It reminded me of a long ago time, when I was four years old and everyone was asleep and the sun was just waking up.
I had a favorite doll with fair plastic skin and blonde synthetic hair. In the 70's one was hard pressed to find a doll with anything but (fair skin and blonde hair). I myself had brunette hair. Quite long, with ringlets at the ends, and usually put in braids to keep it from knotting.
For a very long time I had wanted my doll's blonde hair, if only for a moment. On this particular morning I was overcome with envy and armed with scissors and glue. Crouched behind the couch in the living room, I began the transplant.
Snip! I had separated a nice chunk of golden hair. Snip! I had separated a nice chunk of auburn braid. And now for the trade off. Putting down the scissors, I grabbed for the glue. Elmer's All Purpose, with the blue and white label. Stronger than the Elmer's school glue, I hoped it would hold well. It would take some time to dry, but I was prepared to wait.
What could not have been more than three minutes later, the two of us were covered in sopping glue and I was filled with sorrow. It did not help at all that her permanent smile was still permanently smiling back at me. I realized that she would always be smiling stupidly as if nothing was wrong; she was not as beautiful as I thought.
I sat there, as the sun began to creep over us, sobbing quietly in dismay and sadness. Not only was the glue not working, but sorrow for my dismembered braid filled me. I could never get it back. And with each passing second, my love for the inanimate object before me was dissipating. I could never look at her the same again.
Sad that all I remember was her hair. Not what she looked like exactly, and even more deserting is the fact that I cannot for the life of me remember what I called her.
On the brighter side, my hair has since become a source of pride, as many other aspects of me have. This is because I had early on realized that "there will always be....", and that I always will be too.