A brother's wedding speech

I got married over 4 years ago, so between the toasting and the roasting, the memory of what my brother said may be a tad fuzzy, but there were some great take home points.  I do recall him talking about how it's traditional to say good things about the bride (his sister, myself) but that he was going to break from convention.  Great!
I would like to bring up one of the concepts in a phenomenal book I read a few years ago:  The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch.  I didn't consider my brother's wedding speech as such at that time.  I don't even think my brother intended it that way, but in looking back, it was a bigger message camouflaged in a story about my belligerent youth.  In reality, the speech wasn't about me, at all.
There was mention about how I always got my way and how my life seemed carefree.  Something about how picky I was about how people pronounced my name.  Then there was the realization that perhaps I too had my issues.  Perhaps I was shadowed constantly as his sister, rather than my own self.  This is where the message comes in.  It was really about empathy.  Didn't think a motivational lecture would be slipped through with comic relief, but so we have it.  I reflect back.
In life, I feel most people are self-centered.  Let's call them the centrics.  There are a few that are empathetic.  The thing with being centric is the notion that only you have problems.  If you do acknowledge other's problems, it's only to show that your problems are greater.  The other interesting thing about centrics is their belief that nothing good or great is happening to them and all the goodness and greatness is happening to other people.  It's the basic misconception that plagues our society.
How do we know the size of someone's problems if we didn't walk a mile in their shoes?  How can we discount, the supposed happy faces hiding issues unless we asked?  Similarly, how can we undermine someone's good fortunes without truly realizing the efforts that it took them to get there.  Somewhere, my brother had figured out that perhaps living in his shadow had caused me to be the way I was.  Perhaps.  Perhaps he moved out of his centric zone and realized that maybe my life wasn't as perfect as it seemed.  In that lesson, was a lesson to me that perhaps I need to move out of my centric zone too.  Not just with my brother but with everyone.  Everyone has a story, a reason and I do need to seek it and understand where they are coming from.
I am reminded of a friend of mine talking about her 3 year old son (not at the wedding).  She simply said, "he hasn't discovered the other people yet."  So, while I think about my life, I also think about others.  The far side grass may be greener, but we don't know it, unless we go there and see for ourselves.  Are we focussing on their one blade of green grass in a vast yard of yellow?  I know I'm exaggerating, but let's be fair.
Recently, I can't remember the exact example, but I was dealing with someone or thinking about a professional and thinking about how great their life was.  Seemed so carefree and easy and they seemed to be making so much money for seemingly so little work and then it hit me.  I hear it all the time about doctors.  Patients think they make so much money and they hardly do anything.  HA HA HA.  For real?  No one sees the years of hard work and sacrifice it took to make that journey to the top.  Then I rethink my thoughts.  Another mirage.  Another grass is greener explosion.  We just need to reconsider the other side.
As with my thoughts, I wandered into the notion about people who just have it easy because they do. You know?  Inheritance?  Maybe long term family wealth that allows them to do whatever without any work.  Sure.  They are there.  But why would we want to waste our valuable time and resources thinking about that?  Be happy for them and move on.  Live your own life, not a life of comparison.  If you are comparing, do so to learn and grow.
My brother talked about how I pursued what I wanted to pursue in life.  I act.  I pay the violin.  I do what I want to do because I want to do it.  Perhaps in his empathy, he has realized that life can be lived, so maybe I have taught him some things and in return learned to continue to live and be empathetic.  Centrism must go!
My brother did not talk about gratitude though.  Interesting.  Most motivational lectures should have that critical part, but then my brother was doing a wedding speech.  Or was he?  Regardless, in the wisdom of a comical speech, there was the motivation for all of us to be better human beings.

Best to you all,
TTR

The Motherhood conundrum - adult conversations.

This one has been a draft (for months) and it's amazing with drafts, when I come back to them.  I wonder why they are still in draft mode.  What am I missing?  Anyway, as I read this, I realized that tomorrow is Mother's day.  Wow.  What a coincidence that I read this draft today and can post today and it's quite appropriate for Mother's Day?  Maybe it was meant to be!  Enjoy... and HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all moms out there.

I am not a mother.  Being a pediatric dentist, however, I get the unique opportunity to talk to many many many mothers; one child mothers, two children mothers and yesterday was the mother of six.  We started off with the basics of "how's life?"  Simple enough.  She had brought in her two little ones, a set of twins.  I verified that she had 2 other children.  Oh no, she corrected me.  She stated that she had 4 others and I laughed and said that I couldn't keep track anymore.  We talked about her husband and his job and moving states and then the conversation went to her.
"What about you?" I asked.  "You're a doctor, aren't you?"  She said, "Yes, but I have to study and it's hard with these kids."  I asked if she had to study for her Step 1, 2 or 3.  I have not been paying attention.  She stated that she had done all that and that she had to get her license renewed.  She talked about a program to get her current.  We talked about working and I asked her why she wanted so desperately to get back to it.  She talked about how she was fine being at home with the 4 kids, but when the twins came along, she said, she wasn't sure what happened.  She said she was not prepared to have the self-need to go back to work.  She talked about wanting to make a difference.  I smiled and talked about my life and working and how I felt it would be nice to maybe not work.  She reminded me that I did make a difference for our community.  I told her that I had read about women wanting to do something for themselves as they got older.  She said, there was something within her.  We talked about finding our purpose in this life.  She talked about wearing her hijab during her 3rd year of medical school and soon after she got married.  She told me about all the questions that people asked of her.  She said that people thought her husband had asked her to wear it, which was far from the truth.  Of course, we talked about Islam and the current state of politics and women's rights.  I told her that I could not see myself wear a hijab everyday.  She said that she felt the same way and that it takes getting used to.  She said, it still does.
So, there we were at lunch time, in my reception area having an easy conversation.  Her 3 year old daughter was quiet the whole time and very patient.  While we were finishing up our talk, the mom said, "it's so good to have an adult conversation, once in a while.  I've missed it!"  The gal at my front desk laughed.  She's a mom too.  I smiled.  Yet another factor of motherhood that I have to file away.  The gift of adult conversation!
It's quite a statement when one has to find oneself and takes pleasure in conversing with another adult.  Things I take for granted.  So, here's to the moms and the sacrifices they make everyday!
Best to you all,
TTR

Buck - my horse at Geronimo Trails Guest Ranch

What can I say about this beauty?  Well, for starters, his name is Buck and he was my assigned horse for my weeks stay at the Geronimo Trails Guest Ranch.

I had eyed him the first day we had gotten to the ranch, as we walked around the property.  Buck was grazing right behind our cabin.  I thought he was a Palomino, but irrespective, he was gorgeous.  I wanted him.  Well, as with the Universe, when you ask, you shall receive, and so I did.  Turns out Buck is a quarter horse and they come in all colors.  Easy mistake.  After all, Palominos are known for their color.  Anyway, I digress, Buck became my horse for the week.  Yay!

So, there's a lot I've learned about Buck in the week that I rode him.  The first thing is that, when we are all getting ready to get off on a trail ride, Buck likes to get out ahead.  As you can see on the right.  He's off.  He wants to get a head start.  That's pretty much all he gets, is a head start, because he just chills after that and decides that since he has the starting position, he can set the pace.  Yes, that's great and all, if his pace was that of the others.  No.  Not Buck.  His pace is New Mexico time.  Desi Standard Time.  Island Time.  Whatever you want to call it.  That's Buck's pace.  I'm constantly thinking "come on Buck!  Keep up!" and I'm sure Buck is like "Whatever!  Just chill and stop and smell the roses woman!

As you can see, that's my husband, on his horse Rooster and he's about 3 horses length ahead of us.  It took me some time to get used to Buck being so far behind.  So, I would cheat.  I would prompt him to go faster and he would get in a trot and catch up.  That's the interesting thing about Buck.  He was very responsive.  I could get him to trot, go right, go left, backwards, without any problems.  Walk faster?  No!  That was Buck's weakness.

There were times I would get Buck to trot, but then it wasn't such a good idea because when one horse trots, the other horses want to follow suit.  I was just trying to get Buck to keep up.  On our last day and our last trail ride, I got the opportunity to lope with Buck.  Buck has no issues loping or even keeping pace while loping. He just doesn't like to do it on a walk.

The other thing about Buck is that he trips a lot (about 6 - 10 times a ride), but he's pretty surefooted when he needs to be.  When crossing the streams, he's nervous and he takes the safe path and it's not that big a deal.  On a casual walk, suddenly, he'll just slide a little.  "Buck!  What is going on?"  Well, of course, the horse doesn't answer back.

It took me a while to realize that Buck was mostly his own person.  He wanted to do his own thing and didn't really want to be out walking.  He would have liked grazing back at the ranch or maybe loping.

As you ride a horse, you begin to learn about him/her and early on I learned that my Buck was a scaredy cat.  Horses have herd instincts, so when one horse freaks out, the others do too.  A couple of times, maybe a horse up ahead yelped and wanted to take off, but most of the time, it was Buck.  As I began to learn more about Buck and his fear of just about anything - a falling leaf, a squirrel, I started to keep a tighter rein on him.

There were several times I had to pull back the reins to stop him from wherever he wanted to suddenly head off to, because something in the bushes startled him.

What is Buck truly afraid of though?  Well, he is most certainly afraid of these angus cows.  Yes, the other horses have had a show down with these cows.  I don't know if I have the picture, but there's a calf that these cows are protecting and so obviously, they are going to be on high alert.  If the cow so much as moves, Buck freaks out.  Over my stay in the ranch, I was a bit scared of the cows because of their intimidation and poor Buck, responded in fear.  Yes, I see cows, I'm tightening my reins.  Can't take a chance.  Buck will freak out.

Luck for me, although Buck walked slow and was several paces behind, we all stopped when we saw the cows and we would proceed with extreme caution.  So, Buck could catch up and wasn't way behind, he was close enough to the other horses.

Buck and I visited some amazing places.  The scenery cannot be captured with a camera.  I'm beginning to realize with my trips that while I have some pictures, it's so different when you are actually there.  The scale and grandeur of the area is something that has to be experienced.
I wish I remember the name of the places that are in the photographs below but that rock is a beauty.  The picture on the left looks like a submarine to me, but I can't recall what it was called.  This trip was a couple of months ago and I didn't take notes, so unfortunately, I cannot totally help, but if you do a vacation down by the Gila National Forest, you'll get to see this too.

This picture on the left is at one of the picnic spots.  We would ride, find a spot to secure the horses, and then eat sandwiches out in the open.  It was just peaceful.  Oh the dark brown horse on the right of the picture is Johnny.  He was Kelly's (one of the wrangler) horse and he was a youngster.  He did not like Buck going at the pace Buck was going at and wanted to pass him up, but then Buck being his senior would not let him and purposely cross tracks to get in front of him.  Poor Johnny.  I can see Buck as the old man telling the young 'un to slow down.

These last pictures were taken at the beginning of the day, but usually at the end of the day we would bring Buck back, take his saddle off and give him a rub down with the two different brushes so he can enjoy himself and be rewarded for a job well done.  Buck loved his rub down and he especially loved getting his face rubbed because Buck would get itches on his face.  But in general, he loved it when I would brush him down.  I would use the metal brush and then the vinyl one.  At times, he would turn to me almost asking me to stop brushing his back and brush his face again.  So, I did!  He was lovable.
I will go through my other pictures and see if I have a more perfect one of Buck, but despite shadow and all, you can see him.  I love his dark mane that hangs to his left always.  I found that unique about him.  I miss you, Buck.  You were very special to me.

Best wishes to all and safe travels,
TTR.

Geronimo Springs Museum. Day 1 of New Mexico.

So this is the Geronimo Springs Museum, in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.  On our way to the guest ranch, I thought it would be better to halt our stay at T or C, because of fatigue, and I didn't want to drive 4 hours to the ranch on the day we landed.  It turns out to be a good decision except, I didn't know what to do in this small town.  This is where being a Facebook stalker comes in handy.  I was constantly looking at and commenting on Geronimo Trails Guest Ranch's FB page and one of my comments was that I was in T or C, just a day away.  They commented that I needed to visit this museum.

 So, I did.  Lot of Antiques and just plain "old stuff".  I hope you all enjoy my pictures.  I'll try to explain as much as I can, but a picture speaks a thousand words?

So as you can see above, there are 2 skulls.  The picture of the left is the Mastodon.  The picture on the right is the one showing both the woolly mammoth and the mastodon behind it.  I just thought it was neat.  I think there was mention that archeologists found whole woolly mammoths frozen and that's how they knew that these animals had fur on them.

As you can see above, this is the mastodon's teeth.  Being a dentist, I couldn't resist this picture.  Interesting side story, there were "do not touch" signs there.  I wanted to feel what these teeth felt like.  Perhaps I wanted to tap them.  I'm crazy that way.  They say it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.  No, I asked for permission.  I figured the woman would say no, but she said yes!  The teeth felt like plastic.  Did not feel real to me.  What do I know?  Perhaps with my dental tools, this might have been a different story.  OK, on with the pictures.

Old typewriters and sewing machines.  I am quite sure my grandmother owned a sewing machine like this and if my mom would see this, she would not be impressed with the picture.  She'd be like, "this is what we grew up with".  Well, I remember them, but they are old enough to be "cool".

Yes,  You guessed right.  Dental chairs from the 1940s.  After the practice was taken over, the new dentist replaced all the equipment in the 47 years of his practice.  Wow!  He practiced for 47 years.  That's great.  When the museum was opened, he donated it to them and so here are the pictures.  If you'll see on the top right of the pictures, there's a series of framed pictures hanging there.  They had the history of the town.  It was called Hot Springs, NM and the name was changed to Truth or Consequences, based on the town vote and the popularity of a TV show at that time.  So, the picture board there was interesting, before and after pictures of the town.

I love the spindle!  It's so ancient.  I keep thinking of Rumplestilkin whenever I see one.  Of course, cameras from the past.

The museum, as the name suggests talks about Geronimo, an Apache leader.  So, there's a bow and arrow.  I'm not sure how authentic that bow and arrow are.  I think they were made for show, but who can really tell?
The photos below are going to be an old telephone.  OK, this is before my time but I have seen the use in movies and such.  I remember the scene in Downton Abbey using a similar telephone.  Very funny.
This would not be a wild west story if there weren't revolvers involved so, I thought I would take a picture of these also.




Next set of pictures are saddles with the some fabulous leather tooling.  It's so pretty.  I think so.




Aren't they neat?  OK.  Last but not the least, I got a picture of 2 more saddles.  I'm amazed at the work in these.  They just don't make them like these anymore.



Are we tired of saddles yet?  The main reason the ranch sent me to this museum was actually to appreciate the pottery of the Mimbres people.  The pottery is a 1000 years old and I find it absolutely fascinating.  The art work on some of these is great.  In a later blog, when I get time (ha ha) I'll have a day that we went hiking up an archeologic site looking for broken Mimbre pottery pieces and then you can connect the dots, but for now, here's the pottery.






I'll end with a picture of a windmill and one of dried red chili peppers.  I don't know why, but it seems like the New Mexico thing to have them.



There were stories of the Apache kid and of course, Geronimo.  The ladies who worked at the museum had written a book about the area and things to see there.  It was all interesting, but my attention span only lasts so long, so I guess somewhere I stopped taking pictures.  I do believe this will give you a good idea about the museum.  I must make a disclaimer here.  As you can see with these pictures - it is a small town museum.  So, don't expect a big city Smithsonian type deal.  It is definitely a fun, eclectic little place to visit at T or C, NM.  Was a perfect way to spend the morning before our drive into Winston headed to the guest ranch.  More to come.

Thank you for reading and following me.  I apologize that I've been MIA, but it seems like that is my life.  I was going through the pictures in my camera and I'm behind by a few years.  *sigh*  The way I see it;  This is a start.

Best to you all,
TTR

Yasmina's Necklace - a play by Rohina Malik

I haven't written a play review in a while, but this one is worthwhile mentioning, especially in today's climate.  This play interweaves two Muslim families.  One, where the mother is a latino convert married to an Arab man.  They have a son who prefers to change his name from Abdul Sameer to "Sam" to cover his ethnicity and advance in the American financial world.  The other, an immigrant family Musa and Yasmina from Iraq.  The families are introduced to each other by the Imam Rafi with hopes of bringing Sam and Yasmina together in an arranged marriage.  Sam, a recent divorcee from a caucasian woman has no interest in the match and neither does Yasmina, but their lives intertwine as Sam helps Yasmina in setting up her non-profit organization and so the story goes.
The play produced by Mustard Seed Theatre is running on full houses and the last production will be tomorrow (February 12th).  The acting was spot on by the entire cast.
I was mesmerized.  Parvuna Sulaiman plays Yasmina and when she came on stage with her hijab, I was reminded of a friend of mine, an Iraqi refugee.  The accent was spot on and I was immediately drawn in.  As the story progressed I thought about my friend from Iraq and I thought about life and the refugee life and the story transported me.
There were some other great performances.  Amor Salama plays Musa, Yasmina's loving father.  He's a dentist from Iraq but has to take on other jobs as his degree is not accepted here in the United States.  It was a pleasure watching his relationship with his daughter.
The entire family of Ali, Sara and Sam played by Chuck Winning, Maritza Motta Gonzalez and Adam Flores respectively was charming to watch in their conflicts and situational comedies.
Jaime Zayas as Imam Rafi provided the excellent comic relief as only an Imam can and Ethan Joel Isaac playing Amir delivered the final punch with tremendous precision that one is brought to tears in realizing what a human really wants.
Director Deanna Jent showed a lot of class and strength in bringing this beautiful piece to the stage and honoring our collective humanity.  All tech aspects of lights and sounds worked beautifully.
I would love to sit with playwright Rohina Malik and perhaps pick her brain a little.  That will have to wait for another day, if I get the opportunity.
For now, I cannot say enough about this play.  I'm so glad I went to see it.  For those of you in St. Louis who are reading this blog and have not had the chance to watch this fabulous play, it is unfortunate. However it's not unfortunate for Mustard Seed Theatre as they have sold out consistently and for good reason.
I must also add that this play reminded me of a post I had made earlier in 2015 called "A conversation with an Iraqi woman."  For those of you who have watched this play and are reading this post, I would recommend you read that one too (if you haven't already).  I will share the link here again.
http://www.theythrowrocks.com/2015/08/a-conversation-with-iraqi-woman.html
I will leave here.
Best wishes to you all,
TTR

Allegiance

About a month ago, the theaters had a showing of George Takei's musical Allegiance.  An office Christmas party was on the schedule for the evening of the one day showing.  My husband was going to go, regardless.  I love musicals but office obligations, are just that, obligations.  Being the boss, I suppose I could have re-scheduled the party, but being the boss, I also recognize that I don't want to re-schedule something that maybe they are looking forward to.  Maybe?
Here's the thing;  some things are meant to be.  My schedule had a hole in it, in the afternoon, and it was decided that we had the time to do the Christmas party at lunch.  So, I was going to be home in the evening and I could after all go to this musical.  Scary thought.  Why did I have to watch this show?  What was God trying to tell me?
I don't know the answer to that.  All I know is that I saw a page in our US history, of Americans (even born in this country) of Japanese descent who were taken to internment camps after Japan bombed Pearl Harbor.  The portrayal of the incidents that took place, made my stomach churn.  One minute I felt like crying, one minute I just wanted to throw up and then there's the shock.  The shock is where your brain cannot process anymore.  How does one react when people were forced to sell their homes for less than 10% of its worth and then 4 years later are given $25 and a bus ticket when they left camp?  Or was that $75?  I still think about the scene where the officer walks in and tells everyone in camp that they should be undressed and ready for their medical examination.  A month later, still processing.  Still feel like crying.  Still feel like throwing up.  I think prisoners get more dignity than that.  My mind shoots to the reality that this could happen to me or my family.  Religion is the crime in this country.  The Islamic religion to be exact.  Who cares about what Islam truly says?  Does it matter than Islam stands for peace, kindness and tolerance?
When you get past that first shocker, then there's the nurse's station.  The aspirin is only there for the officers, not for the people who are interned.  The interned people were the enemy.  Let them die!  Note to self:  If this happens, pack a LOT of Advil, maybe antibiotics too, if you have the time.  I remember making a comment to my husband about that, after the show.  He said that he had read somewhere that the one thing people forget to pack or carry are shoes.  Hiking boots it is.  Maybe I should make a list now?  Just in case.  Or maybe I should pray.  Pray a lot.  Pray a lot lot.  A lot, lot, lot!
I have read that this whole thing, if God forbid were to happen, would only happen through the authority of the Lord.  That's faith.  Everything in this world happens through God.  Doesn't the devil count for the mischiefs?  I know Islam is a faith that tests your faith.  If God ordained something, so be it.  Good, bad or ugly.  What do we know as human beings in our fleeting existence?  All internment camps and wars will come to an end, when an individual dies.  If there is no camp or war, death is still guaranteed.  The comfort is this.  Death is guaranteed to all - the rich, the poor, the sick, the healthy, the aggressors, the peace keepers.  One day we all will leave this world, no matter how we lived in it, no matter how we treated our family, neighbors and friends, no matter what our faiths are, we will still leave.  There's much beauty in that thought.
Go see Allegiance, if you get a chance.  I don't know if it's available on DVD, Netflix, BluRay, Amazon prime, hulu, YouTube or whatever other source.  I would recommend all people watch it.  It's an essential part of our history and our education.  We cannot hide our heads in the sand.  That would not be right.
For now, I'll leave you all with a prayer.  Dear God, bless us all.  Strengthen our families, friendships and relationships.  Help us make the right decisions and give us the strength to defend what's right and shun what's wrong.  Give us through your Grace, peace and protection.  Keep your watchful eye over all victims around the world who need you desperately and do not forget them in their time of need.  Thank you.  Ameen (the Arabic version of Amen).

Happy New Year to all of you.  Thank you for sticking with me and God Bless.

TTR

My journey to beautiful

I was born dark skinned and such was life.  My earliest memories involving skin color came from one of my uncles who used to call me blackie and a cousin who used to call me shaani.  You all understand the word blackie implies a very dark color, but what does the word shaani mean?  Shaani is a word in the Tamil language, translated for cow dung, or cow poop, or cow excrement or whatever  way you want to describe it.  If you have seen cow dung, it is very dark in color, almost black.  Growing up I always knew that dark color was undesirable.  I don't think I completely understood how undesirable until I grew up.
When one grows up knowing they look ugly, or at least when everyone implies it, one builds their own defense mechanisms.  Somewhere, I held on to my faith that looks didn't matter, it was the character of a person.  After all, that's why Islam recommends modesty.  I built defenses within myself that all the good looking, attractive girls were inherently hollow on the inside and only got their way because they were good looking.  I, on the other hand, may not look good, but I was looking damn fine on the inside.  That's how I considered it.
Secretly, I wanted to change my fate and look beautiful.  If only I could be lighter.  I couldn't.  As a little girl I would paint my face with makeup.  The more the merrier.  Obviously, that had the opposite of the intended effect.  I think I gave up at times going back to my defenses of very modest clothing and not trying to care.  I think I owned the largest collection of turtle necks.  The cycle would continue.  I would try makeup again and fail horridly and go back to square one that looks didn't matter.  Gosh.  I looked like a mad hag with makeup, and I gave up a lot of times.  It's not just makeup I gave up on.  I also didn't care about my hair.  Nothing was going to make me look good unless I could change my skin color, so screw that too.
In my early 30s, I met a woman in India who felt very different to me.  She looked at me and would dote on me and tell me how beautiful I was.  In the beginning, I wondered about what she wanted.  Everyday it would be "if only you could see how beautiful you are" and my secret desire to be beautiful, gave in and started believing her.  She told me that I just needed to change a few things and I would look gorgeous.  First thing she suggested was hair.
I was in India then.  I had never gotten my hair colored before.  Ever.  She wanted to change that.  She said a little red in my hair would make the world of difference.  I don't know why, but I trusted her.  Or maybe I wanted to trust her.  Anything to make me beautiful.  Anything.  So, we went to the hair salon to get my hair colored.  For the first time.
When I came home that evening and looked at my strawberry blonde hair in the mirror, I started crying.  The price of beauty came with ridicule.  She promised me that she would take me back to the salon and have it fixed.  She said they cured it too long and that the salon made a mistake.  My husband at that time walked in and looked at me once.  I tried to put up a brave front and said, "do you like it?" and he said sternly, "have you gone out of your mind?  Change it at once!"  Yes, I started crying again.  The woman tried to console me to no avail.  I couldn't wait for the next day.
The next day darkened my hair only a bit.  The process to try and chemically straighten my hair had burned it and ruined it to a dried up frizz.  Oh yeah.  That happened the day of the strawberry blonde.
I came back to America and found a salon.  My first time at an American salon.  I got my hair cut short.  Good thing my hair grows fast.  A year and I kept cutting it over and over and over until I had my original hair back.  I was turning grey so I needed to color anyway.  That's when I started doing it the right way and started paying attention to my hair.
I had given up on my beauty but in the strangeness of disasters, I got it back.  I came to respect what I had - my hair.  And I came to accept and understand more.  Perhaps, I'll never be beautiful by the definitions I grew up with, but my definitions were slowly changing.
I've learned more self respect in the past few years.  Acting stints have gotten me better at wearing makeup and for a change I'm able to see the artistic nature of makeup.  I don't look at those girls as superficial anymore.  I don't look at myself as beautiful, but I am more comfortable in my own skin.  When men didn't want me because they thought I was very average looking, I got used to that.  I learned that I didn't want them either. When my husband Brad told me that he thought I was beautiful it took some getting used to.  Maybe he was lying.  I've come to realize that color really doesn't matter to him, so without that factor, I got my beauty back.  And I have my hair back as well.
Best to you all,
TTR