fly to the brutal clean

Castile soap is a name used in English-speaking countries for olive oil based soap made in a style similar to that originating in the Castile region of Spain, as early as the 1600s. The word "castile" actually means "land of castles". A few weeks ago, I mentioned in my poem "Molt" about sprouting "castile wings" and flying to the "brutal clean".

The poetic metaphor conjured images of the Kirk's Castile soap of my childhood, so much so, that I couldn't stop thinking about its distinctive scent.  Friday, when I was grocery shopping, I spied a small stack of Kirk's on the bottom shelf of the soap aisle at Kroger and tossed a three-pack in my cart.

It still has the white paper wrapper, now jazzed-up with a slick finish.  I was a bit disappointed, since it seems quite unscented, without any distinguishable traces of the unique trademark scent I remember so well. Maybe my olfactory system isn't as keen as it once was? Nevertheless, I adore the silky way it lathers, especially in well-water. It's the brutal clean, without dryness. I even like it better on my face than my pricey facial cleanser.  I love thriftiness. And chain reactions.  Do you have a favorite soap?

I'd like to be rich enough 

so I could throw soap away 

after the letters are worn off.

Andy Rooney

north is good

Chignon, Chuck Jones

(shēn-yŏn') 
n.
A roll or knot of hair worn at the back of the head or especially at the nape of the neck. From Old French chaignon, chain, collar, nape of the neck.

Le Chignon, Eva Gonzalès , 1865-70

My hair is finally long enough to wear pulled up into a messy chignon. For one thing, its quick and easy. It's great for keeping pencils handy, and sometimes, I add chopsticks. An added bonus is that my earrings are highlighted. The old danglies have been rescued from the back of the jewelry box.  It's nice to have at least one feature heading north these days, when everything else seems to be shifting south.

The chignon can be traced back to Ancient Greece, where Athenian women commonly kept theirs in place with gold or ivory pins. Athenian men wore the style, as well. It was also popular in Ancient China, where married women wore a low knot. During the Victorian era, chignons were often enormous constructions including false hair or pads. In the 1940s, many women wore the chignon under a headscarf, while working in factories to support the war effort during World War II. The timeless chignon is still popular today because of its elegance, and ease.

Portrait de Dora au Chignon, Pablo Picasso, 1937

It's interesting to note that in the Scottish lowlands, where my paternal ancestors hailed from, a variation of the chignon was once called a "cockernonnie" or "cock-up". That's all I have to say about that.

I think hairstyle is the final tip-off

whether or not a woman really knows herself.

Hubert de Givenchy, Vogue 1985

As you can see from the sidebar, my chapbook, Patina, is available for pre-order.  I have an advance sales period of six weeks, before the pressrun is determined.  If you are interested in purchasing a copy, it would help me tremendously if you would pre-order now.  Click the book image on my sidebar or the link below.  Thanks so much for your invaluable support, my friends. You're the best. 

FINISHING LINE PRESS PRE-ORDER

stache or not

Apparently the mustache is back in vogue. My two sons, ages 23 and 30 have recently grown one. Their great-great-great grandfather, Palestine, would approve. I've always thought they were quite attractive on the right man, in a Clark Gable kind of way. The topic of the mustache has been thrown around a lot this summer at the manor, such as which styles to avoid (the Hitler--he does look quite nice without his trademark) and how long to let them grow before trimming. The longest recorded moustache belongs to Bajansinh Juwansinh Gurjar of Ahmedabad, India. It had not been cut for 22 years and was 12 feet, 6 inches long in 2004. Stinky.

Like the clean shaved Hitler, there are those who would not be recognized without their trademark 'staches. Did you know that after his death, the image of Frank Zappa's mushache was copyrighted by the Zappa Family Trust? Funny, Groucho Marz and Charlie Chaplin, both famous for their mustaches, sported artificial ones.

I certainly hope the Frida Kahlo mustache does not become the new look for women. I like to keep my facial hair, not that I have a lot, mind you, completely in check.

The word "mustache" derives from 16th century French moustache, which in turn is derived from the Italian mostaccio (14th century), from Medieval Latin mustacium (8th century), Medieval Greek moustakion (9th century), which ultimately originates as a diminutive of Hellenistic Greek mustax, probably derived from Hellenistic Greek mullon "lip". However, the Hindi word "moochh" for a moustache also bears a close resemblance.



Mustaches of the Nineteenth Century, a recent quirky Blogger "Blog of Note" caught my eye. It's a collection of vintage photos of mustachioed men and delightful commentary accompanying. There has also much much discussion over at Reggie Darling's blog about a certain mug in a beautiful set of French china he recently purchased. Originally, he thought the odd cup, with a semi-circular ledge inside was an invalid cup. Actually, it turned out to be a mustache cup, which were designed in the 1860s by British potter Harvey Adams, to keep the mustache dry, while drinking tea.

My great-great grandfather, Palestine Hanna, who wore a grand mustache, drank from a mustache cup to keep his dry. My grandfather told me of a funny concoction Palestine made, as a cure for headaches.

my great-great grandfather
Palestine Hanna,
sporting a long walrus style mustache

Cure, 1919

Palestine called it

coffee soup, a concoction

made to cure his head.

Grandpa watched him

toast the bread,

rip it up in jagged shreds,

drop them one by one

in a willow bowl,

pour on darkest java-brew

and eat it with a pewter

spoon, since it stopped

the lip of his mustache cup. 

Tess Kincaid, 2010










photos: Hitler, styles and cups from Google images

wild hare

Tufts of hairy crabweed

sprout from my temples

like crazy hemp

in the rabbit hole

of an all day tea party.

I happen to descend

from a whole line

of fertile Mad Hatters,

resistant to most sanity.

My forebears flattened

theirs in Brylcreem

with results even Bonaparte

would envy.

The edges stuck out

from my father’s flattop

and grew to a hedge maze

that hid him from me,

like a mock turtle.

willow, 2010

facial drama

My sister and I had a great visit this weekend. We spent hours happily chatting about any and everything. Plenty of time, of course, was devoted to the discussion of political, religious and social issues. Then, we moved on to more pressing and intriguing topics, like eyebrows.


Can you believe there are those who still like to tweeze and pencil their brows into that 1950's style raised arch? It's so severe and brings to mind the Vampira look. Scary. My youngest sister tried to dye hers at home once. The result was the woolly-caterpillar brow. Equally as scary.

In the case of brow makeup, as we get older, perhaps less is more, unless, of course, you are trying to achieve that John-Crawford-Mommy-Dearest look. Eyebrows do set the stage as far as the face is concerned, don't you think? The wrong look can be very misleading.


Take the case of poor Uncle Leo on Seinfeld. Remember that hilarious episode where his eyebrows were singed off and Elaine draws them on with a magic marker? He then visits his doctor, who is convinced he has an anger problem. It really is all about the brows.


Just as bad, are the over-tweezed-Gloria-Swanson brows. They can do just the polar opposite, as far as facial drama, by putting you in a constant state of dazed, non-emotion. The "I don't have much going on upstairs" look is not always so attractive, either.


Have you ever been forced to participate in brow intervention? Someone near and dear to you has a severe case of tadpole brow? Or maybe even a case of the dreaded unibrow? It's not always easy, but our loved ones must be helped. WT, left to his own devices, develops a sorry case of Hugh-Griffith-Arab-sheik-Ben-Hur brows. He tells me he wants to wax, twist them and start a trend. Well, we'll see about that.

Winter + Blog = Blub

Old man winter is kind enough to give me a reprieve. A week or so
ago, it reached 68 degrees and a wave of sheer panic almost knocked
me off my fat little winter feet! I adore winter. I relish snuggling up in
cozy woolly clothes and baking all the delectable comfort food
associated with the season. I'm in my element in the winter; my
energy level is high and am more motivated than in warmer months.

But the thought of squeezing this little white hunk of blub into my
spring clothes (heavens to murgatroyd) leaves me horrified. Usually,
by spring, I've worked off last year's summer slug and can brace the
clothing shift with relative ease. Not this time. And it's not because
I'm eating more. No, dagnabit, I must honestly blame it, pure and
simply, on the fact that I am blogging.

So, does this mean that blogging makes you fat? No, it can't possibly
be. I'm not going to let it! The snow has melted now, and I have no
excuse to avoid walking, except that it was just 16 windy degrees
this morning. You know, the last few chocolate chip cookies, in the
freezer from the holidays, really should be eaten before they get
stale. Want some? Good. I'll put the kettle on. After all, tomorrow is
another day. Don't you love the fact that Scarlett preferred to do all
her proper eating at the barbecue?

artwork above: The Bath, Fernando Botero
For more great Botero art click on this video
and turn your sound way up!

President Head

With all things presidential this week, and the silly mood we've been
in at the Manor, I thought it would be apropos to talk about my
WT's hair. Like I've mentioned before, he has a great head of thick,

shiny, curly hair. I am very envious of this woolly mane. He just

doesn't know quite how to handle it and for some reason, it's never

of great importance to him. It's a good thing he has a sense of humor

about it, because it's a source of comedy around Willow Manor. I

have always fondly referred to this funny hair phenomenon as

"Dead President Head". Most mornings, he sports the James

Buchanan, especially in the winter months when the air is dry and

the top forms a little peak while the sides are flattened down.

And then there is the William Henry Harrison, which most often
occurs after wearing a hat all day; any kind of hat, which he looks
great in, by the way--wool cap, baseball hat, straw hat, beret, fedora.
This can happen year round. When this happens, it's best to leave
the hat firmly in place.

But the one that makes me laugh the most, would have to be the
Millard Fillmore. This look evolves when he has been traveling
extensively and hasn't had the chance to get his hair cut. The more
he tries to comb it into a style, the more it looks like a very bad
toupee. Well, at least there won't be any Barack Obama head at the
Manor. Fortunately Mr. Obama keeps his hair neatly cropped to
prevent such silly trends.

Just a Few Thoughts on Hair

Three Women, Belle Johnson, 1900

..

The days of my thick luxurious hair are gone. Why don't we appreciate

our youthful physical beauty while we have it? I realize that not all big

or long hair, is good hair, but I just wish I had my old hair back. Mine

has thinned with age and thyroid problems. If you really want to feel

like your hair is puny, watch Disney's Pocahontas. Her magnificent,

blowing, swirling mane is all over the screen. Then go look in the

mirror at your little nothing head of hair. It's demoralizing.

Maybe I was born in the wrong time period, because I adore the
romantic Edwardian or Gibson Girl hairstyle, piled high with a flourish.
My daughter happens to have fabulous thick curly hair, which she
inherited from WT. She can just flip it up and pierce it with a stick and
it's to die for. I think this photo of her looks just like a Harrison Fisher
or Howard Chandler Christy illustration.

Here's a shot of Kate Beckinsale from Merchant Ivory's adaptation
of Henry James' The Golden Bowl. Now, I realize that she's most
likely wearing a wig, but the style is exactly right for the time period.
Did you know that women would actually wrap their hair around balls
of padding called "rats" for extra volume? Somehow I don't think that
would work for me. I would look like Prince Valiant with a pincushion.



It was fun to see Kirsten Dunst in all the marvelous wigs in Marie
Antoinette. I wonder if she suffered from a stiff neck or headaches
from all that weight on her head during filming? And do you
remember that funny old movie Fancy Pants with Bob Hope and
Lucille Ball? Bob plays the part of an actor pretending to be a valet
and actually embeds a birdcage in Lucy's hair!

Well, I will have to admit that my little bob style is easy to handle.
And no, I don't get headaches from too much hair. And since I can
blow dry it in just a few minutes, I have more time for serious things
like writing posts about random thoughts on hair.

Hair brings one's self-image into focus;
it is vanity's proving ground. Hair is terribly
personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.

Shana Alexander

Haircuts

The Haircut, Aaron Bohrod, 1936

~~~

When my boys were little, I invested in some electric clippers and
became fairly good at giving them haircuts. I even mastered a great
bowl cut...remember those? Now, they're grown and it's been a while
since I've played the role of barber. My oldest son loves to go to a chic
place up the street, called Modern Male, where they give a wonderful
head massage along with the shampoo and sell tiny pots of special

hair goo, equaling the price of the entire haircut. He tells me that the

girl who cuts his hair always gives him an extra long massage and

writes her cell phone number on her card for him as he leaves. I can

see why. He is pretty cute. WT has his favorite hair place and one

particular girl always gives him a great haircut. I've never seen her,

but he tells me that she has quite a few body piercings and odd

colored hair. That's fine, as long as she's not giving him her cell

number. I've never been able to give WT a descent haircut because

he has a massive mane of wavy hair that grows straight up, like a

shrubbery. Every once in a while, he'll be extra busy or traveling and

miss his regular trim. That's when I have to gently remind him that

he closely resembles Marge Simpson and it's time to get out the

hedge clippers. I could create some lovely topiary art.

Why don't you get a haircut? You look like a chrysanthemum.

P. G. Wodehouse

Salon Talk

Margaret Thatcher has always been a woman I truly admire. I love
her nickname "Iron Lady" and that she, in her diplomatic days,
was an iron fist in a velvet glove. Charming, beautiful, intelligent and
strong. But I just don't want to have her hair. My sister and I were
chatting the other day about death and I made her promise me, when
the time came, sometime in the very distant future, that I wouldn't have
"Thatcher hair" as I lie in my casket. A few years back, I went to
a young girl to have my hair cut and highlighted. She had her own little
shop in a small town near ours. Some of my friends, with chic modern
styles, were her patrons, so I had no worries. She spent an inordinate
amount of time on me, tweaking and snipping for hours. When she
finally twirled me around in the chair and handed me a mirror, to
properly view the finished product, I was horrified!! There on my head
perched a stiff, teased and perfectly flipped nest of molded hair that
made me look exactly like the Iron Lady. Maybe because I was old

enough to be this girl's mother, she assumed I needed a nice

matronly hairstyle. But this was definitely not the fresh new look we
had previously discussed. Everything else was a blurr, hunkering
down in the seat, driving home at breakneck pace, before I could
be spotted by anyone I knew. I was lucky not to have been stopped

for speeding. But then, what cop in his right mind, could possibly

give Margaret Thatcher a ticket?

Routine Maintenance

Routine

by Arthur Guiterman

No matter what we are and who,
Some duties everyone must do:

A Poet puts aside his wreath
To wash his face and brush his teeth,

And even Earls
Must comb their curls,

And even Kings
Have underthings.


Age is wreaking havoc on my skin! It is a constant battle to fight
the dryness, especially through the winter months. (The odd thing
is, my face still has oily patches and blemishes along with wrinkles,
which is ever so lovely.) And my heals and elbows have taken on
the strange consistency of pumice. What is this? The curse of
everyone over 50? Spring has arrived and my feet need extra
attention, in order to become sandal worthy. Help!! One product
that really has made a difference is Kroger Gentle Skin Cream,
for dry sensitive skin. (Walmart has a similar Equate product, the
generic form of Cetaphil Skin Cream.) It is fragrance free and
just the right luxurious, creamy consistency. The best thing is that
it's so inexpensive, I can slather it on and not feel guilty. I have
used various high end skin products and this little cheap one wins,
hands down! It has become one of those little things in life that
I can’t live without.