Taking advantage of the slow pace of a day off from school, I finally had some uninterrupted time with Isabela's head. One day last week I told Jeff about Jennifer Peterson. Jennifer Peterson was a perfectly beautiful little girl who had a German mother and occupied the seat in front of me in the sixth grade. Almost every single day she came to school with her angelic spun gold hair plaited into a crown of glory that you could not find the beginning or the end of. Even if you spent the entire leftover time after you'd turned in your algebra test starring and looking for it. It was perfection.
I had tried it on my Barbie dolls so many times, but Barbie has quite a lot of hair for such a small head, and though I managed to get it into a circular braid, I never managed to do away with the dairy-queen of synthetic hair on top of it. Jennifer Peterson tiptoed back into my brain last week. It occurred to me that she had absolutely no idea how beautiful she was, and likely still is. She was a quiet, modest, bookish sort, and always looked like a little maiden from a painting, not at all what was considered hip in 1983. And she was everything that I love about a braid. In fact some of my favorite paintings of all time embody everything that I love about a braid. Such an honest and natural effort at adorning oneself.
So today I got to twitch a young girl this way and that with only a few squeaks of discomfort, while my hands played out the process that I've gone over and over in my head. First attempt mind you, but so satisfying. I have no advice on doing this. I just know that if you studied Jennifer Peterson's head the way that I did, you would know how to do it after 25 years.
Our Easter is celebrated next week, but all my love to rest of you this weekend!
xo,Anna