"Why is your hair always a mess?"

Words from my grandfather that have stuck with me my entire life.  He was a barber in the 70s, back when long hair was an agitation to him, the herald that the days of the weekly haircut may be coming to an end.  He liked a crisp edge and a precise crew cut, no hair in the face stuff.  And my grandmother, she was a beauty, with curlers at night and beautiful head of curls in the day, set and sprayed into place…perfect.  He was right, my hair was and still is always a mess.  I can’t answer why.  It’s the same as why are my eyes blue and why don’t I walk well in heels…just because, I guess.   He wasn’t alone; my mother would nag me, “would you get your hair out of your face!”   My hair is like cornsilk, thin and without body.  When I was a teenager I would braid my hair at night just to get some crimp and fullness; and then later, when I could afford one, I would perm my whole head, but honestly didn’t like the look.  I’m a ponytail girl, so even haircuts that kept my hair out of my face didn’t suit me.  So, everyday, I pull it back in a flip or pony tail and clip all the loose ends.  Done!  well, not so fast!  Last week, I went to the eye doctor and got a good report that I don’t completely understand… perfect 20/20 vision, but I can’t see 2 inches in front of my face…but, that’s another story.  To stay on point, while the doctor was peering under my lids, she noticed flecks of dust? Maybe a sty forming.  The visual of me on my hands and knees, brushing hair out of my face with my gloved hands to get a closer look at the vine or the weed or my pruning got her to thinking that messy hair for me is an occupational hazard.  There are oils and viruses on foliage and I don’t want any of that to get in my eyes.  So, for my eye health, I need to consider headbands, more clips, a new haircut…something to keep my hands away from my face.  My alarm woke me this morning in the middle of a dream, I was in a salon, getting my hair cut and I came out looking like Reba McIntyre.  That would make my grandfather happy.  But without a do-over on the horizon, I will start a new discipline to keep my gloved hands away from my eyes, because there doesn’t seem to be any taming of this graying mop!