20/20

I'm in the pickup line at Rockville High School on this cold and sparkling January afternoon; so sunny that the glare makes it hard to see. I'm listening to the impeachment trial on the radio. I know that a Democrat is speaking but I don't know which one. In the absence of any witnesses I guess they're all going to just make speeches. I can’t see so good but I can hear this scalding hot mess just fine.

*****
While we're on the subject of scalding hot messes, it's cluster concert time. I'm in the Rockville High School parking lot again, because it's too early to go in there.

It's my fifth cluster concert and my younger son's first. I dropped him off at 5:30 and ran errands before returning to attend the concert. We were almost late. We had to hunt for a black bow tie. And we were literally out the door when my son dropped something and bent over to pick it up, displaying a quarter inch of gleaming white tube sock between the sharply pressed black tuxedo pants and the mirror shine of his black dress shoes. "Auuugghh," he groaned when I ordered him to change his socks. "Who cares about my socks?" I'm not the most fashion-conscious person, but you better believe that I care about black socks with black pants. Someone has to stand up for civilization around here.

*****
It’s Friday now. The concert was quite lovely, after a slightly rough start from the elementary school string ensemble. In a reasonable world, there probably shouldn’t be such a thing as a string ensemble made up of elementary school children but we’re long past the hope for a reasonable world. They started with “Simple Gifts,” but they were at least 16 bars in before I recognized it. Their second selection, however, was noticeably better, so I guess “Simple Gifts” was a warm-up. The high school students played last, and they sounded like the New York Philharmonic by comparison. So there’s a performing arts tip for you: Always book an elementary school string ensemble as your opening act. The show can only go up from there.

*****
It’s Saturday today. Not such a good day. I don’t know why. Maybe because January started six months ago and seems to be just getting started. And yes, Netflix, I AM still watching “Schitt’s Creek.” Don’t judge me.

I went shopping today, and I forced myself to try on some clothes. I even bought a few things. I looked longingly at the handbags, but I didn’t buy one. I bought blouses. And a sweater. I needed pants but I couldn’t find any that didn’t have super high waists. I can’t get behind that look. I’ll probably learn to embrace it six months after it’s out of style; but for now, I’m going to stick with what I know, if I can find it. Or I’ll just keep wearing my old pants. I wore very old pants today, and a very old sweater, and raggedy sneakers, and then I wondered why I felt so sad and dumpy. I hate January.

Netflix aside, it’s been a busy day and it’s not over. It’s 6 PM and I could easily go to bed now but my son has a nighttime swim meet, so I’ll be standing on a pool deck in an hour. I need to do something. I'm not so good at picking out Saturday morning outfits, but I'm very good at timing swim meets. I might as well do that.

*****

Did you ever cut your own hair? I used to cut my own hair all the time, but that’s when I was young. We all used to cut our own hair. But middle-aged ladies don’t generally cut their own hair.

I had a bad day yesterday. My hair had nothing to do with that, but it didn’t help, either. So I got through the day, because I always do, and things just seemed better today. I went grocery shopping after Mass, and sang along with a song that was playing on the store’s sound system.

My hair, sadly, was still a mess. So I came home, found the sharpest scissors in the house, spread some paper towels over the bathroom sink, and got to work.

I bet you thought that this wasn’t going to end well, but it turns out that I can cut my own hair. Use lots of clips, twist sections and trim the ends, cutting tiny points; and stop every few minutes to make sure the whole thing isn’t getting away from you, and you’ll end up with a pretty reasonable facsimile of a haircut. It turned out fine.  That’s probably a one-time thing, of course. A person can get away with one DIY haircut every so often but even I know that I can’t make a habit of taking scissors to my head every time I have a bad hair day. Beginner’s luck runs out eventually.

Is there a more beautiful song lyric than “Here is that rainbow I’ve been praying for?” Not today there isn’t. The sun is out again today, and I can see clearly this time. I got the hair out of my eyes, you know?