Here comes the hair!

Okay šŸ™‚ I have a smile on my face because today’s post is about NOTHING important. You know how lovely it is, I assume, to think about unimportant things as opposed to those scary-oh-shit-this-isn’t-happening-it’s-all-a-dream sorta stuff. None of that today.

Instead this is about hair. Not the loss of hair, but the growth!

Christmas 2010 – sooo long ago, yet very vivid in my memory, I was cracking jokes about reverse balding as my monk-like hairdo slowly began to spread in wisps of light brown hair over my bare head.Ā  It was almost worse than being bald, because bald can be sexy, cool, edgy, hip . . . but random wisps around my crown with a bald patch on the top is not sexy. I covered my head more in those days than when my scalp was completely bare.

Christmas 2011 – not soo long ago, but a bit of a memory by now. The hair had grown back across my head, and while it was about an inch, it was cute. Downside was that I had a massive V-shaped hairline, exactly like my brother’s, and it wasn’ exactly feminie. But the hair was coming. . . ohhh baby, it was coming!

Spring 2012 – I shake my head and bangs fall before my eyes, over my eyes, hanging all the way down BELOW my eyes. HAIR. HAIR. HAIR. Beautiful, glorious hair. No matter that it flipps out to the sides like some Archie Comic character. No matter! It’s hair!

And I predict that by Christmas of 2012, this stuff may just be styled into a proper bob. It may even have BLOND HIGHLIGHTS.

Okay, I’m abusing the use of capital letters. Okay, I’ll stop. BLOND HIGHLIGHTS!!!! Okay, I’m done.

[Zsolt just came upstairs and massaged my shoulders. . . oh my goodness. Every home should have a Zsolt.]

Anyhow, it’s still a little strange and crazy, but it’s coming in. No way do I look bald, and it took about two or three months after treatment for it to fully grow in and cover the head. Short hair looks gorgeous on women, by the way, and I truly believe each and every one of us can rock this look.

Sometimes I look at women who are 2 or 3 years out of treatment, and I literally ogle their hair. Ā It’s almost hard to focus on their conversation. (Is this how men feel about breasts? No wonder they get distracted.) For some reason, the importance of hair is so deeply ingrained into us. It’s associated with health, with femininity, with sexuality, with glossiness and – really, it’s deeply linked to identity.

And honestly, I’m almost kinda nervous to grow it out into a bob, to dye it blond again, to go back to that look I had before chemotherapy (though I love that look). . . I guess I’m a little afraid I’ll lose it all over again. But I can’t be afraid of things just because they were associated with cancer. Can’t abide with the fear.

My wedding anniversary is upcoming. I will be excited for it. I will not freak out that I’ve got an oncologist appointment right around the same time (this is where the important stuff starts creeping into the conversation, and I promised not to go there today – so it stops here.).

Blond is good. Hair is good. And sweetness of all sweetness, it’s finally coming back.

Toilet Troubles

Friday morning the toilet was running – that valve inside the tank wouldn’t lift all the way up, so it instead kept filling and draining continuously. This had been going on for a while. While the toilet reigns from Japan (where apparently, they do toilets very well), I suppose all good things come to an end. A repair was required.

So off my Dad goes to the hardware shop. He returns with a ā€˜one size fits all’ toilet valve thing. ā€œI don’t think this will workā€ he asserts. ā€œWe’ve got a Toto, and I don’t think this will work.ā€ But nevertheless he takes apart the Toto valve and tried to install the new part.

It didn’t work.

So then he goes back to the store and instead of returning the generic ā€˜one size fits all’ valve, he instead picks up the Toto brand in addition to the generic he already has, and come back.

But then he needs a special sort of wrench, so run back to the shop.

He returns, ready to tackle the toilet. As he fixes the main hall Toto, he then decides to also refitĀ another toilet (not a Toto) with the generic valve. And what follows is a journey of leaking pipes, second opinions, and nearly buying an entirely new toilets.

But he persevered, and about three hours later everything was running fine, all drips and leaks contained. šŸ™‚ (Whooohoo!)

Sometimes you think you’re dealing with a sticky valve, and wind up tackling an entire home renovation.Ā  Which is kinda the journey we’ve taken ever since coming back to Canada.

The great news is that my freelance writing is going well, and Zsolt is doing some consulting for a patent agency. He thinks it’s an interesting field, so that’s very promising. Apparently it can take about 3-5 years to become a patent agent – but first you need to get hired as a trainee within a firm. (If you know any patent agency looking for a trainee to join their team, do let us know.) Consulting doesn’t count toward the patent agent exams, so far as I know, but it’s a step in the right direction in terms of experience.

Anyhow – I haven’t written very much on my blogs lately, largely because my mind has been all wrapped up and absorbed in ā€˜making it’ here. And like I said once before, I don’t generally write about a subject if it involves another person’s problem. Zsolt and I are a super-duper team, but that also means his problema are my problem, and my problems are his problem.

So the toilets need fixing, and it’s taking much longer than expected. However, I remain 100% optimistic that everything will turn out well. In the meantime we plan to move out very, very soon (to the relief of my parents, I’m sure) so that in itself will be a great adventure.

And of course there’s that oncologist appointment at the end of this month. I get these occasional pinging feelings in my breast that worry me, though I think they’re related to my cycle and hormones, but nevertheless I seem to be at my ā€œpre-scanā€ stage where my worries begin to escalate. Dr Canada wants me to get a mammogram . . . I’d much rather have an ultra sound. We’ll see what happens.

And so we keep on keeping on. Life as of late seems full of transition. Transition is great and variety is fun, but my goodness, I’m hankering for some stationary living. Unpacking those boxes we’ve had stored in the basement, buying a welcome rug, feeling really truly within my own home. They’re coming. They are coming. It’s just taking a wee bit longer than expected.

Ā 

The Peanut Butter Paradox: working from home

Is there anything better than peanut butter on the spoon? What about being wrapped in double layer bathrobes while nodding your head to grooveshark, AND eating peanut butter on a spoon? Cause I’m doing all those things right now. Plus – let’s add some extra joy – actually doing work as well. Like, work I get paid for. (It’s a miracle!)

Ever since arriving in Canada, Zsolt and I have been trying to find our space but it’s been slow going. For some reason our plan of ā€˜show up and let it fall into your lap’ didn’t quite work out. Of course I’ll never ever want to retract our summer of loveliness that involved little else but family, fun and gelato, but it did mean that upon arriving in Canada – finally separated from England’s happy nest – we were starting from scratch.

And from scratch I’ve begun a small business of blogging/writing/and social media-ing for other people. Unlike copywriting, copyblogging this doesn’t make me want to hit my head – cause it’s fun. The topics are fun, and I can choose what areas to work within. Obviously writing is a passion. Now it’s becoming a passion that (soon) pays the rent. Fantastic.

But you know what the downside of working from home can be? I’m sitting here in two bathrobes, licking peanut butter and have yet to take a shower. And if I stay like this all day than I’m officially a total slob.

So I propose a work-from-home support group. What this involves is meeting others who work from home at Starbucks or Bridgehead or your public space of choice (like the library if you have a good one . . . no one of those depressing ones) and working together. Yesterday afternoon this is exactly what a girl friend and I did, and it not only got me outta the house, it also gave me reason to shower, look pretty, and exercise (cause I walked).

And we went to the cafe, sipped on our teas, read our papers/wrote our stories, and time-to-time chatted to one another. Almost like working in a open concept office where the boss doesn’t stare down your neck, except the tea wasn’t free. It was productive in so many ways that I have to recommend it.

The stay-at-home and work support group – aka: the Time for Tea and Get Yourself Pretty For Once support group. Getting you out of the house, one coffee or tea at a time.

;P