"Change Your Hair and Change Your Life"

As I stand in line at the grocery store, I check out the other ladies, like a woman does. We size each other up, make comparisons to ourselves, assess our success or failure on the attractiveness meter. As I continue to wait my turn in line, I notice something. Among the women my age, I determine that our hair styles are all pretty much the same. We are all some combination of blond highlights, mostly straight and with nothing below the shoulder. I wonder to myself. When had we all stopped trying to be different? We had gradually morphed into the same middle aged woman in capri pants.

I start to whistle Little Boxes. For anyone not familiar with this song, it was recorded by Malvina Reynolds in 1961, and came back into the spotlight as the theme song for the Showtime series Weeds. It is a somewhat of a social commentary on sameness.




There is a certain comfort in sameness, in knowing where we fit. There is a certain sadness in it too. Turning fifty is a time of reflection for many as we take a closer look at ourselves. We question and we self evaluate. Why am I here? Why do I have the same outfit and the same haircut as everyone else? Is it a lack of imagination, a lack of courage, or is it simply a lack of effort? It does take effort to be different. It is not always the popular thing to do. Some may view it as uppity, immature or even crazy.

So as my mind continues to wander,I think of people with great hair, truly amazing ,unforgettable hair, and I am jealous. Why was I born with this straight, thin, nothing hair? I lament to myself. This is my fate, to be just like everyone else with this hair. If only I’d been born with thick, curly hair, then perhaps I would stand out in the crowd. I’d probably be a famous author by now, living in a fabulous villa, sipping limoncello by the sea. It’s all my damn hair’s fault! I decide to myself that some change must be in order!

When a woman changes her hair, it is usually just the beginning. There are bigger changes to come. Change your hair and change your life, so the saying goes. Since I am pretty comfortable with my life, I pause to reevaluate my plan and then I think of Aunt Doris. Aunt Doris wore the very same hairstyle from the time that she was in her early twenties, until the day she died. It was the same color and style, meticulously coiffed and properly rolled each and every day of her life. She never changed a thing,ever. I am sure that her hair stylist loved her.

For most ladies, your hair stylist is an important member of your team. You just don’t change unless you have a darn good reason. It is like re-electing the incumbent. Fear of the unknown can take over and often will lead to complacency. Why change when accepting the status quo is so much easier? We know that what we have is not all that bad, so why risk getting something truly awful?

So again I think of Aunt Doris and I remind myself that change is good. Maybe it is time to take off in a new direction. I will start with the hair and see where is goes from there. My villa by the sea is waiting.

Fear the Carb Nazi!

We all know them. They can rain on a dinner party when the sun is shining. They can make you feel small and weak and downright lesser than, these folks with ironclad willpower and the willingness to show it. I call them the Carb Nazi’s. Carb Nazi’s will look down their noses with suspicion at those who indulge in the glorious world of the carbohydrate.

For those of us of Italian American descent, carbohydrates are like water and air. We simply can’t live without them. There is a common expression in Italian, “Buono Come il Pane”, which translates as ”As Good as Bread.” This expression is used to describe someone or something of true goodness, simple and down to earth. We get together to “Break Bread.” The act of tearing off a junk of hard crusty bread from a shared loaf is a sign of friendship.

The world of Italian breads is vast and wide. We’re not talking Wonder Bread here folks. Wonder Bread is one of those products that I put in the same category as Spaghetti O’s. No self respecting Italian would eat them unless starving on a desert island somewhere with nothing else. These breads are truly a thing of beauty. A walk through an isle of your favorite bakery or Italian grocery store is a feast for the eyes and the nose, with stacks of paper wrapped loaves in varying shapes. Ciabatta, focaccia, braided breads, and flatbreads will grace the senses.

Then there is the pasta. There are more types and shapes of pasta than I could possibly expand upon in this short post. Sauces dance across these varied shapes al dente, using fresh simple ingredients to create culinary bliss.

The problem that we often have with pasta in this country is the same problem that we have with everything else, over doing it. The oversized, over sauced, over cooked and over cheesed dishes arrive to the table in many restaurants in buckets, not plates. In Italy, pasta is not typically served as the main course but as a first course, un primo, following gli antipasti, the appetizers. It is most often served as a smaller portion, with light flavorful sauces, as a primer for what is to come. You see it is not an all or nothing proposition.

Carb Nazi’s take the all or nothing approach to the extreme. Carb Nazi’s really do want to eat carbs. The more they deny themselves, the more they want them. The act of making anything off limits only serves to increase the desire. Their eyes glaze over and their backs stiffen as the bread basket is passed. They look straight ahead and avoid eye contact with the bruschetta while nibbling lettuce. It’s painful to watch, poor dears.

Call my crazy, but I’d rather spend my time in a quest for a fuller life, than a smaller waistline. I’d much rather spend my time around the table with friends and family happily breaking bread.