Getting ready for my day, thinking about what I needed to do for the morning, what I had to get from the store, whether there was extra tp in the guest rooms, that I was going to be 60 soon, that I didn’t have school in-service days ever again haha, and then I looked up and saw Michael Nesmith!
Remember him? I liked him. He was the guy in the Monkees who always wore the hat. So anyway, I looked up and saw Michael Nesmith but without the hat and realized it wasn’t Mike after all but me in the mirror, and wondered how, approaching 60, I had come to look like a Monkee.
One of the possibilities could be my great dislike for getting my hair cut. Nothing against any stylist anywhere, but I have so many things to do that don’t ever involve making small talk with someone holding me hostage under a nylon cape. If I could send my head out while I labored at other Important Tasks I might be okay with the whole process. Since it doesn’t work that way I usually put off going to a salon until I hit the point where I might be mistaken for a 70s pop band member.
But really (and I didn’t have to think about this a long time), I lay all the blame for my current Monkee state on my own children and here’s why. Back in the day when Oprah used to be on network tv, she would do makeovers on well-deserving women whose names and plights were submitted to the producers of the show. The women would start off looking like aging rock stars. Then, through the magic of a team of pros and wardrobe people, they would emerge at the end of the 60 minutes looking like Jessica Rabbit.
My sister Jo and I would always talk about how our kids should write in to get us makeovers, and what great birthday surprises that would be. So, you know, every birthday I’d be thinking I might get a “surprise” Oprah ticket, but no. When I mentioned this to my daughter the other day she had the nerve to say, “Mom. We were six and eight.” Yeah? And? They had good teachers who schooled them in reading and writing. Age is not an excuse.
As the years moved along and I saw their communication skills grow, I came to expect other celebrities to show up on my door step for other types of makeovers. Where was Christopher Lowell on my birthday when my home needed to be redecorated? Why wasn’t Alton Brown in my kitchen showing me how to make birthday mac and cheese? I don’t know.
You would think my children would do something amazing. Never mind the fact that they have achieved many great things. They are college educated, and collectively have owned businesses, lived in several different states and out of the country, currently manage my website, produce gallery-worthy artwork and amazing grandchildren, personally fight diseases, and are really, really nice people whose company I truly enjoy. Ya think they could pick up a pencil? Or type a text message? Or read my mind?! Apparently not.
However, I am a daydream believer and am giddy with anticipation thinking about how they will redeem themselves. Who will show up on my doorstep on August 10? Oprah? Christopher Lowell? Al Roker? Jane Pauley? Jon Gordon? The real Mike Nesmith with a hat?! I don’t know!
In the meantime I’m taking the last train to Clarksville haha to get my own makeover so I can be ready for the surprise and the big 6-0 and will take in the wisdom of one of my guests. When I asked how everything was going, he answered, “It’s fantastic! I know it’s gotta be a good day when I’m still looking at this side of the grass.”
True that. Enjoy your family today and wherever this side of the grass happens to take you. And should Michael Nesmith show up on my front porch in a couple of weeks, I’ll post a selfie of us. I’ll be the one without the hat.