Year Of The Shag

Things were changing in the world, and all was being represented by a cultural fad of some sort. Least of all, but starkingly significant to women, was the ‘shag’ hairdo. I, with my bleached blonde long hair, wouldn’t even think about layering just to look like an advocate for the Brittish invastion such as was worn by the Beatles, or as it was fashioned again in the ‘70’s movie “Klute” with Jane Fonda. No way. But it was also after the ‘love summer’ of 1969, breaking free from traditional rituals and some family values. Drug use was still around, but other matters seemed to juggle their way to the forefront at last such as Women’s Lib and many ground-breaking advocations of family and government structure.1

Home interiors were about to change as well. The darker Mediterranean look was being replaced with the ‘outside-in’ look. Potted greenery, bamboo, and wicker filled rooms over wonderful Indian rugs. Mall stores,and other destination shops were en vogue rather than going downtown where it was hard to find a parking place. Convenience and speed were the passage ways for what would become the precursors to the self-absorbed 80’s with its music and Bohemian mind sets.2

It was during those years that I learned to love little environments around my house. Places to sit and watch out the window. Tapestry over a couch was a suitable spot for reading books around a fire sipping on tea or sherry. And besides my daily bible study and praying in my head or on knees, I had a little shrine that I placed on the chest in the bedroom which consisted of a small statue of Jesus, two long candles and one candle cup in the center. Every night before going to bed, I would go to the chest and lean my head over and pray. 3

I thought it was so cool having my own little worship space. It was mine. All mine. Till the nigh tI was reminded that sometimes tradition works best and this silly altar I invented was just a spoke in a bad wheel. It was the last time I leaned over the candlelit chestboard, for as I bent forward the candle flicked right below my face and caught my beautiful long hair on fire! Shocked and in panic, I ran around the room screaming, “ I’m on fire! I’m on fire!”. No one was in the house at the time, so I just flew through the hall, into the bathroom and turned on the faucet and flung over my draped hair. The eerie smell of smoked skin filled the area while the heat cooled around my eyes. In seconds, I was thankful and relieved that the flames did not touched my skin.4

But as I looked up into the mirror, I got the shock of my life. My beautifully bleached blonde head of thick hair was singed and burned into what looked like layers of long and short valances around my neck and forehead. I was mortified! It was severely burned. My heart collapsed realizing that I had to do something and do it quickly. What seemed like forever in slow motion, I immediately took the scissors, tilted my head upside down and bowl-cut the burnt edges.. The mirror greeted me with a further shock. There I am. A bad version of short hair in different lengths. I sat down and premeditated self- annihilation. 5

It wasn’t moments later that my sister walked into the room, dropped down in the seat before me and said, “Well. You finally did it”. 6

“What? Did what? Is it that bad?”, I retorted
“No. Not that bad, but I never thought you’d get a shag”.7

I gave up the blonde and dedicated the next 3 years to returning brunette with long hair once again. But I will never forget the accidental shag that could have also taken my life.8