tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19950973390299060652024-03-05T15:52:21.028-05:00pañuelo girlone woman's crooked path to self-acceptance after losing her hair to alopeciaCHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-86019805615870750982013-06-26T14:35:00.001-04:002013-06-27T18:54:35.419-04:00How to Tie a Christy Pañuelo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLhsntGgjkl1xYMUeUBZNeC0TTkYIGqqQhzOkmewY7AlPWZWWp6jvvjQWAnQJ7gbol9uAlflJ0QcNUwx6P0_JOHy0UP7LUFZgfg6d_5jJmXYiBbZDnAutL6OGFkqdeauJcXgCOJNc_GpN/s1600/Step+1+Start+with+a+Square.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLhsntGgjkl1xYMUeUBZNeC0TTkYIGqqQhzOkmewY7AlPWZWWp6jvvjQWAnQJ7gbol9uAlflJ0QcNUwx6P0_JOHy0UP7LUFZgfg6d_5jJmXYiBbZDnAutL6OGFkqdeauJcXgCOJNc_GpN/s200/Step+1+Start+with+a+Square.JPG" width="200" /></a><b>Step 1:</b> Lay out a square bandanna or scarf. Yes, a square. Which limits you, because a lot of scarves sold today are rectangular. Save those lovely rectangular scarves to wear around your neck. My favorite fabric is rayon batik, because it has a nice drape and the pattern is the same on both sides. Cotton batik is also nice, but the drape is a bit stiffer. A standard 100% cotton bandanna is fine and will soften over time, especially if you dry it in the dryer. Wool is scratchy against my sensitive scalp and silk doesn't like to stay in place on a bare head. But that's just me. What works for you will depend on how much hair you have, how itch tolerant you are, and what look you're going for.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxW_DrPcfPnJch2xZqC-f3Cev5OGmnKwKROjmfUoW0LAeDJeMWCfg_yYeXiwZjFQhAQFJq-UDpGI3IWCVG5gxd4_nIkBReFAGHUEVLFiY9G4TPCCUyzoNuQkmVD08LaXtuWjc5yeU9Ad5/s1600/Step+2a+Fold+into+Triangle+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxW_DrPcfPnJch2xZqC-f3Cev5OGmnKwKROjmfUoW0LAeDJeMWCfg_yYeXiwZjFQhAQFJq-UDpGI3IWCVG5gxd4_nIkBReFAGHUEVLFiY9G4TPCCUyzoNuQkmVD08LaXtuWjc5yeU9Ad5/s200/Step+2a+Fold+into+Triangle+2.JPG" width="200" /></a><b>Step 2:</b> Fold the square tip to tip to form a triangle. If it's a large scarf like the pañuelos my mother sews for me (27"x27"ish or more), proceed to step 3.</div>
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<b>Note:</b> If it's a typical bandanna (20"x20"ish), you might want to give yourself more fabric to work with, which can be done by shifting one tip down a few inches.<br />
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<b>Step 3: </b>Drape the long flat end across your forehead. If you've assembled your triangle tip to tip, then it doesn't matter which side you use because they're both the same. If you've extended your fabric like the example above, be sure to put the larger, uninterrupted side on the outside.<br />
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<b>Note: </b>At the back you should have three tails.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6r4QRZ21GbylAp-ZLD9aFEa_5q1Jz6RM0GkC8fNubgsJYLNiJ5CuVrDgsu67NJiWWnDvD5S28LBNI92VsyyfilI0AbdF032x6Qo8S9_DK0BvgPMWXOkHocE5BIRgGAdSqFWs1QjSn-3q/s1600/Step+4+Grab+one+of+the+outer+tails.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeVvJU4Ffj6U6hUsIEo7M83UVMBdL58R-4b6WIrvnxcXSBXqh8vzbXCn2J82PEAcPt5R9tnOw3pV_NROcaWx_Ioc6WEE2rTfY2L51s-hKFighZCRv1IsEsGupUKGrXNouaJkFbMaimRje/s1600/Step+3c+Tighten+across+Forehead.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeVvJU4Ffj6U6hUsIEo7M83UVMBdL58R-4b6WIrvnxcXSBXqh8vzbXCn2J82PEAcPt5R9tnOw3pV_NROcaWx_Ioc6WEE2rTfY2L51s-hKFighZCRv1IsEsGupUKGrXNouaJkFbMaimRje/s200/Step+3c+Tighten+across+Forehead.JPG" width="195" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6r4QRZ21GbylAp-ZLD9aFEa_5q1Jz6RM0GkC8fNubgsJYLNiJ5CuVrDgsu67NJiWWnDvD5S28LBNI92VsyyfilI0AbdF032x6Qo8S9_DK0BvgPMWXOkHocE5BIRgGAdSqFWs1QjSn-3q/s1600/Step+4+Grab+one+of+the+outer+tails.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6r4QRZ21GbylAp-ZLD9aFEa_5q1Jz6RM0GkC8fNubgsJYLNiJ5CuVrDgsu67NJiWWnDvD5S28LBNI92VsyyfilI0AbdF032x6Qo8S9_DK0BvgPMWXOkHocE5BIRgGAdSqFWs1QjSn-3q/s200/Step+4+Grab+one+of+the+outer+tails.JPG" width="195" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3L4hSnqRfBqDxJqrBV81y9k_Ebp9zpk8vbgxw4oPxgDMk71tJy0DhaORuGoA0j3jIRnNEqzHKFB9WQBZzXONEQ1w7JO2Py2YHEKYf9eJKYhYyqE6Yac-fF9rtAk6emLazlEm2U47qM3qZ/s1600/Step+5+Tie+Outer+Tails+Over+Flap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3L4hSnqRfBqDxJqrBV81y9k_Ebp9zpk8vbgxw4oPxgDMk71tJy0DhaORuGoA0j3jIRnNEqzHKFB9WQBZzXONEQ1w7JO2Py2YHEKYf9eJKYhYyqE6Yac-fF9rtAk6emLazlEm2U47qM3qZ/s200/Step+5+Tie+Outer+Tails+Over+Flap.JPG" width="193" /></a><span style="text-decoration: none;"><b>Step
4: </b>Tighten the flat end across your forehead. Play with positioning so
that you get the amount of forehead you want to show. Some people prefer their
headscarves low; others like them at the hairline so they're able to display
their entire forehead. Place your scarf where you feel most comfortable.</span><br />
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<b>Step 5:</b> Take the two outer tips and tie them over the middle triangular flap. I like to use a double knot: right over left and around, left over right and around -- just as I learned in Girl Scouts. Tie the knot as tight as you can; it will loosen up the minute you let go of the fabric, and even more so throughout the day. In fact you may want to retie throughout the day just to be sure your scarf stays securely in place.<br />
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<b>Step 6:</b> Smooth down the middle flap. Pull down any bunched up fabric that's hiding under the headscarf so that it hangs nicely in the back. Work out any wrinkles and bumps in the front. Readjust where your scarf crosses your forehead, if necessary. Smile like a crazy person and hit the town!<br />
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How do you tie your headscarves? I'd love to get your ideas!<br />
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<br />CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-42363473872959089452012-11-25T11:36:00.002-05:002012-11-25T11:36:51.876-05:00So Thankful<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">We all make different choices in life, and while no one path is better than another, I'm grateful for the life I've led, not always what I envisioned, not always easy, not always socially acceptable, but always rewarding in the ways I've come to value most. At 45, I don't have a spouse or children, don't own a house or have much of a retirement account, don't have a big title or salary or even a benefits package, but I've traveled to 19 countries, resided in 12 U.S. cities, worked in a pub outside of London, served in the Peace Corps, run two marathons and five half marathons, completed five triathlons (sprint distance), hiked and snowshoed in more national and state parks than I can count, climbed three fourteeners (peaks above 14,000 feet) (two in one day), soaked in three of Colorado's natural hot springs as well as one in southern Bolivia, earned my MBA and MFA, edited a magazine for stroke survivors and their caregivers, and taught some form of writing to hospitalized children, homeless youth and now college students. I've witnessed an active volcano, stood atop Machu Picchu, wandered through ancient ruins, saw original artworks in museums around the world, and encountered in their natural habitat a variety of wildlife including monkeys, sloth, an anteater, toucans, anaconda, pink dolphins, llamas, alpaca, capybara, flamingoes, whales, big horn sheep, moose, elk, and a mountain goat. I've mourned the loss of a friend to a drunk driver and another to ovarian cancer and the brother of a friend to suicide and from these tragedies I've learned that life is short and must be lived fully and I've done just that. I've lost my hair and journeyed to acceptance and I've written a 300+-page manuscript about it and through the experience have found my purpose in life: to create a world where it's ok to be hairless. And best of all is that I've experienced much of this with you, my friends and family, and these adventures not only shaped who I am today but have bonded us in ways that cannot be broken by distance or even time. And so during this season of gratitude, I am thankful for the gift of life and for you, the people who make it worth living.</span>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-63276428597478323072012-01-16T14:22:00.004-05:002012-01-16T14:32:12.303-05:00Why I’m Pro Bald Barbie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cObqtvs21M5jj_-BvlawYxJyHEQVdaeC8_i8JyHKhfsqaR4kt6ON_bjDyF4ArWx3xl64GdXyOC0cVol-Kza78wsvR-N73WzmDY1305n-JrzXtRTcDSGOIv9jud8Pg8eUGjCkkprIREOM/s1600/403818_214999461919385_207039082715423_463988_1324171479_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cObqtvs21M5jj_-BvlawYxJyHEQVdaeC8_i8JyHKhfsqaR4kt6ON_bjDyF4ArWx3xl64GdXyOC0cVol-Kza78wsvR-N73WzmDY1305n-JrzXtRTcDSGOIv9jud8Pg8eUGjCkkprIREOM/s200/403818_214999461919385_207039082715423_463988_1324171479_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698313236633576482" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">There’s a growing movement to get Mattel to create Bald Barbie. The rationale, as I understand it, is to provide a relatable doll for young girls who’ve lost their hair due to medical conditions and treatments. A doll they can see themselves in. As a long-term alopecian and recent cancer survivor, I support that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But that’s not why I’m Pro Bald Barbie.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Let’s be clear. I’m not exactly Pro Barbie. Sure, I had quite a collection when I was a young girl. But I also grew up with a warped idea of what it means to be a woman. My waist was never narrow enough; my chest, not full enough; my eyes, not wide enough; my nose, not small enough; my legs, not long enough; my thighs, never, ever slim enough…The list goes on. Was this Barbie’s fault? No. But she didn’t help. I’m not sure that any girl ever looks at Barbie and sees herself, and I’m not sure that Bald Barbie would change that. What she could do, however, is help normalize female baldness in our society.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t think people realize what it takes to be female and bald in America. I’m not talking about chemo patients, though they experience their own hair loss challenges. What I’m talking about is the experience of girls and women facing long-term hair loss due to alopecia. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes, there are wigs. Most bald women wear one, especially in the beginning. For those who have the money, there are wigs so fancy even your closest scrutinizers won’t guess you’re bald. But be prepared to pay three thousand dollars or more for this option, a small price to feel normal, you’ll tell yourself. Even with the most natural of wigs, however, eventually you’re going to have to explain why you avoid immersing yourself in water, sharing hotel rooms, gale force winds, open gym showers, and anything that involves turning you upside down. Eventually you will have to tell the guy you’re dating that your scalp is bare, or patchy, and that your hair is really a wig.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Let’s say you choose to be bald and beautiful or to adorn your head with scarves. Be prepared for people to assume you have cancer and to approach you with their concerns and good wishes—all the time. Be prepared to explain that you have alopecia, not cancer, an autoimmune disease that causes your body to fight off your hair. Every now and then, you may be accused of making a mockery of cancer when someone finds out your hair loss is caused by something else. Be prepared to respond with dignity. On rare occasions, you may be called an alien, a pirate, or a lesbian feminist Nazi who just wants attention. Be prepared to laugh it off, have fun with it, or ignore it, depending on the situation. Be prepared to explain your hair loss in job interviews, obtain permission to wear a head scarf in passport photos, maybe even remove your scarf on command for an ID photo. Be prepared to be stopped cold in the driver’s license office by the simplest of questions: What is your hair color?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Though I embraced my hairlessness years ago, I still struggle to feel normal without hair. Would a doll in my own image help me feel better about myself? Maybe. You know what would help more? If the rest of the world understood, accepted, and embraced bald females.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see Bald Barbie not just as a token doll for those who are familiar with hair loss, but as a conversation starter and educational tool for those who aren’t. If every household contained one Bald Barbie, maybe the next generation would grow up thinking that bald girls are normal. As a result, maybe bald girls wouldn’t feel so isolated, ashamed, unattractive, and unworthy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I support Bald Barbie, even with all her unrealistic proportions, because I think her presence could help create a world where it’s ok to be bald and female. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m Pro Bald Barbie because I believe she could be a game changer.</p> <!--EndFragment-->CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-34289524046519983302011-12-05T16:59:00.013-05:002011-12-05T17:46:58.994-05:00We The Alopecians<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;" >Here’s the thing about alopecians: We’re not all the same.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;" >Some are born without hair. Some lose it so early in life they don’t remember ever having hair—or losing it. Some lose their hair in childhood. Some lose it as teenagers. Some lose it as adults. Some lose it in patches that can be covered up. Some lose it all over their bodies and don’t even have a single nose hair. Some lose it in patches for awhile, then progress to total hair loss. Some respond to current treatments such as steroid injections. Some respond to alternative medicines. Some don’t respond to any treatment at all. Some respond until they don't. Some get their hair back for no known reason. Some get their hair back every so many years. Some get their hair back during pregnancy. Some feel comfortable talking about it. Some never talk about it. Some feel comfortable only in wigs, some in scarves, some in bare scalps, some in tattooed scalps. Some can't imagine the possibility of ever being happy and hairless at the same time. Some blame all their problems in life on alopecia. Some do arrive at true self-acceptance. Some feel sexy and beautiful without hair. Some feel undateable because of their hairlessness. Some have met and married life partners. Some think maybe we shouldn’t be so self-accepting or we’ll never seek a cure. Some worry that if we joke about our bald heads, we’re not taking the disease seriously enough.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Because we have such different experiences, we do not always present a united front. Maybe that’s a good thing. Discussions and debates can challenge our own beliefs and offer alternative perspectives. When done respectfully, they can help us grow.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="Times New Roman"">I cannot—and I do not—speak for all alopecians. I am just one person among the millions worldwide with alopecia. I’m on my own journey—a journey, I must add, that involves frequent evolution in thought and beliefs. Today, sixteen years after losing my hair, I’m not sure I’d welcome my hair back. I don’t even own a hairbrush, much less a curling iron or blow dryer. I rather enjoy being able to get ready quickly without having to bother with hair. I do not miss the hefty price tags of foil colors and perms and styles at fine hair salons. I have found alternative ways to feel feminine: I wear dresses, I get regular mani/pedis, and every once in awhile I wear cute heels that hurt my feet. I’m not sure I still believe a cure is necessary—a contentious viewpoint in some alopecia circles. I hesitate to publicize this viewpoint because the last thing I want to be is disrespectful.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="Times New Roman"">I honestly believe the problem doesn’t lie in the loss of hair but in society’s lack of awareness and acceptance of it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "> I believ</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ">e that bald can be beautiful. I believe that my fellow alopecians are some of the most beautiful people I've ever met. I believe there’s a place for hairlessness in the world, just as I believe there's a place for different body shapes, a variety of eye colors, a range of foot sizes. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">I believe in embracing our individuality and that our differences are what make us beautiful. I believe that the cultural definition of beauty just may shift one day to include hairlessness, just as it has shifted to include a bigger booty and thicker thighs.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">But I also remember when I wasn't ready, or willing, or able to believe these things. So I welcome the dialogue. I agree to disagree. I am open to new ideas. And old ones. In the meantime, I place my hope on society rather than research, on humanity as opposed to a cure. And I do my best to be the change I wish to see in the world.</span></p><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQDwPyS_z0Tsz76Iw8kNT2WTKGUuZKvlzFPNWGJdHtaiCO4TJulElvAWrEYF0k3PGG0UeYRzRzJMuEvKFzqPc91bkbqPDaRS7FQwKDbIYeQYV7LUObcw9SJ213gk8ioMjGD1S8tSbN9om/s200/36107_139800716032466_100000076148498_417716_3853751_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682767938665278418" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcjPwLdHXv2kJsVfNUMMVtt5vy2hz2oaOxOLm7cJhXV6LocQOvMTfxpQcNTjYfd6-nWUOzy9OT2gjQrVVP3ql6rihig-hndHwF-RnogPa0oesplINstntltKVWNsGjivUV9usWxaP62-_/s200/300067_10150370713420977_639415976_10150245_3088337_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682767831117518482" /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TLIQKslrgF0rPpqhLm5A9X7yfuGJgpSN5GtkwGsHl9md_L7twxj4qVO4jPlIHCUghjjitmyLbtmjdgaep832PghyphenhyphencPsmSUOhywEc4qSkTS6NXL9SJExhwC3oYE90E7_omacT4ehDC3te/s200/261217_1891931333820_1107616781_31738615_1226320_n-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682770310703504498" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8wCuX9IBWABycuEgkx-jpKi951vgKXL1kbBFnWQeW3EAzmYPCm5EzRNiKZgPLCqoNN-b52FbMW3dTvzrN_lxVxxZVTD9jT9E5QYUG9UkLf3U4ctcBMT2_w9UL221HqVn-eR5rijyMoyE/s200/n1107616781_30316618_2699289.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682769301740872226" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6dGtFtfBN2FpCg4K8axsZ9-hOWNRCpetX_PK2zw2IQ_1QGYeXN19tx-lkxFTflXr1li9GZGtQn5CLEbTYI1Ed3v3OcHV7iYfoDp_3Oy63TxqLKxWiYuj0KPNyR_R99Iu-kY9MlbR4uxv/s200/n1107616781_30308185_6842596.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682769018738767266" /><div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-9060023428862574272011-11-14T14:42:00.003-05:002011-11-14T15:05:48.908-05:00Achieving Self-Acceptance<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wqoTiCWi92ULMNQJXlL1hGFSgxOOQlIFF_ThLgmd4u71mf0bXfFaAfWDaTatearIo4WpILkZ59QYr_m-rcay7H94cha_AJ3XvOjQxQkHhc4rjs2e4q8BenqDuEnJXx0CPJVMlvk0PG4s/s1600/DSC01231.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wqoTiCWi92ULMNQJXlL1hGFSgxOOQlIFF_ThLgmd4u71mf0bXfFaAfWDaTatearIo4WpILkZ59QYr_m-rcay7H94cha_AJ3XvOjQxQkHhc4rjs2e4q8BenqDuEnJXx0CPJVMlvk0PG4s/s200/DSC01231.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674945142812784226" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxt57GPP9z6AFlqKP_aGB5G6Ys_8tuchXrAkLFWhGDzxRdKD2OmRVpiIAe6WpskB-4Q2fgmILdzD0EJxQgo_6w3SIzuxgyEZ6kJNOpgL8PJF23j_bpr0DMXyluQS09Ea6t0kQARvJ6ePm/s1600/DSC01238.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxt57GPP9z6AFlqKP_aGB5G6Ys_8tuchXrAkLFWhGDzxRdKD2OmRVpiIAe6WpskB-4Q2fgmILdzD0EJxQgo_6w3SIzuxgyEZ6kJNOpgL8PJF23j_bpr0DMXyluQS09Ea6t0kQARvJ6ePm/s200/DSC01238.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674944958711681394" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdDVTOXFpxxyJvba3mxKu9aYrNlqFM9FZ42KbXL7mzlUehabWCOVqfZ96sEf1zpPUDR2AlIQzkysIEXdImCwYdHiHnTRcliziI1DxMMVrek8Jtv5Ln7vEw1CrpxrQ7WMx77r6BM_4_-jp/s1600/DSC01248.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdDVTOXFpxxyJvba3mxKu9aYrNlqFM9FZ42KbXL7mzlUehabWCOVqfZ96sEf1zpPUDR2AlIQzkysIEXdImCwYdHiHnTRcliziI1DxMMVrek8Jtv5Ln7vEw1CrpxrQ7WMx77r6BM_4_-jp/s200/DSC01248.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674944619490980450" /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When I attended my first alopecia conference last June, I met the most amazing hairless people. Some wore headscarves like me. Others were more daring, showing off scalp tattoos—butterflies and rainforest flowers, sunbursts and peace signs. Most simply displayed their smooth, shiny domes proudly, parading from conference site to ballpark, to restaurants and bars and clubs, one stunning scalp after another snaking through the streets of downtown Indianapolis. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">I found the bald heads to be gorgeous. Provocative. Inspiring. But I did not expose my own hairless scalp during the conference.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">As photos emerged of my scarf-wrapped head against a backdrop of bald and beautiful, however, I began to think I was still hiding, no longer beneath a wig but under the cover of my </span>pañuelo. <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">I began to question whether I had truly accepted myself, my alopecia, my hairlessness. </span>I began to wonder <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">if boldly bald and beautiful was the next logical step in my self-acceptance journey, the step that would signify my arrival at a self-acceptance endpoint.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">By mid summer, I was ready to do what I couldn’t at the conference</span>. Not amongst other alopecians, but to a population I deemed equally safe—people I didn’t know and would never see again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In July of 2010 on a crowded Dominican Republic beach, I removed my pañuelo and bared my hairless scalp in public for the first time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I loved how the elements felt against my skin—the ocean breeze, the sun’s heat, the cool water—how they contacted me directly without having to permeate fabric. Without the pañuelo cover, I felt free. Exhilarated. Bold. Like a first-time skinny dipper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After an hour or so of sun exposure, though, I’d had enough. I re-wrapped my head and grabbed a bite to eat or joined a spin class. Then I’d do it again. Unveil. Re-wrap. Unveil. Re-wrap.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I dressed for dinner, I chose a black pañuelo to go with a new sundress. A violet to go with a halter top. A deep blue to match my eyes, the cloudless sky, the Caribbean ocean, and a v-neck t-shirt I wore with a jean skirt. In the pañuelo, I didn’t feel free or exhilarated or bold. I felt comfortable. I felt confident. I felt like me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Every day for nearly 10 years, I’ve selected a pañuelo to wear. I’ve uncurled the fabric roll, wrapped the scarf around my head, and secured it in place with a double knot. I love this ritual. I love the feel of the soft rayon in my hands. I love finding just the right pañuelo for my outfit, or just the right outfit for my pañuelo.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The freedom and exhiliration? They’re fantastic. They’re the reason we jump out of airplanes and cross over the jungle on a zipline. They’re why we strip off our clothes and cannonball into a lake or dip au naturel into a natural hot spring.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But they’re not the same as self-acceptance.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Some people feel most comfortable with their bald head exposed. Some feel most like themselves in the nude. If that’s what makes them happy, then by all means, that’s exactly what they should be doing, as often as possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This morning I counted the pañuelos in my collection: 102 fabric squares that make me happy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For me, accepting my bald head isn’t about baring it any more than accepting my body is about joining a nudist colony. For me, it’s enough to be able to bare my head, if only for a few days in a foreign country. Maybe for me, it’s not even about baring my head at all, but being comfortable not baring my head, if that’s what I choose.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">One day I may revert back to wigs. One day I may decide to join the bald beauties/beautiful baldies. Life changes. We change. Endpoints shift.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s cliché to say the journey is the destination, but it’s true. All I can do, all anyone can do, is enjoy the ride.</p> <!--EndFragment-->CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-37517140861024504282011-10-31T15:48:00.002-04:002011-10-31T16:03:12.655-04:00Not<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Negation can be an effective identifier. If I say, for example, “I’m not that kind of girl,” we all understand what kind of girl I am. Or what I say I am. During my two years of adrenaline-induced bliss as a marathoner, I called myself a runner, but not a fast one. The distinction was important. Don’t expect me to win any races. Don’t invite me to run with you if you’re doing 7-minute miles. Or 8-minute miles. Or 9-minute miles, for that matter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the past few years, I’ve built my identity on a negation. I have alopecia, not cancer. I am hairless, not a chemo patient.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">As a bald girl in a scarf, I’d often been mistaken for a cancer patient. That’s what people know. Bald head + headscarf<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>= chemo. It was an honest mistake, one I sometimes felt responsible for. If only I could be comfortable in a hot, scratchy, heavy, expensive wig, then people wouldn’t have to be so uncomfortable with me. If only I could tolerate a wig, then people wouldn’t falsely assume I was part of the cancer sisterhood. Or in October, the breast cancer sisterhood.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">The deluge of pink that occurred every year at this time—from cereal boxes to football jerseys—would heighten awareness about breast cancer and compel strangers to show me their support. Instead of the Knowing Look from afar, I would get Pep Talks from survivors and their families. I would get pats on the back, a grasp of hands, tears welling in someone’s eye. In October, more than any other time of year, people wanted to connect—not to what I was, but to what I was not.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Aware of the confusion and not wanting to contribute to it further, I tried to distance myself from the cause. I stopped Racing for The Cure years ago, when I first started wearing headscarves. I avoided wearing pink during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, just so I wouldn’t mislead anyone. Last year, I purposely didn’t buy the pink breast cancer awareness appointment calendar I’d eyed at the office supply store. My choices all centered around one message: I am not them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Last October for the first time I finally sat down to write about sharing a Signature Look with cancer patients. I reflected on what it’s like to hear “at least it’s not cancer” over and over again, as if that’s somehow comforting, as if I didn’t say the same words to myself when I found myself grieving over the hair loss and then feeling guilty for my grief. I thought about all the times I’d heard people respond to a chemo patient’s concerns about hair loss with an “at least it will grow back.” I was thinking about how I might reconcile the two. I pondered the audacity of being a bald woman in a scarf and yet not having cancer. That’s what a stranger said to a friend who’s had alopecia her whole life. A young woman who’s never had to shampoo or blow dry or shave a single hair. Ever. A fellow alopecian who’s managed to grow up confident and self assured and beautiful despite not having hair. How dare you have the audacity, said the stranger, to parade your bald head around Target and not have cancer. How dare you garner my sympathy and concern when you don’t deserve it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">It felt like an important topic, an exploration worthy of resurrecting this neglected blog. But when the time came to hit the post button, I couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel right. Or it didn’t feel like the right time.</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The problem with basing your identity on a negation is that it can be hard to maintain. The not-fast runner improves. The not-that-kind-of-girl becomes exactly<i> </i>the girl she once disdained<i>. </i>By choice or necessity, it doesn’t matter. In an instant the "not" you’ve clung to can slip out of your grip. You become what you were once not.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Two days after last year’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month wrapped up, my doctor found a lump in my breast. In mid November, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been reluctant to broadcast the news. Despite being completely open about my alopecia, I’m still a very private person when it comes to my personal life. Opening up private medical records on a public forum is risky for all the reasons you might imagine. Most importantly, though, despite going through surgery and chemo and radiation, I still identify more with alopecia, not cancer. Hairless, not chemo patient. I’ve been making that distinction for so long—one, not the other—that now I can’t seem to embrace both, alopecia and cancer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Earlier this year in an interview with Ellen DeGeneres, Wanda Sykes, long time comedienne and now celebrity breast cancer survivor, talked openly about her diagnosis for the first time. In the beginning, she said, she kept it quiet. “How many things could I have? I’m black, then lesbian. I can’t be the poster child for everything!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes you don’t have a choice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like Sykes, I have what sometimes seems like too many things. I can’t be the poster child for all of them. But that doesn’t mean I have to live in denial either. I don’t have to continue clinging to the "not" when it no longer applies. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve neglected this blog for the past year in part because I haven’t known how to continue representing the "alopecia, not cancer" perspective when I'm no longer "not" cancer. I haven't known how to be authentic and true and still keep the "not cancer" shift a secret.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">If there's one thing my alopecia has taught me, it's that The Closet is a dark and lonely place. So on this last day of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I am coming out as yet another survivor.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My hair didn’t fall out because of chemo, and it’s not going to grow back now that I’m done with treatment. After sixteen years without hair, I don’t expect to ever have hair again. I don’t know how being a breast cancer survivor will change my platform or my message. I don’t know if I’ll write about it or be outspoken about it. I don't know that I'll ever be its poster child. But I know better than to say never.</p><p class="MsoNormal">What I'm sure about is this: being a breast cancer survivor will infiltrate my sense of self. It will affect how I see myself and how I present myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The good news is that because of my alopecia, I’ll be more prepared for the shift.</p> <!--EndFragment-->CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-29536704220721917702010-03-10T13:30:00.001-05:002010-03-10T13:32:25.225-05:00What Ever Happened to Compassion?<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">No spots are available when I pull into the gas station on a busy Saturday morning—none with a pump to my left, anyway. The gas tank on my car resides on the left side. I need a pump to my left. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">I only wait for a couple of seconds before a spot opens up. A spot on the other side of the station. A spot with a nozzle to my left.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">My spot.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">I drive around the perimeter of the station, throw the gear into reverse, and prepare to back into my spot.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Except.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">A car has pulled up behind me, blocking my path.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Gas stations are notoriously hard to maneuver. Each aisle has only enough room for the cars pumping gas. There is no room for a car to drive in between. A motorcycle, maybe. But definitely not a car. That’s why I had to go around the whole station. And now I’m waiting to reverse into my spot, and there is no room next to me for this car to pass. I’m stuck.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">I am hoping the driver will back up so I can pull into my spot and get out of her way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">But that’s not what she does.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">This woman who sees that I’ve targeted this spot, who must know that she is the only obstacle between me and the pump, who has not waited patiently for a spot to open up like I have—pulls into my spot.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">My spot!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Surely she will realize her mistake. She will look at my car, see that I am poised to pull into the spot, and she will place her hand over her chest, say, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” and hightail her car out of my way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">But that’s not what she does.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">This woman gets out of her car, removes the nozzle from the pump, and starts filling her tank. From my spot.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">My mouth gapes open. I call her names. I curse her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">But now she’s got the pump from my spot in her gas tank, so I have no choice but to move to another spot, one that has just opened on the other side of the gas station. I drive back to the side where I started, do the three-point turn all over again, and plant my car next to another pump.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">I am still cursing her under my breath as I swipe my King Soopers card to secure my 10-cents-per-gallon discount. I am still cursing her as I swipe my credit card for authorization. Approved. I remove the nozzle.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Suddenly, the lady working the booth comes running towards me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">What now? The booth lady <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">never </i>leaves the booth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Did I drip gas on the asphalt? That’s illegal in some states. When driving through Maryland last year, I saw a sign at a gas station:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If you drip gas on the asphalt, you are responsible for cleaning it up. And you are fined. (Or maybe you’re just fined if you spill and don’t clean. But still.) I wasn’t aware of any such law in Colorado.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Booth Lady positions her face to within a couple inches from mine. “What ever happened to compassion?” she asks.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Oh. That. She thinks I have cancer. I get that a lot. Not so much: What ever happeend to compassion? But a lot of people tell me they’re in remission or in treatment or that their sister or aunt or best friend is. They say one of the following:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">a)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN; mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">“You’re going to be okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">b)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN; mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">“I’ll pray for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">c)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN; mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">“Can I buy you lunch?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Personally I prefer c) “Can I buy you lunch?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">I wait to see which option Booth Lady will choose. Probably not c) —I only get c) in restaurants.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">She continues. “I can’t believe that lady just cut you off. It was clear what you were doing.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Not: Calm down. Not: You’re overreacting. Not: Get some perspective. Not even: Everything happens for a reason or She’ll get what’s coming to her or Maybe she didn’t realize what she was doing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Validation.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">Suddenly I don’t care about the spot stealer. I no longer feel the desire to curse her. Once someone acknowledged I was wronged, I could move on to wrapping up my transaction and getting on with my day.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">It sounds so simple.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold">At a recent alopecia support group meeting, we discussed some of the responses we’ve gotten from people when sharing the news about our hair loss for the first time. The one most people preferred was “That sucks.” Because it does. Losing your hair sucks. And noone telling you that you’re overreacting or that it happened for a reason will help you accept the situation any faster.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-83904033354553658672009-09-18T14:18:00.003-04:002009-09-18T14:38:33.264-04:00I know the rules.<br /><br />When I go to a job interview, I always wear a suit. I wear nice shoes, even if they hurt my feet. Sometimes I get a manicure.<br /><br />What I struggle with is the neat, professional hairstyle, because I don’t have hair.<br /><br />Sure, I could wear my wig. That’s what I used to do years ago, back when I wore wigs, back when I hid behind my wig and nobody even knew I had <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">alopecia</span>.<br /><br />But the $3,500 wig has been packed in a shoebox since 2002, the year I walked away from everything I knew and joined the Peace Corps.<br /><br />It <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">wasn</span>’t easy. I struggled with the change from fancy hairpieces and wigs to bandannas and scarves.<br /><br />Some of the volunteers thought I had cancer, as if the Peace Corps would have accepted an active chemo patient into service. They <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">didn</span>’t ask me about it, they asked my friends.<br /><br />Some of the people in my small, volcanic island town thought I was hiding Rapunzel hair under the bandanna. “What’s your hair like under there?” they’d ask. “Is it long and beautiful?” I’d roll my eyes, throw a sideways glance their way, try to laugh it off. But I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">wasn</span>’t laughing.<br /><br />I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">wasn</span>’t laughing when a photographer instructed me to remove the bandanna for my official permanent residence ID card photo. I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">wasn</span>’t laughing when a Peace Corps doctor said I would probably want to wear a wig to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">baile</span> (dance), and not the bandanna. I wasn't laughing when an airline employee bumped me out of the first class cabin because he thought my nice headscarf wasn't dressy enough for the buddy pass dress code. I wasn't laughing when another airline employee looked at my driver's license photo with the wig, and then looked at me with the scarf, and said I looked better before.<br /><br />There were times I would have given anything to have my wig back. There were times I wished I hadn't made the change to scarves.<br /><br />But, gradually, I got used to the look, along with the comments and questions and challenges that came with it. Today I am the girl with the scarves, and I like it that way. I couldn't go back to wigs now.<br /><br />But are headscarves appropriate job interview attire?<br /><br />Maybe if you have cancer.<br /><br />And therein lies the dilemma.<br /><br />If I wear the scarf and don’t mention it, the interviewers will think I have cancer. They’re not supposed to ask about that kind of thing, but they will make assumptions—assumptions that affect me and my chances for proceeding to the next round or getting that job offer.<br /><br />If I wear the scarf and do mention it, things get awkward fast. I’m talking about personal, private, medical stuff that’s not typically discussed in the interview format. It’s like saying, by the way, I have a wart on my big toe, and I just thought you should know that upfront.<br /><br />It’s not that I mind talking about it. I just wonder whether or not I should. I wonder how to approach it. And I wonder if maybe I’m making things harder for myself when I don’t have to.<br /><br />And yet.<br /><br />If I were to wear the wig, I would feel like I had sold out. And that’s exactly what I’m trying not to do.<br /><br />How will the world ever accept women without hair if nobody steps up and demands acceptance?<br /><br />How will the world ever get used to women without hair if there are no women willing to present themselves without hair?<br /><br />And really, would I even want to work for a place that wouldn't allow me to wear scarves to the office? Would I want to work in a place where the range of acceptable images didn't include my scarf look?<br /><br />I need to figure this out fast. My next "interview" is coming up, an oral examination by a panel of experts about my knowledge, skills and abilities in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">healthcare</span> communications.<br /><br />I need a plan. I've got my ideas, but I'm open to yours. What do you think?CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-9982447929494325312009-08-05T13:32:00.002-04:002009-08-05T13:42:05.818-04:00Picnics and Lunches and TV Segments, Oh MyOn Monday, my alopecia support group held its annual picnic. It’s the one time of year when the Denver alopecians get together with the families, bald adults with bald children, the patients with Dr. Norris, a prominent researcher in the field. I think this is my fourth picnic with the group, and every year I get something new out of it.<br /><br />One year, Dr. Norris suggested that alopecians probably should steer clear of immunity boosting products such as Airborne. That’s because alopecia is an autoimmune disease, meaning that our immune system is already working on overdrive fighting our hair. The last thing we need is an artificial immunity boost.<br /><br />Another year, Dr. Norris said he’d never seen an alopecia patient with skin cancer. Not that he was recommending sunbathing without sunscreen or spending your days in the tanning booth—we all know that’s bad. It was more of an observation—but an interesting one. What does it mean? Who knows.<br /><br />Research on alopecia continues; that’s what I heard from Dr. Norris this year.<br /><br />But that’s not what made an impact on me this year. Instead, it was a side conversation that sticks with me.<br /><br />I was talking to some people about the <a href="http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/26184891/vp/32169671#32169671">Bald Girls Do Lunch segment </a>on the Today show in late July. <a href="http://www.baldgirlsdolunch.org/">Bald Girls Do Lunch</a> is a nonprofit whose mission is to help women with alopecia cope, gain confidence, and feel a sense of community—primarily by bringing them together at lunches, dinners, and events. Let’s face it, there is no cure. No promising new treatments. Not yet anyway. Bald Girls Do Lunch helps women cope effectively <em>today</em>.<br /><br />Now, this is a group whose mission aligns with mine.<br /><br />Anyway, we’re at the picnic and I bring up the segment.<br /><br />“I loved it!” I say. “Finally, we’re getting some good exposure for alopecia.”<br /><br />Others chime in. We smile. We high five. We celebrate. We always celebrate positive media impressions for alopecians—especially one of this magnitude. The Today Show. Wow. And what a message! Normally, television coverage focuses on getting the bald girl into some sort of wig. Not that there’s anything wrong with a wig, Lord knows I spent my share of time in one.<br /><br />“But,” says a woman whose grown daughter has had alopecia for years, whose daughter experienced re-growth through three pregnancies only to lose her hair again, whose daughter isn’t even at the picnic because she lives in another state, “They looked so happy.”<br /><br />“Yes,” I smile. Happy alopecians. Isn’t that great?<br /><br />“They didn’t even say they were devastated,” she says.<br /><br />“No,” I shake my head, still smiling. They sure didn’t say that. Hallelujah.<br /><br />“They didn’t say that every day of their lives they wake up and they’re devastated,” she says.<br /><br />Woah.<br /><br />I suggest that maybe these ladies really are okay with it now. Maybe they used to be devastated but aren’t anymore. Maybe they feel better when they're with other people.<br /><br />"But they aren't being honest," she says.<br /><br />I confess that I don’t wake up every day and feel bad about my hair loss. Not now, not 17 years after the bald spot that started my total loss of scalp hair.<br /><br />She couldn’t see that. She really felt that an opportunity was lost, an opportunity to convey the emotional toll that alopecia takes.<br /><br />And she’s right.<br /><br />Later that night, Dr. Norris commented about the emotional toll of alopecia, especially on women. He said he thinks this part of the disease is largely ignored, goes largely untreated.<br /><br />And he’s right.<br /><br />When my hair started to fall out, I remember crying myself to sleep every night. I stopped looking in mirrors. I refused to be in pictures. I didn’t talk about it. I closed myself off in ways I can only now see, many years later, many years after finally accepting my fate.<br /><br />I think alopecia will always be an emotional disease as much as a physical one.<br /><br />But…devastation isn’t a state any reasonable person <em>wants</em> to maintain. Devastation isn’t a healthy state of being. It just isn’t. At some point, you have to accept a life without hair.<br /><br />Sure, some people get their hair back. I saw a few such people at the picnic. And they looked great. But that’s not what most of us are facing. We’re facing a life without hair.<br /><br />And there are worse things in life than losing hair. Really. I can name several, real-life things that happened to people I know just this year.<br /><br />So, I choose to accept my hair loss—embrace it, even. I choose to examine my life without hair, to share my experiences and observations with other people, to educate as many people as possible, and to do my part in creating a world where women do not have to feel such devastation over losing their hair. At least not over the long-term.<br /><br />That’s all I can do.<br /><br />And maybe—just maybe—in my lifetime I will get to see a shift in thinking about bald women.<br /><br />I'm not sure this particular woman from the picnic will be among those who make that shift. But you never know. If it happened to me, it can happen to anyone.CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-24376053377211164762009-08-05T13:27:00.003-04:002009-08-05T13:31:57.165-04:00pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, August 4, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdyHhE51X4nX5ioAmhRzR-ODInJ0tz-MDTnE-2N5CmMXTawW-0ZpOJ2UQ12w_FFRFqz0LGiJxf3f2qd_5K92IQwb9MxURVCt9lPQeiZuEKQzcydao48bqOQVwemG4nW3EwP3bN-9fG4_U/s1600-h/garden.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 188px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366532820143519794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdyHhE51X4nX5ioAmhRzR-ODInJ0tz-MDTnE-2N5CmMXTawW-0ZpOJ2UQ12w_FFRFqz0LGiJxf3f2qd_5K92IQwb9MxURVCt9lPQeiZuEKQzcydao48bqOQVwemG4nW3EwP3bN-9fG4_U/s200/garden.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Not sure why I look so flustered. Can't be the scarf--it's one of my faves, made by Mom just for me, a perfect option for dress-up and casual events, a perfect choice for summer or winter. I can only guess that the look on my face is in response to the abundance of zucchini that has suddenly taken over my life. Parmesan crusted zucchini rounds, anyone? Chocolate zucchini bread? Zucchini omelettes? Zucchini lasagne? Just how much can you do with zucchini? I'll let you know in a couple of weeks.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-90707214304991024422009-08-03T17:28:00.003-04:002009-08-03T17:34:54.881-04:00Bald? So WhatSunday, July 19, was the first National Bald Out Day, organized by Mary Marshall (pictured here) of San Diego.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PZbghhdu10aUdrd-1mZUz7wz6CiGe2dx9od1Mic7A2DPfK2lFxwiMjLECJmvipI3hy_N14x7PPVnWPxy4A6bH7racL6QHJqaLlM6QKGnDR7wTDU3Q6LSp3lgNINsb8lW6jxNWW7HcYpC/s1600-h/SoWhat.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 176px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365853277807122018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PZbghhdu10aUdrd-1mZUz7wz6CiGe2dx9od1Mic7A2DPfK2lFxwiMjLECJmvipI3hy_N14x7PPVnWPxy4A6bH7racL6QHJqaLlM6QKGnDR7wTDU3Q6LSp3lgNINsb8lW6jxNWW7HcYpC/s200/SoWhat.jpg" /></a><br />The idea was to encourage people without hair to come out of the wig closet for one day. The benefits were two-fold. By shedding their wigs, bald people—especially women—would increase awareness about hair loss. But also, for bald women, going out in public without their wig, their crutch, could be empowering.<br /><br /><div>How did I celebrate National Bald Out Day? Not by baring my bald head. It’s not that I didn’t support the effort. I did. I do. It sounded like a great cause.</div><div> </div><div>Every now and then I consider parading around in my bare head. Okay, parading sounds a bit flamboyant for me. Every now and then I consider skulking around without anything covering my bald head—no scarf, no hat, no wig. I think about it. I even threaten to do it someday. But I don’t actually do it.<br /><br />Back when P!nk launched her singing career and her rebel image, I thought the epitome of freedom was pink hair. Sporting pink hair was like an “up yours” to conformity. A freshly minted MBA at the time, I was knee deep in conformity. Corporate recruiters insisted they wanted out-of-the-box thinkers, creative problem solvers, innovative business leaders who refused to do things the way they’d always been done. But show up in a suit, please. Don’t wear any gaudy costume jewelry. No nose rings or pink hair, for God’s sake. I was the queen of conformity then, with my Ann Taylor and Jones New York outfits, my one piercing in each ear, and my shoulder-length, auburn hair, styled conservatively. I was Christy with the auburn hair, only my auburn hair wasn’t my own. It was a wig. An expensive, human hair, vacuum seal, custom-fit wig designed to look natural. That wig helped me feel normal. But deep inside I longed to show up at work with pink hair. I couldn’t do it.<br /><br />Today I could do it. But pink hair is no longer the epitome of freedom to me. Now it’s a bald head. And I can’t do it.<br /><br />While island hopping around Greece after college, my naïve American eyes noticed something different about the women on the beaches: they were topless. Skinny women, fat women, old women, young women, exotic women, even mustached and bearded women paraded—yes, paraded around the white sand in bikini bottoms and bare torsos. I envied their freedom. I wanted a piece of it, to feel it, if only for just a day. Every morning I told myself, “This is the day I will go topless in Greece.” And every day I put on my bikini top, or my one-piece bathing suit. Nobody—not one person in Santorini, Paros, or Mykonos—cared what I wore on the beach. But I cared.<br /><br />I said I was worried about tan lines. The topless women in Greece had tanned torsos, the result of being unencumbered by a need for tops on the beach. When I glanced across black sand or blue waters, I couldn’t immediately tell the difference between the men and women. I just saw a sea of bronzed bodies in colorful bikini bottoms. If I went topless, well…that would be different. I’d have a white stripe across my chest. Whereas they blended in, I would stand out.<br /><br />I said I was worried about blistering my virgin skin. I’d had sunburns before, and I said I just couldn’t risk another bad burn on my white, white skin.<br /><br />Now I say the same about my scalp. I couldn’t possibly bare my naked scalp, because I’m worried about tan lines. I have tan lines on my forehead from wearing a bandanna. I might blister the virgin skin of my scalp.<br /><br />The truth is, I’m just not free enough to take this step. It’s still out of reach.</div><div> </div><div>For now.</div><div> </div><div>But I'm hoping that one day I'll be able to parade around town without anything covering my head and say, "Sure, I'm bald. So what?!"<br /><br />© 2009 Christy Bailey</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-19343607336517793442009-08-03T17:19:00.003-04:002009-08-03T17:27:43.438-04:00pañuelo of the day: Monday, August 3, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uxDbIrm8uAlzw52-1dC1sEz9ULaBnxJy48qRlUchdpAuhxj3loZvZvLZkGJ4mzBXllaDbPbKp7YgK4ZYm3KqeQW46gYl4w-mQptXMai4WHZduicQ545A9Q5cCDnlmRdrLJkWO-V9unpg/s1600-h/Mix+073.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 133px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365850631664384994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uxDbIrm8uAlzw52-1dC1sEz9ULaBnxJy48qRlUchdpAuhxj3loZvZvLZkGJ4mzBXllaDbPbKp7YgK4ZYm3KqeQW46gYl4w-mQptXMai4WHZduicQ545A9Q5cCDnlmRdrLJkWO-V9unpg/s200/Mix+073.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Okay, this wasn't taken today, and it's not a pañuelo, it's a fuzzy hat. But it's an important hat, because it's what I sleep in every night. Yes, even in the summer. I'm on the right side of the photo, and that's Dee on the left, on our girls vacation last September.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-36498043025819121312009-08-03T17:13:00.003-04:002009-08-03T17:16:54.020-04:00pañuelo of the day: Sunday, August 2, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1e72kvndm5dd2Gu5W3RN7ls-Ob8TnkvZs5fX0LJd6EYOz4pa2kpeULO1BjE6X2WHOa2VvHhWzft_NkHajscz3va2tovta7ZTia_PTbEGpwJ6f09SQNFWWMq1qmJRAOWXRyPjTsu8NgFq/s1600-h/aagreen.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 190px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365849339111622162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1e72kvndm5dd2Gu5W3RN7ls-Ob8TnkvZs5fX0LJd6EYOz4pa2kpeULO1BjE6X2WHOa2VvHhWzft_NkHajscz3va2tovta7ZTia_PTbEGpwJ6f09SQNFWWMq1qmJRAOWXRyPjTsu8NgFq/s200/aagreen.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Again, I like the darker scarves as opposed to the lighter ones. But Mom found this fabric and whipped up this scarf, and it does match some of my clothes, so...I still wear it.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-46725772847859784652009-08-03T17:12:00.001-04:002009-08-03T17:13:54.019-04:00pañuelo of the day: Saturday, August 1, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncq9HS6ahK5nvNBLqF-9IM9_JF3fr1eVQyPojje1W5p7QsBBGLn7ItUW8Ce3iIj56G8tvJ1yLwAFRYHN5ISPS8XJde2L5TeySJJVDdr7LFbLY_G9gfpw8IdvqV7qhj8LxNSUzJK1_yEQh/s1600-h/aaabc1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 175px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365848602732006130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncq9HS6ahK5nvNBLqF-9IM9_JF3fr1eVQyPojje1W5p7QsBBGLn7ItUW8Ce3iIj56G8tvJ1yLwAFRYHN5ISPS8XJde2L5TeySJJVDdr7LFbLY_G9gfpw8IdvqV7qhj8LxNSUzJK1_yEQh/s200/aaabc1.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This is another scarf made with love by Mom. Thank God for Moms.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-13592588555383281292009-08-03T17:09:00.002-04:002009-08-03T17:12:07.782-04:00pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 31, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaL0Np4SGtnfZH0cFdSctMtnyTBO8GmIkrqN3reo2enYUPqH5l2PfwQU-CiP7MoqcQmCzH10URc-FYjto_BZCDqlHP3gQE2PndgtsNBinvixzs1opT0FdDpHY8y6QSJRGC-vOkwb_rsOn/s1600-h/aaab1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 177px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365847980915880786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaL0Np4SGtnfZH0cFdSctMtnyTBO8GmIkrqN3reo2enYUPqH5l2PfwQU-CiP7MoqcQmCzH10URc-FYjto_BZCDqlHP3gQE2PndgtsNBinvixzs1opT0FdDpHY8y6QSJRGC-vOkwb_rsOn/s200/aaab1.jpg" /></a><br /><div>The sun finally came out again today, and I couldn't wait to soak it up.</div><div> </div><div>This scarf is from Coldwater Creek. I bought it at last year's summer clearance sale. They had tons. It wasn't cheap, maybe $7 at deep discounted prices. But still, it's fun, and I do like pink.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-46610031715962883132009-08-03T17:07:00.003-04:002009-08-03T17:09:55.096-04:00pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 30, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_TnYkm1VyHhvBvPRXebUPjOA1Z6KszCxzoOrzXbt0bujCG9u_Xgqc8rYdASkuMyh9u1kvOATrFjRf_FQmzKo5h2Yiz6zM2Lv_y51Q1Hz9lokjg_6iPB56pcQwacjoftj_PaHzPj3Uat6/s1600-h/aaabrown.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365847466551184690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_TnYkm1VyHhvBvPRXebUPjOA1Z6KszCxzoOrzXbt0bujCG9u_Xgqc8rYdASkuMyh9u1kvOATrFjRf_FQmzKo5h2Yiz6zM2Lv_y51Q1Hz9lokjg_6iPB56pcQwacjoftj_PaHzPj3Uat6/s200/aaabrown.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This brown and blue and khaki scarf was made by Mom. I like the darker scarves best, but this one does match a whole lot of clothes.</div><div> </div><div> </div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-88489245881457916292009-08-03T17:04:00.002-04:002009-08-03T17:07:22.663-04:00pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 29. 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYBbRXKCfN30G8l0KRFjFQCRowmqwrBXU0G-zPBH8c7YpECExfSZtJ8nBJIQLt1T60982cNrls-XxubrtuWONw2aOFryaGEe6hEYS1dMIuOqPa3WWNVxAmf-_X30H5e4Q1KR3xj8HxE9F/s1600-h/aaaa.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 188px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365846575272501650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYBbRXKCfN30G8l0KRFjFQCRowmqwrBXU0G-zPBH8c7YpECExfSZtJ8nBJIQLt1T60982cNrls-XxubrtuWONw2aOFryaGEe6hEYS1dMIuOqPa3WWNVxAmf-_X30H5e4Q1KR3xj8HxE9F/s200/aaaa.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This black-and-white bandanna scarf is from Hobby Lobby.</div><div> </div><div>Just in case you're wondering, the background is a painting of Yellow Dog, may he rest in peace. Greg Johnson painted the portrait. I can connect you to him if you're interested in commissioning a portrait of your beloved pet. He's good.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-89192276063627795642009-07-31T22:37:00.002-04:002009-07-31T22:40:46.221-04:00pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, July 28, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxCdnICc4i4mqsm_Rf-LdywW5ouROuEK6lENPwq_c-TPXc0vfCELTc2R7FC51J01mJtnH6QK0F6Z76yL8VAmABwZWcxmPwylJU6tluQ6WVoO9ZZCWgQ4Simsh3l3FvObcTED5LAgvN0yG/s1600-h/abcout.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 185px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364819141025403554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxCdnICc4i4mqsm_Rf-LdywW5ouROuEK6lENPwq_c-TPXc0vfCELTc2R7FC51J01mJtnH6QK0F6Z76yL8VAmABwZWcxmPwylJU6tluQ6WVoO9ZZCWgQ4Simsh3l3FvObcTED5LAgvN0yG/s200/abcout.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This black-and-white scarf was another Mom purchase. And speaking of Mom, that's her on the right. She probably won't like that I put her picture in here, but I get tired of the solo photos. We're at a restaurant celebrating June and July birthdays with friends and a couple of margaritas.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-3291191622704730622009-07-31T22:31:00.003-04:002009-07-31T22:37:31.687-04:00pañuelo of the day: Monday, July 27, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkdtBLX2mKkovVOfHhHlpwn0W4Dw5SVm0svPN5bM7pzbkDZVDgtCs8mvW0mX7bdPiBpQdjNBdaVTHwGjzrKcPi7YxGFaG7bciC6bOjocR0ahJV92E2cTmEH27h_l3e3Rdsv3rPECBluK2/s1600-h/aabbcc.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 195px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364818229253811202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkdtBLX2mKkovVOfHhHlpwn0W4Dw5SVm0svPN5bM7pzbkDZVDgtCs8mvW0mX7bdPiBpQdjNBdaVTHwGjzrKcPi7YxGFaG7bciC6bOjocR0ahJV92E2cTmEH27h_l3e3Rdsv3rPECBluK2/s200/aabbcc.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div>Day 2 of Housesitting at Amy's. The scarf is a green Hobby Lobby bandanna.</div></div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-29367341712925123612009-07-31T22:28:00.002-04:002009-07-31T22:30:46.364-04:00pañuelo of the day: Sunday, July 26, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWOGfBIO9VoSGwwc4d5DcwoIl0phfPn7qLZC_j6bMmFRIyQkM7e9Uv2Cq5fKI22W5z1DbEjBf1MpvPSRmaeo0gwR8hAJ4scwssuh0pG0rOzd1VZtSf8Yg-fGPWGkFjtidL9vIH0zVLapV/s1600-h/abc1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364816880545941282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWOGfBIO9VoSGwwc4d5DcwoIl0phfPn7qLZC_j6bMmFRIyQkM7e9Uv2Cq5fKI22W5z1DbEjBf1MpvPSRmaeo0gwR8hAJ4scwssuh0pG0rOzd1VZtSf8Yg-fGPWGkFjtidL9vIH0zVLapV/s200/abc1.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Today I started a housesitting gig at my friend Amy's house. Nice pond, huh?</div><div> </div><div>The pink scarf came from Mom. It's a casual hangout scarf, probably purchased at Goodwill or a resale shop.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-92111994794196108532009-07-31T22:25:00.002-04:002009-07-31T22:28:24.854-04:00pañuelo of the day: Saturday, July 25, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDh-IJJuxmqWO7PFAoFr77Dfwbhun-gL1zf1fLZYAT6cC4jzxwznXZkJe8zw0gXj3PUvKsglWykv8O9tN6fGqbzH8cUHYMfBj6jRb7ub6U3yVOeUXVugPlH6nrG7dHtCAAmtfR5vuyM8SK/s1600-h/abchile1.jpg"></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcQpp-raxb3O8-wL1afJd6ol8bie0-VXt-GdOsusnYA3pF5hx6z2zgTYRUZ_rXatwZOAtrsyfQKOiBL7VqlqNk7clLiJRIjbDIXhesg2TKXcT8qqKQXZ5csxt9uiqHZ2y2sf5yJ9P6yd6/s1600-h/abchile.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 174px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364816013173316946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcQpp-raxb3O8-wL1afJd6ol8bie0-VXt-GdOsusnYA3pF5hx6z2zgTYRUZ_rXatwZOAtrsyfQKOiBL7VqlqNk7clLiJRIjbDIXhesg2TKXcT8qqKQXZ5csxt9uiqHZ2y2sf5yJ9P6yd6/s200/abchile.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>BBQ! Today I saw a bunch of Colorado friends at an evening cookout party. Of course, it rained. And I was still hobbling. But it was great to see people. Joanne gave me the new chile pepper scarf. Not sure where she got it. Guess I should have asked.</div></div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-77731354162193514632009-07-31T22:19:00.002-04:002009-07-31T22:25:10.279-04:00pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 24, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uCAimWqvGPFS8Tf5Kd7H1wT97t4v6Md4JrJ0195enm8qoMTFCWZQNuWAsRZ0JOeWRT0tdWxRD63wgmH379i8DekUG7e0tJA9pgE9CscTJqilB5zr0c1DTt1c3nS_lCd-6zM8FLGgqdXH/s1600-h/bbbb2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 190px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364815257294038706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uCAimWqvGPFS8Tf5Kd7H1wT97t4v6Md4JrJ0195enm8qoMTFCWZQNuWAsRZ0JOeWRT0tdWxRD63wgmH379i8DekUG7e0tJA9pgE9CscTJqilB5zr0c1DTt1c3nS_lCd-6zM8FLGgqdXH/s200/bbbb2.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Another long day, followed by a big rest on the couch. Scarf? This pink-and-blue number is one of my favorite workout and hangout scarves. I think Mom bought it, but I have no idea where from. Maybe she'll check the blog and fill us in.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-80457630771006884142009-07-31T22:16:00.003-04:002009-07-31T22:18:57.089-04:00pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 23, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBrncG8MgbiUuCESOPT6iIJIG28zfmlWTLZ7XMmBWFLVOgsyBwXPEu1vtmg8cTbNBuDem-yr_f8kghDBYi2L_1xibowbUpqwSglrY9tj5eA9pkBKWFd11uKVGA9-_NK9uxraPOF-RnQJq/s1600-h/aabc1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 196px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364813932207055954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBrncG8MgbiUuCESOPT6iIJIG28zfmlWTLZ7XMmBWFLVOgsyBwXPEu1vtmg8cTbNBuDem-yr_f8kghDBYi2L_1xibowbUpqwSglrY9tj5eA9pkBKWFd11uKVGA9-_NK9uxraPOF-RnQJq/s200/aabc1.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This is another work scarf: browns and black, made by Mom. Perfect for a day of meetings.</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-54661798305294484292009-07-31T22:10:00.004-04:002009-07-31T22:16:10.010-04:00pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 22, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTg5r-fDve3Dkx8lzCYqSQ82-i7RBXyIOyrMcr08zNBBD85jj0lhoNq2SMgLkunHiDYXIc_U7R7X80xQbrUFJNtLQLegNK4axqzLqHbzoYLcrzsFinBsEv0NvukRhZienouKIsJTbgPRVG/s1600-h/bb1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 136px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364813038149776722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTg5r-fDve3Dkx8lzCYqSQ82-i7RBXyIOyrMcr08zNBBD85jj0lhoNq2SMgLkunHiDYXIc_U7R7X80xQbrUFJNtLQLegNK4axqzLqHbzoYLcrzsFinBsEv0NvukRhZienouKIsJTbgPRVG/s200/bb1.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTJ-MmzhojhAX438sme2qeAH51F6xgu95sPH3bVyhGiEqv-spMHEk85o7BToFVy0nDM6101CsgIRcpwN7PVll8bvjS8Q2mZoh32CmYp7x2txIiP7IV_Ga4JyT95YXKJ5LibkGZeihQwuA/s1600-h/bb2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 172px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364812918076656306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTJ-MmzhojhAX438sme2qeAH51F6xgu95sPH3bVyhGiEqv-spMHEk85o7BToFVy0nDM6101CsgIRcpwN7PVll8bvjS8Q2mZoh32CmYp7x2txIiP7IV_Ga4JyT95YXKJ5LibkGZeihQwuA/s200/bb2.jpg" /></a><br />Today was the big interview day, and I wore the famous black scarf. But afterwards, when I was breathing a sigh of relief that it was over, I rested in another new scarf, a Mom purchase from Goodwill. I had trouble capturing the blue and green on the bottom, so I put in two photos.<br /><div></div></div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1995097339029906065.post-409600708078404952009-07-31T21:59:00.002-04:002009-07-31T22:04:51.630-04:00pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, July 21, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOyo7PcIV6QCG-CwX5RAylqJnPCOXI2-8JZcj69OnFSR9kc_6-ivlF4Z3fQ95AHLYwIdvmX3QsVafaZcg7tojFYjCE8qSggQ2uD-NJLLlKFMUgV54IFOpmxKhoxieAAiwbZtx_rWEQgwn/s1600-h/ab4.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 178px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364809824434971378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOyo7PcIV6QCG-CwX5RAylqJnPCOXI2-8JZcj69OnFSR9kc_6-ivlF4Z3fQ95AHLYwIdvmX3QsVafaZcg7tojFYjCE8qSggQ2uD-NJLLlKFMUgV54IFOpmxKhoxieAAiwbZtx_rWEQgwn/s200/ab4.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Of course, Mom gifted me with new scarves the minute I stepped into Colorado. This one is my new favorite. I think she got it at Goodwill, or at a resale shop. As I understand it, the scarf was much bigger when she purchased it. But Mom is clever with a sewing machine. So she cut the material in half and made two scarves: one for me and one for my niece Lindsey. Love the blues!</div>CHRISTY BAILEYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03204182654479088818noreply@blogger.com0