Sightings, Dispatch #3

Occasional views from the road

I was on my way home from the hair salon, where I had just spent more than two hours—and an amount of money I’m too cowardly to reveal—to keep my gray hairs in submission for another month.

I was cranky, we might say.

I rush to add that I love the woman who colors my hair and I enjoy the many conversations with customers who want to tell me what’s on their minds. I’m just embarrassed that I refuse to surrender in this fight I cannot win. Send photos of your uncolored hair if you must. I concede your superiority.

I have thick hair, which is why it takes so long to color, wash and dry, I’m told. I’m lucky to have this thick hair at my age, I’m also told. Apparently, it’s the only thing that prevents a flood of compliments focused on my shoes, which is the last resort for those who don’t know what to say to women over 50.

Before we move off the topic of hair, I’d like to address an occasional but persistent problem: You are not invited to approach me in public and tug on my hair so that you can confirm for your friends that it is real. I’m not saying I’ll yank your hair until you drop to your knees. And yet, I’m not saying I won’t.

Goodness. See what I mean? This is my mood after sitting still in a salon for 14 hours. Or was it two? Anyway, of course, I would never do that to you. Unless, of course, I would.

So, there I was, driving in a gentle rain when I pulled up behind this angry little duck flipping me off.

“Oh, come on,” I said out loud. “You’re giving me the finger?”

Of course, she wasn’t. She was giving me the feather, and we all know ducks don’t do that.

Geese, maybe. Especially when they’ve got all the kids with them, and they forget where they parked their car. It happens. I have pictures.

When your parents forget where they parked the car.

Still searching….

I was walking toward a Target when I spotted this family of two grown geese and 10 goslings roaming the parking lot. Up one aisle, down the next they waddled, the goose in the back quacking her frustration. Or was it blame?

It reminded me of the first time my future husband and I pulled into a parking lot near a movie theater. Three hours later, we walked out and Sherrod asked if I remembered where we had parked the car.

I sure did. Next to a red pick-up truck.

Unfortunately, I said that out loud, and it took a moment or two for me to realize I was suddenly walking alone. I will never forget the look on his face when I turned around to find him. Twenty years later, I still want to know why it was up to me to remember where we parked, but I concede that this wasn’t the issue in that moment.

When I first saw angry Little Duck, I was annoyed. Why put that out into the world? Fortunately, I had a few miles to recalibrate my perspective, as there was no escaping Little Duck. We were traveling the same road. Lots of eye contact.

Around mile two, I summoned the First Amendment warrior within and celebrated—or at least acknowledged—this driver’s exercise of free speech. Her car, her voice. Also, I’ve seen far worse messages plastered on bumpers in recent months, and too many trucks flying the flag of the losing side in the Civil War. This was a duck. An unfriendly one, perhaps, but still a duck.

Finally, at mile three, I figured it out. I was feeling affronted on behalf of the little duck in our house, the one who has been a constant bath time companion through 15 years of grandchildren.

He’s an odd little guy, faded red and always looking befuddled as he sits with the dinosaurs in the soap rack. I can’t tell you the last time a grandchild has had a bubble bath in that tub, but he’s used to the joint and that’s his perch. Every morning, he greets me with an apologetic face. He has no idea what the day will hold but he’s pretty sure it’s going to get messy.

At mile five, feather-flicking Little Duck and I parted ways. She turned right, and I turned left. This is not a partisan statement. It does, however, remind me of distant relatives I’ve never known who tell people they’ve disowned me. I’m smiling.