My Spring Ritual

Since graduating from college in 2000, without fail, Spring Fever hits me like a cyclone. For better or worse, it has sent me into a tail-spin that leaves me with a new 'do. As in, Hair-do.

I blame many things: abysmally long and colorless Minnesota winters, less distraction from the socially-charged atmosphere of school, too close examination in the bathroom mirror under bright lights, etc.

Historically, Spring Fever hits me in April, but the last two years, it has been May. Can you guess what I did last weekend? It turned out all right, considering. The uneven bits aren't even noticeable from a distance. Once, I took shears - yes, hair-clippers - to my pony-tail, which left me looking like a lopped-off brown dandelion. That was Spring Fever at its worst. Another time, I cut my hair so beautifully that, at work, people from all over the building were coming to view my masterpiece. That was Spring Fever at its best.

Every year has concluded with a call to my friend, Jeana, who obligingly fixes my car-crash of a hair-cut. The only exception was the Year of the Masterpiece, but she was still involved; I called her frantically, begging for her to come over and do it, before I wreaked havoc on my own head. She couldn't, but gave me exact instructions on how to do it well - patience, one layer at a time, keep the hair wet, use a hand-mirror, etc. Her advice may seem obvious, but it was a revelation to me. Patience? Use a mirror??

I followed her direction; it worked well. And while I haven't had as golden of a hair-cut since the Masterpiece of 2003, it has been good enough for me. Errr, once Jeana fixes it.