Easy, Breezy, Beautiful...

I was thirteen, the first time I met anyone who bleached her hair. Looking back, I'm sure half the female student body in the high school were on the bottle, but for all I knew they were natural blondes. Hey, I was thirteen...

Her name was... Georgia? Georgeanne? Either seems right, and that in and of itself made her interesting. I'd never met a woman named "George" anything. She was my aunt's friend, so of course I anticipated someone old, wrinkly and completely uncool (as if I was cool, as if cool mattered, but I was thirteen). Maybe I mixed her up with Georgia O'Keefe. I couldn't have been more wrong.

In fact, she was surprisingly young and pretty, with just the right amount of curve-age that screams, "date me!" but which Vogue tells us is unfashionably frumpy. Vogue knows nothing about women. I thought she was gorgeous. She was also running late. When we arrived, she was still dying her hair. I thought nothing of it. I'd seen lots of women dye their hair. My mother dyed her hair.

We sat and chatted to the percussion of the egg timer. Well... they chatted while I smiled and nodded and investigated what was equally intriguing about my aunt's young friend: the single woman's house, another first for me. Not divorced, nor some sad remnant, unloved, unpicked and unwanted on the "A" team, just single and seemingly cheerfully so. How could a woman be 30... something... pretty, single, and satisfied?

Her home was a curiosity to me, perhaps because I thought I might find some clue to her insanity therein-- some depressing collage, a photographical record of lost loves, maybe, or an alarming number of cats. If so, I was disappointed. Her home was... a home. It reflected her. It was neither just a place to sleep, nor was it a depraved kaleidoscope of desperation and girliness that subscribed to the single woman's unwritten code of vengeance against the masculine inability to approve her. She filled her home with things she liked and made no apologies. Just puttering around her house discretely set off what was probably (to my parents, at least) a disappointing train of thought. A woman could be unmarried, childless, self-sufficient and happy. She didn't need a man to form a personality. Outrageous.

I so wanted to be her.

The egg timer dinged. My new hero, George, disappeared into the bath to wash her hair, and I contented myself with more exploring while we waited and the hair dryer drowned out any conversation. When she reemerged, I was stunned.

"How do you get that color?" I blurted out.

"The ends have been bleached lots of times. That's how they get so light," she explained. "I can't ever get the roots the first time." She said it as if it were some fundamental failing of id or ego. Something Freud would have a field day with, or maybe just an appalled hairdresser.

Actually, I'd never even heard of bleach, but that's not what I wanted to know. "Not the ends, the roots.  How do you get them so pretty?"

I confused her. "I just... I don't know. It's the bleach."

How could I explain? She wanted white, but the virgin hair was like sunbeams. They sparkled like spun gold. Rumplestiltskin would have collapsed in paroxysms of joy at the sight. I'd never seen anything lovelier than lovely George's dirty old roots...

I guess I've always been perverse. While other women buy dyes that claim to reduce brassiness, I slather it on, always hoping for those dancing sunbeams. My "brass" ring, prettier than any color God intended. And when I wash away those virgin roots... I think of George, and I stand up just a little straighter, unafraid to just be me...

It's a Black Fly in my Cabernet... (Isn't it Ironic?)

For those Alanis fans out there (and I'm one of them) no, it still isn't ironic.  What is "irony" then?

Well, there's verbal irony: saying one thing and meaning the opposite.  For instance, your boyfriend belches during a kiss and you tell him wryly, "Well, that's attractive.  I can't resist ripping my clothes off and taking you, right here, right now.  Do it again!"

Then there's literary irony: attempting to avoid an outcome actually creates the catalyst that accomplishes it.  Everyone remembers Oedipus.  Yup.

Then there's cabernet sauvignon.

Yes.  Red wine.  Nobody likes it.  Why?  Because most people think wine should taste like Asti Spumanti, Mogan David (an excellent manischewitz and a lovely cordial), or Boone's Farm.  Ah!  The squirrels are lighting up, now, remembering college parties and romantic dinners...

Cabernet is an acquired taste.  It's not sweet.  It's not fruity.  It's not light.  It doesn't roll over the tongue and cover its tracks: it sinks in deep, and reminds you that you still have a whole glass waiting to savor. It hugs you tight and marks its territory.  It's not a cheap date: it's the one you want to take home to mother, even if she'll be scandalized.  It sticks around and doesn't let you go home with anyone else.

So what in the world could be "ironic" about cabernet, you ask?

Cabernet is an acquired taste.  It's something you grow into after trying everything else: like a gateway drug, especially for women.  We start with whites, because we want to look "classy."  Then we move on to "rosé" because it's romantic.  (What's not romantic about pink, eh girls?)  And then (if we're very lucky) we meet the kind of guy who knows wine and he talks us into trying a red.  Lucky, because this guy is always a keeper.  Men who know about wine either have money or will have money.  They come from an educated family and if they're not already firmly in the upper-middle-class bracket, they will be soon.  If they're also sweet, kind, funny and sexy, all the better!

"What do you mean, you don't like red wine?  Here, I'll order for you.  Trust me."

And they start you out with a chianti or maybe a shiraz.  It's a little more "bold" than you're accustomed to, but you don't want to look like a hillbilly, so you drink it.  You feel fluttery and nervous, maybe a little awkward.  The Red Wine Virgin.  Next time you're at that Italian restaurant, you order it for yourself (because you're a classy chick, and adventurous).  And then you buy a bottle for yourself-- or else he buys it and keeps it at his place for when you hang out together...

The more you drink, the more you notice those undertones of "currant" or "blackberry."  Plum?  Oh, yes!  But not the flesh, the skin, the tannins, the loooooooverly tannins.  That's what makes red wine nice.  That's what hooks you...

And then he runs out of chianti and you have to drink his merlot.  It's not bad.  A little startling.  Instead of just holding your hand, it propositions you and asks for your phone number.  But merlot is without substance.  Wishy-washy.  It's neither bold nor smooth; neither fruity nor oaky.  A little bit harsh and startling.  It has no manners at all, but it makes you giggle.  It's the 3 a.m. boy: it will always be there when the bar closes and you're in the mood, and it looks good at a dinner party, but it'll never stick around.  The rebound wine.  You lost your favorite, and you don't want to be alone, but it's good enough for now.

And suddenly you realize you can't drink white wine anymore.  It gives you a headache.  It bores you.  You have to have the "good stuff."  And you're at a party and all they have is cab, or at a wine tasting and they don't have merlot-- and you taste the cab side-by-side with chianti and you realize...

Remember the first time you tasted dark chocolate?  You were probably a kid.  You spit it out, right?  Disgusting!  Chocolate is supposed to be sweet!  And then you grew up, and one day you were desperate (probably hormonal) and there wasn't anything else...

That feeling.  It's not a flavor: it's... it's... complete abandon.  Lust.  Smokey, oaky, bitter, bold... like a drug, you melt and say, "Ahhhh... yes, that's the stuff."  A pound of milk chocolate barely satisfied, but one bite of the dark sends you to bed relaxed with sweet dreams...

That's cabernet.  Do not drink cab if you want fluff, fruit, sweet, mild, fluid, energizing, upbeat, childish trick-or-treat innocence.  Drink it if you want wet dreams.  Drink it if you mean it.  Savor it.  It is like chocolate, and the best cab has undertones of cocoa, but it's not the chocolate your grammy gave you, folks.  It will take you over.  It will mean it.  It's all grown up and it knows where the G-spot is.  If you don't want to take it home with you, don't even pour a glass: you'll hate it.  Chianti and merlot drinkers beware: it will have your panties off in a heartbeat.  If you're a prude, then pour it into a potted plant and pretend.

No, I don't mean it literally.  I've moved from irony to metaphor.  You're still waiting for the irony, aren't you?

It is this.  Do. Not. Fuck. With. My. Cab.  Like any two-bit, toothless, big-haired hillbilly girl outside a bar after last call, I WILL scratch your eyes out if you mess with my man.  He's mine.  You can't appreciate him.  Go back to chianti and leave cab alone.

And there's the irony.  He's gone.  I've only just learned to appreciate a cabernet, and vintners have decided to play the field.  Blend a cabernet with a sangiovese?  Are you mad?!?  That's like Elvis Presley's daughter marrying Michael J-- oh, wait.  That actually happened...

Here is my heartfelt plea, folks.  If ever you have a chance to taste one of these bastard hybrids (sorry, Michael, the metaphor is over, I really, really don't mean you and Lisa Marie!) do not consider it a cabernet.  Do not say, "I never really liked cabs but this is great!  Barely any tannins, no oaky flavor, wow, it's even fruity!"  Herein lies the trap...

Keep buying chianti, dear.  Why did you even try the cab?  You knew before you picked it up that you weren't woman enough for it... it would lick you all over and leave you asking for your mommy.  What you just drank isn't a real cab.  It's a boring gentleman.  Cabernet is a Bad Boy.  What you have in your hand is a wine pretending to be the Wild Thing when really it's thinking about its returns on the stock exchange.  It doesn't ride a Harley.  It rides a Moped.  It's just pretending to be a member of the band because it wants to get into your pants.

Cabernet is smokey.  It's oaky.  It's bold.  It's got tobacco on it's tongue, or cocoa.  Not plum jam.  It doesn't go well with a PBJ.  (Oh, wait, yes it does.  Cab goes well with everything if you want it to.)  Stop encouraging the wannabes.  Stop playing around with my "man."

Go back to your chianti and your trailer, beeoooootch.

And there is the irony.  By listening to the folks who say, "I don't like cabernet," and messing around with the blend, cabernet is palatable for those without a palate for it, now.  But those who truly appreciated it for what it was?  *sigh*

I want my cabernet back.  I miss it.  I guess my only option is to down a bag of semi-sweet morsels and sleep it off...

Don't get me started on the irony of putting corn syrup in vanilla.

"A" is for "Apple." Apples are Red.

My son is colorblind (deuteranopic).  I am not.  The past two years as I've identified his handicap and helped him to cope with it has been an odyssey in understanding for me (sometimes worth a giggle).  But after much research, I've come to the realization... as a trichromatic, I can see what he sees, but there is no tool, no image, no amount of teaching that can show him what I see.  The understanding is purely one-sided.  That makes me sad.

I first diagnosed my son myself, at the end of first grade.  Mini-me is/was an amazing artist, even then, and rightfully proud of his ability.  One day, he showed me a picture and beamed, "It is an exact portrait of my stuffed lion."

"An exact portrait?" I asked, just to be sure.  "But it's green."

"My lion is green."

"Is it?"

He showed me.  His stuffed lion was... well, lion-tan.  You know the color, if you're not colorblind.  Yet he insisted that they were exactly the same.  Other than color, they were.  It was a fabulous likeness, for a six-year-old to have drawn.

That was my first trip to the crayon box, and our first quiz.  It turned out, my little man was told repeatedly that a color he sees as tan was called "green."  When coloring grass, he checked the label on the crayon, since he was always told grass was green (the first time I became aware that colorblinds will "cheat" in order to pass as "normal").  But nobody ever told him a lion was tan.  Thus, when choosing "lion colored" he chose the closest crayon to his vision-- what everyone told him was green.  Tan.  Green.

Poor little tyke, I thought.  Must be tough.  But he could already read, which I assumed meant he could make allowances for his disability.  So he can't see green?  He knows what's supposed to be green.  It only affects his art, I thought, and it only affects him when he can't read (or understand) the name on the crayon label.  I still giggle when I remember how his little fist would shoot up into the air and he would shout across the room, "MOMMY!  WHAT COLOR IS THIS?!?"  Of course it was aqua, forest, turquoise, or some other nonsensical word that incorporated "green" as an actual element.  Sometimes it would be a shade of yellow, brown or gold-- colors I realize now that he sees instead of green.  "Green" is just a word to him, but he recognizes it means a lot more to us trichromatics.

During the summer between first and second grades, an eye doctor confirmed my "diagnosis" and told me, "He has a colorblindness of some sort, in some degree, and yes, red-green blindness is the most common."  He was less than helpful, except to confirm my suspicions.  Armed with an "official" diagnosis, I mentioned it to his second grade teacher who assured me that "color recognition just isn't an issue beyond kindergarten or first grade."

Oh, the hubris of the trichromatic...

By the end of first grade and the standardized testing, Mini-me's teacher had forgotten our discussion.  It's not really her fault: testing from the previous year didn't emphasize or use colors as tools as much.  The new curriculum is trichromacy-biased.  "I wish you'd told me," she lamented.  I did, I did, I did taw a puddytat...

Never mind.  So Mini-me wasn't invited to speak at Harvard as a seven-year-old.  We're both over that. But in light of the changes in education and testing, I took it upon myself to research his condition... and I'm no longer giggling.  At the end of the below "dissertation" I've written for his third grade teacher, you'll find some links.  Look for yourself.  I can't even imagine seeing the world as he sees it: as a mixture of vomit and a little blue ink.  Yeach.  But there are different levels of dichromacy (some are just a deficiency while others are a complete lack).  I've challenged my little artist to color the world for me.  I've asked him to draw a picture of something we can both see with our own eyes (for instance, my garden in the back yard) without looking at the names on the crayons.  I've asked him to simply choose his colors based on what he sees and not on what he's been told.  With this exercise, I hope to have a more complete understanding of the degree of his colorblindness.  Maybe it isn't as bad as I think.  I'll include these portraits as I receive them.

But for my part... Here is the research paper I've compiled and plan to give to Mini-me's teacher, hoping to raise her awareness (and yes, all of us prideful trichromoptics).

"A" is for "Apple."  Apples Are Red.

(Teaching and the Colorblind Child.)

Overview.

Most people are unaware of color blindness' impact on a child's education.  In the U.S. (and most countries), it isn't considered a special need or disability.

The sad truth is that the colors used extensively to make learning and testing easier for a "normal" child will actually handicap a colorblind child.  Attempting to use colors as tools will make him seem less proficient than his actual abilities, in addition to frustrating and possibly ostracizing him.

Color is such a natural part of human development that we don't even realize how extensively we use it and rely on it in our lives.  It isn't simply a case of making certain a colorblind person doesn't mismatch his socks.  Color vision deficit is a handicap not only in education but in some professions and it is of utmost importance that teachers recognize how and why even especially intelligent colorblind children may not excel in a typical classroom environment without some minor assistance.

What is color blindness?

"Normal" vision is trichromatic.  The majority of human beings perceive three primary colors: red, yellow and blue.  The human eye can differentiate shades such as oranges, greens and purples because we receive the full light spectrum.

True color blindness may be considered monochromacy (achromatopsia, seeing no colors at all, only shades of grey).  This condition is very rare.

The typical case of "colorblindness" is actually dichromacy.  The dichromatic eye sees only two primary colors.  The ability to see color is a function of the three different types of "cones" in the eye, and not a matter of the brain's ability to decipher incoming information.  The dichromatic eye lacks (or in mild cases has a limited number of) one type of cone associated with the "missing" color.  The colorblind is not retarded or lazy.  No amount of "practice" will change his vision.

Because most colors aren't actually primary, but instead incorporate shades of all three, this spectrum deficit removes an important element in how our world looks to the dichromatic.  Color range is severely limited and different shades are changed drastically.

This missing color isn't invisible to a colorblind person, although it may seem so if the color is printed on a background that also incorporates the spectrum he cannot see or the color he mistakes it for.  For instance, yellow chalk used on a green chalkboard is invisible ink to the colorblind child, who most often sees green as tan or yellow in his reduced spectrum.  A colorblind person does actually see a color where there is color in most cases and not just grey.  Some instances where he might see grey, however, are "washed out" or pastel colors.

Eight percent of the male population and .5 percent of the female population in Westernized countries are dichromatic to some degree.  It's more common than you think.

Some people diagnosed with color blindness can (with effort) differentiate because the levels of deficiency range from mild to severe, but no matter the range, colorblind people still do not perceive these colors in the same way as a person with "normal" vision sees them.

Types of Dichromatic Color Blindness.

There are three main types of common color blindness: deuteranopia, protanopia and tritanopia.

·          Deuteranopia (green deficiency) and protanopia (red deficiency).  Because the range of colors perceived (and confused) by these two conditions is so very similar, both are lumped into the category "red/green colorblindness" which is the most common form. 

           

Imagine a world where some mad artist reduced everything you see with   an old-fashioned sepia filter.  Remember the old tin-types?  They tried to add a bit of color after the fact, but it was all faded and dirtied with    mustard yellow.  This is what the red/green-colorblind sees day-to-day.            He can see blue (though "off" colors of blue may have a brown or greyish      hue) and the rest is a nasty smear of brown and yellow.  You even look    yellow to a deuteranopic.  While it might be fun as an artistic filter in your          scrapbook, it's a serious downer when somebody asks you to color        Maryland green on a map when your red, green and yellow crayons look brown, gold and yellow.

·          Tritanopia (blue deficiency).  In this case, yellow (depending on the darkness) may be seen as pink, and green will be seen as yellow.  Red, green, yellow crayons may be distinguished as red/pink/grey.

In all colorblindness, pastel colors may appear as grey and are more difficult to differentiate.

Why it's often difficult to identify colorblind people.

Early in life, colorblind children recognize that they are different.  There is something wrong with them.  They cannot see what other people see.  Color vision deficiency isn't a mental deficiency.  Often, these children are incredibly smart.  Rather than admit they don't understand, they adapt to their handicap by the time they learn to read.

·      Labeling.  Labels are the number one crutch for colorblind children attempting to pass as "normal."  When asked to identify a colored crayon, they will read the label.  In the reverse, labeling is also the most important tool a teacher can give to a student asked to complete assignments requiring color-coding (for instance, coloring states on a map, or using red and green to identify groupings).  Kids teach themselves to check labels.  Teachers can assist colorblind students by making certain they can choose the expected colors to complete the assignment by labeling any colored tool or diagram with the appropriate color word.

·      Association.  When we teach our "normal" kids to identify colors, what do we do?  We tell them, "Grass is green.  Apples are red."  The same goes for color selection in art.  Colorblind children can't necessarily see the differences in colors for themselves, but they listen, they associate, and when they color their grass, they look for the crayon labeled "green."

·      Denial.  Colorblind kids know there's something different about how they see colors, but they will often hide it.  They recognize their deficit by inference but since they don't know what "normal" is (never having seen the normal range) they just cope and don't draw attention to their confusion.  Since there aren't many lessons in color association past kindergarten, a teacher will not be aware of any problem.  There are problems and he may do poorly on an assignment from time to time, but many times poor performance may be written off by teacher and student as poor understanding of the lesson.  This is the danger, however: if he assumes his answer was wrong rather than color perception, he may get the answer wrong on future assignments that don't use color, just because he doesn't realize he had it right all along.  He second-guesses his understanding.

Why is it important for a teacher to understand color blindness?

Color-coding plays a key role in education, especially before grade two, but it continues even in upper level courses.   Often, color-recognition is an important (but unrecognized) tool in standardized testing and with recent changes to curriculum, it plays an even more vital role.  It's easy to forget that some children will be handicapped during these lessons and testing, because the color is as plain as the nose on our faces... noses that (to them) are yellow and not apricot, brown or rosy.  Otherwise brilliant children will score poorly when handed "tools" that all look the same and asked to use them appropriately.  They see their classmates using these tools easily, and if they can't find alternatives they become easily frustrated or just muddle through with substandard results.  They often won't tell the teacher what's wrong.  They're too used to ignoring the problem because their problem is ignored by others as insignificant.

Color blindness is not insignificant and when color is involved in any way with a lesson or activity, a colorblind child can not perform on the same level as a trichromatic child without help.  It is physically impossible, no matter how self-sufficient, smart and proficient at hiding his disability the colorblind child might be.

What can teachers do to help?

It only takes discipline in the "mindset" to make yourself aware of colors, no matter how trivial the use seems to you.  Awareness and one extra minute of teacher preparedness can make a world of difference to a colorblind child's education.

·      Where written words are involved, either use black ink, or photocopy a colored lesson in black and white for the colorblind child so he can differentiate shades and eliminate color confusion.  (This will also help you as the teacher to identify what might confuse him by showing you the similarity of darkness/lightness in the lesson.)

·      Avoid green and red when possible.  Never use yellow on green.  Never alternate yellow and green for highlighting different aspects in a single lesson.  Likewise red and brown or green and brown.

·      Visually scan for keywords in texts or on worksheets before lessons, to make certain they are highlighted with bold, underline or italics: words emphasized with color may not register as important to the colorblind child, and this is the purpose of highlighting keywords.  If the text uses color, take a few moments during verbal discussion to stress them, or point them out independently to the colorblind child after the lesson is done but before the assignment is due.  Allow him to underline/circle in his text or on his assignment so he doesn't miss colored keywords.

·      Make sure if the colorblind child is asked to use colors to identify concepts (for instance, using red to associate fact families, or green to identify a continent) that the child remembers to check a label on his color (and that labels are present) before completing the assignment.

·      On testing, label the colors on example problems if it requires color.  A smart colorblind child can distinguish between darkness of shades, even if the colors look the same to him.  The inability to distinguish isn't an indication of intelligence, however.  The degree of colorblindness can still present a handicap.

·      Label the colors on diagrams and separate with bold, black lines.  Bar graphs and pie charts, especially, use color.  If the lines between the colors on a pie chart don't boldly separate the colored slices, two colors side-by-side can look like one, large slice to the colorblind child. 

·      Never consider this "cheating" or telling him the answer.  Don't tell him the answer, but do recognize that without your help he just can't perform what's expected of him, any more than you could complete an assignment where the directions ask you to color nouns yellow and you're given three crayons: mustard, gold and daffodil.  How can you get the right answer when they're all shades of yellow?  To make certain he knows which color is which before completing the assignment is not giving him the answer to the actual problems.

·      If color-coding is used for navigation (for instance, color-coded hallways or lines on the floor leading to "specials" classrooms, nurse's office and cafeteria) make certain green and yellow lines do not intersect and that there is a clear difference in the darkness between red and green lines.  Including numbering or lettering systems along with the colors will assist colorblind students.

·      Many teachers color-code their classroom activity zones.  Including the actual names or adding numbers to the zones (or, of course, labeling with the color name) will help colorblind students to settle in sooner.

·      Remember, a colorblind child might even misidentify colors he can actually see, because he's used to second-guessing his world.  Because he sees green and tan as the same color, he may pick up the green crayon to color skin or the tan crayon to color grass.  He sees tan, regardless.  It is easy to trick a colorblind child because if you pick up the tan crayon and ask him what color it is, he assumes it is one he can't see.  He will automatically call it "green" not because he sees green, but because it is the color-name he comes to associate with tan.

References and support sites:

Color Vision Testing

Colour Blind Awareness (the below comparisons were taken from this site and can be viewed in their original, there).

Trichromatic (normal) vision

The same image, with deuteranopic (green colorblind) vision

The trichromatic ("normal") world.

The dichromatic (colorblind) world.

My own examples

Original

The "I Need a Friend" Friend

You know who I'm talking about.

"Hey!  Haven't heard from you in a while.  Want to get together?  I could really use a friend, right now."  Sound familiar?  It should.  You either are that friend, or you have one.

I don't know how it happened, but that friend is me.

I am here, today, on behalf of I Need a Friend friends everywhere.  To speak out against the injustice that forever banishes us to the friend you call when you need a babysitter.  When you need a counselor.  When you need bail.

Believe it or not, we're perfectly willing and capable of holding your beer.  Yes, we're going to tell you that what you're about to attempt is unsafe and stupid.  Natural law and self-determination of the I Need a Friend genus requires that we absolve ourselves ahead of time of any responsibility for your injury/hospital visit/loss of work.  Really.  But we'll still hold your beer.

In fact, we're probably the soberest friend at the party.  Therefore after you blow off your hand/foot/eyeteeth, we're perfectly happy to run you to the emergency room/dentist.  We're not above saying, "I told you so," but damn.  We would so love-- just once-- to join in the conversation that goes, "Remember when I--" "Oh, shit yeah.  It was awesome.  Show them the scars!"  Instead, we smile and nod and wonder why we weren't invited to that party.

I think it's been 20 years since anyone called me and said, "I'm bored.  Can I come over?"  I miss those days.  I don't know what happened.  One day, I'm running down the street like Wile E. Coyote with a firecracker chasing me, and the next day I'm "safe."  Whitewall tires and picket fences.  Pimped out soccer van and PTA meetings.  I fill the lonesome hours, but I'm careful to keep my cell phone handy.  Nobody's there to hold my beer when I do something stupid... Gotta keep those emergency room visits to a minimum.  What would the neighbors think?

But we remember.  Oh, yes, we're keeping count, my friends.  And when the Zombie Apocalypse strikes... there are those of you that we plan to trip.  If you rat us out to the commune... who are they going to believe?  We're the I Need a Friend friend.  We're safe.  We're dependable.  We're the one you call when the Undead want to eat your brains...

Think about it.

A Corn-y Solution

No, that's not a typo.  Or perhaps I should title this, "A Corn-less Solution."  Nahhh.  The puns I do like, the puns I shall write...

For those of you who know me personally, you know I've been battling a corn allergy for about 7 years.  I say "battling" as if it is a disease.  Those in the know understand this.  It is a disease.  In effect, I'm allergic to progress.  Modern society makes me sick (and not in the usual, metaphorical way).  I joke that they'll be fitting me with my bubble, soon.  At least, I try to tell myself that I'm joking...

For those not in the know, I'll take a brief interlude to explain.  I don't have a "food allergy."  I can't get well again just by avoiding corn on the cob.  You see, every tiny thing you take for granted is made with corn.  It's not just sweeteners (fructose, maltitol, some glucose and dextrose among them), thickeners and flavorings.  Acetic acid (that's white, distilled vinegar like you use for your cleaning and pickles if you're boring) is distilled from corn.  I had an ear infection, once, that took three rounds of antibiotic drops to clear up.  I know why, now: it contained acetic acid.  So did the antihistamine drops they gave me for the eczema that caused it.  In fact, they helped, but by the time the antihistamine wore off, the acetic acid was still working away at my skin.  The vegetable glycerin in my Advil Liquigels is made from corn.  I can't take the tablets because they're made with cornstarch (which is worse than corn oil on my system).  In fact, I can't take any medications pretty much because they're cut with corn.  I can't cleanse a wound with alcohol.  It's made from corn.  I can't wear a bandaid for more than an hour.  The adhesive is made from corn.

Many stores now use "bioplastic" bags.  I can touch them, okay.  If they disintegrate, I have to wear a mask to dispose of them (I learned this last Christmas when I opened a box of ornaments I wrapped in them-- they do disintegrate).  I've had to change to a mineral makeup (and actually, I like it, because I never really liked anything except powders... and yup, non-mineral powders are made with cornstarch).  I'll also be promoting the most AWESOME mineral makeup in the world, here, so forgive me.  I don't own stock in it.  It's just such a relief to find people who understand.  I can't wear hairspray, use anything but special soaps, shampoos and conditioners (it took me 3 months to find those).  The best pomade in the world for short hair breaks me out in a rash if I'm not absolutely careful not to touch it after applying (god forbid I should sweat and my bangs should hang in my eyes).  But all of the above is just the tip of the iceberg.  You can't even begin to imagine all the things with corn in them, nowadays.  It really is in everything.  Toilet paper, for crying sake.  All paper now contains corn fibers, but toilet paper dusts the rolls with cornstarch and uses corn-based adhesives not only on the first sheet but to adhere it to the roll.  Yes, my dear friends, imagine wiping your ass with poison ivy.  *Shudders.*

Sorry for that last image.  Too much information, I know, but lots of people still aren't convinced it's a big deal until I hit them with what should be the smallest part of modern society.  Yes, I still use toilet paper.  (I'm a modern gal.  The alternatives are just creepy.)  I'm the Benadryl Cream Queen (which, btw, interesting factoid: Benadryl and every other brand of antihistamine tablets or elixirs have corn products in them.  I'm allergic to my allergy medicine).

That wasn't so brief, but I'm sure everyone gets it, now.

So what is this blog post really about?  Not TP.  Not even corn.  Actually, this post is about the blessing behind the curse, and how freaking fun it is, sometimes, to go corn free.  I'm not being sarcastic (or even ironic).  This past week, I've been playing Mad Scientist (having taken over my husband's kitchen, and I guess he's cool with that as long as I don't ask him to cook).  I am on a quest for an all-natural pomade (as in, "I could eat this and it wouldn't make me sick," not all-natural like Borax).  Yes, I know you can buy it.  Everything I've tried sucks.  Yes, I know there are recipes.  All the recipes suck.  Yes, I know this is my third batch and I've still failed and I suck.  But I'm going to keep trying.  It's fun.

In the meantime, here is a recipe for a decent hair tonic (leave in deep conditioner for curly hair).  My first "failure."

Frizz Control Pomade (for curly hair)

2 oz bee's wax
2 oz olive oil
4 oz coconut oil*

Using a double boiler or a pan with 1-2 inches of water** and a glass jar for ingredients: melt bee's wax.  After bee's wax is melted, add coconut oil and stir (with a folding motion, to move liquid bottom-to-top) until melted and mixed (about 5 minutes).  Add olive oil and use the same motion to stir until oil is mixed thoroughly (about 5 minutes: the olive oil will form droplets in the wax that you can clearly see: it is mixed when the droplets are either so tiny they look like glitter, or are unnoticeable).  Turn off heat and remove mixture (jar or pan) carefully.  Bee's wax and hot oil both burn, even if it doesn't look that hot!  As long as it's liquid, it will strip your skin off.

Place mixture jar (or pan) into an ice bath.  Stir consistently and constantly.  Do not let mixture build up hard on the sides.  If this occurs, remove from the ice bath, stir on the counter at room temp until it blends, and then return to the ice bath to stir some more.  When the consistency is creamy (thicker than gravy), test with a finger.  If it feels warm, keep stirring.  Once the mixture is blood-temp (it will not feel warm to your skin) you can remove it from the ice bath and leave on the counter.  Do not test the temp until it's thicker than gravy, as it might still burn you.  After it's down to blood temp, you can ignore it until it comes down to room temp.  Stir vigorously one last time and then spoon into a clean glass jar.

This process takes... oh, I don't know.  A half hour.  The consistency is a very thick lotion.  It actually makes a decent lotion, too.

* I used processed, refined, 100% pure coconut cooking oil.  It's odorless, so if you don't like smelling like coconuts (or if you want to add fragrance) it's a neutral base.  On the other hand, I have a whole organic coconut oil that I use as a leave-in conditioner because I love the smell, so it's up to you which to use.  Both are edible and natural.  Both were purchased at Whole Foods (the refined oil was in the cooking aisle and the whole oil was near the lotions and soap.)

** If you use a double boiler, just add water as you normally would to the lower pan.  If you use a glass container set inside a pan of water (which I do), then you'll want the water to rise about 1/4-1/3 of the way up the filled volume.  In other words, if I am using 8 oz of ingredients, the water-bath should go about to the 2-3 oz. mark.  I also only bring the water to a boil and then reduce to a simmer.  Boiling it the whole time won't make it melt faster, but you might get splattered by a roiling boil.

How to use pomade:

It works best on wet hair (captures moisture and locks it in).  Dab fingertips and then spread onto palms, work into hair and then comb through.  For longer hair, section into three or four layers.  Dab onto fingertips, spread onto palms, work into each layer (repeat up the layers) and then comb through.  Reduces volume (the halo fluff), straightens a little (by gravity, when you pull the comb through) and adds significant shine to dull, dry, "nappy" or over-processed hair.  Warning: if you use too much, it may look a little greasy.  On short hair, this is the bedhead "wet look."  On long, straight hair it's not cool.

Last but not least, as promised:

Signature Minerals is a high-quality, affordable, corn-free makeup.  Stress affordable.  They're not only cheaper than most mineral makeup, they're not much more expensive than Cover Girl (which I used 10 years ago before I was cursed because I am cheap-- wait, make that "frugal"-- not because it's high quality).  Hell, stress high-quality, too, on Signature Minerals.  I love the stuff, especially their multi-tasking concealer because I'm an old woman prone to melasma the past two years, but I'm not yet beyond vanity.  Their stuff makes me feel purdy again.

For the cost of shipping and handling (around $5) you can order a sampler kit customized with only the colors you want to sample (most sample are large enough to get 10-20 wears from them).  If you order something from them at the same time (I really recommend the goat's milk soap-- I've tried many, and theirs is the only one that doesn't make me itchy or blotchy), then there is no extra shipping charge.  No, wait, that's not true: you pay $.01.

Some of their products (lotions, etc.) may not be corn-free, so always ask if in doubt, but all the ingredients are usually listed clearly, and they're very good about getting back to you quickly and thoroughly if you enquire.  They're very helpful.  Maybe this is blatant consumerism, but I believe in them, their company and their product completely.

One final note on Signature Minerals: they're currently out of fragrance free soap.  This is because it is handmade by a woman who raises her own goats.  It takes weeks to process more.  When it is available again, don't buy it or you'll be extremely unhappy.  Not because it isn't good stuff: it's ambrosia.  I've been waiting a month for a new batch and if you get there first, I will hunt you down.  If you don't hand it over, I may do you bodily harm.  For sure-- choose one of the lovely, scented bars.  You won't be disappointed :)