a new me.

In the spirit of reinvention, I dyed my hair a darker brown last night.  I figured hey,  I'm going off to a new life, a new town, a new country.  How about some new hair to go with it?!  I have a houseguest and after a couple mimosas, I went for it.

Now, most women know that timing can be everything when undertaking a dramatic change in appearance such as haircolor.  Who hasn't gotten the bright idea to dye your hair the night before a big job interview or hot first date?  *buzzer sound* not always the best move.  I had a bit of trepidation while undergoing the process last night ... would this be a bad omen? if I didn't like my hair would I also be coloring my experience in a negative way?  well, doesn't matter because the hair is okay and I am continuing to assure myself my trip will be as well.

I have to confess to some anxiety.  Questioning myself a bit as the counter clicks down.  Was I crazy? hormonal? reactionary?  If this is such a good idea, why aren't more people doing it? not to mention those that I recently encountered here that had the similar intention and have turned back from their idea.  Ruh roh.  Do they have more sense than me?  Do I need to wake up and smell the coffee?

S'okay, folks.  I'm not backing down.  I've had some major life crises through the years, and I recognize the questioning as perfectly normal.  Kind of like a sounding board.  Its the answers I give myself that are just as important as the questions.   Am I crazy? a little.  Hormonal? not yet.  Reactionary? no, this has been a long and well planned effort.  More people doing it? Its my dream, not theirs.  Those whose minds have changed? It took me 10+ years, with other starts/stops, they will come along too I believe, just in their own time.  More sense than me? no doubt!  Coffee? time for a new brand.

So, while the hair may be a new me ... I'm not counting on France as some panacea to solve all of the old Kim's issues or 'flat spots'.  

I think it will be a newly expanded me,  a growing and evolving me.  Still me.  But improved.  

Kind of like Tide.  Still a best seller.

my country t'is of thee.

Okay, is anyone else out there kind of sad this fourth of July? I mean even sadder than you've been the last 6 or 7 fourth of Julys? I had been riding a wave of optimism there during the spring and early summer. But ever since Obama has been declared the pre-emptive Democratic nominee and there have been a series of weird actions on his part, I'm getting more and more discouraged. disenchanted. discombobulated.

I mean first there was the whole "FISA" backpeddle. And then there was the whole "faith-based reform" hustle. Now there's the "troops out in 16 months but that could change after I talk to the generals" electric slide.

Some other citizenship is sounding more and more appealing. I'm just tired. bone tired of the foolishness. I want Obama to grow a pair, a strong pair and stand up and fight. Or if that is what he IS doing, fighting for what HE believes in ... then we are royally screwed.

I hope I'm wrong. I'm hoping the next series of announcements and actions are more in line with what most of us Dems expected. But it seems possible that the country as a whole is just so completely different than the dialogue stream running inside my particular universe.

So this whole emigration thing is making more and more sense. I think I am meant to be a woman without a country.

courage. adventure. endurance.

my great-grandmother Margaret (Stangl) Carter was quite a woman. I was given cause to think of her today when reading Halfway to France's comments on not being a wearer of pants. Shocked at the revelation, it made me think of my great-grandmother who for years refused to wear pants. That led me to comment about even a woman who lived in sod houses and prairie times eventually gave in and made herself a pair of polyester pants. Then I started thinking about Margaret. (see how my mind works? I mean rambles? Think YOU find it irritating, pity me ... I've had to live with this all my life!)

Anyway, back to Margaret. I'm going to tell you a little bit about her story, as I know it ... passed down through the years and maybe not 100% accurate. but I'm sure 98%. Well, I'll guarantee 95% and in today's media, that ain't so bad.

Margaret came from a big family in Austria. I mean, she had like 7 or 8 brothers and sisters. She lived in a castle. I used to think that was romantic until I found out they lived in rooms in the castle. Which was old and decrepit. But anyway. Margaret had an uncle who had emigrated to the United States. In 1911, when Margaret was about 14, her uncle Josef and his wife Bertha came back to Austria for a visit. He offered to take any of the family back with him when he returned. Get them set up. He had a big ranch in Java, South Dakota. Well a big property. Farming and animals and the like. And no one to really help him. He had a wife, but as I know it ... they had no children.

Well, no one in the vast Stangl brood was willing to take up Uncle Josef on his offer. No one, that is except Margaret. Margaret thought this sounded exciting. "Weren't you scared, Grandma?". soft chuckle. "Well, I thought it would be an adventure you know. And Uncle Josef promised to send me back in four years." So not one of those other Stangl kids, including the many boys took the trip. Margaret's mother made the uncle promise 2 things. He would send her home in 4 years and he would make sure she remained a Catholic.

Margaret slept with her aunt the first year she arrived, as she was afraid to sleep alone. Margaret didn't speak English and her early years of adapting were hard. But she did it.

Well, the years passed and WWI erupted and there was no return in sight for Margaret. No Catholic church either. Margaret caught the eye of a handsome son on a neighboring horse ranch. Floyd Alan Carter was taken with Margaret when they crossed paths at a town dance. Floyd was enlisted in the Army but the war ended before he was sent overseas.

Margaret and Floyd married. They lived in South Dakota for many years before tiring of destitution in the tough land. The moved west to Roseburg, Oregon.

Why do I prattle on about Margaret? well. the talk of women and pants got me thinking about Margaret. She never returned to Europe. She never saw her mother, her father, her beloved brothers and sisters again. She never worshipped again in a Catholic church. She slowly lost her native tongue, although I can remember her singing in German. and speaking a few phrases. She and her family wrote back and forth in the early years.

I often asked my great-grandmother why she never returned, later in life. There were a number of implausible excuses, the plane ride (she eventually had done and there was always a boat). The money (in later years, they could well afford it. Even as tight as my great-grandmother was!).

I wonder did she use up all of her courage in that first journey. As tremendous as it was ... did it change her in ways I'll never understand? Margaret Carter was a woman of endurance. I think her life ended up being a series of challenges to be endured. Endless ship ride. vast plains and prairies. sod houses. unforgiving dust and dirt and wind. multiple births. only one daughter alive. I also know she had an enduring love for her husband and family. In the end, endurance was adventure enough.

I come from a series of enduring women. I, too, am a survivor. Unlike my great-grandmother, I'm discovering my courage for adventure a bit later in life. I hope I do as well as Margaret.

I have some pictures to rustle up and share a bit later.