My hair is about the longest it has ever been in my entire life. I am still not used to it. It gets stuck in the car window or door, I never know how to pin it up in cute styles that I see other people with long hair do with ease. I suppose I am still a short haired person inside.

My mom and my aunt have this belief that once a woman turns 40 she should have short hair only. My mom often comments how how long my hair is getting. It's not ever complimentary. But I don't care. I am "of a certain age" and I have long hair. It is often frizzy and has a few split ends, but I'm having fun with it. I put it in braids or toss my head and fling it around. Occasionally one of my daughters will sit behind me and give me different hairstyles. I am loving this long hair of mine and I intend to keep it this way for a while.

I read a blog post written by a woman about my age. She had decided that she was too old to wear jeans with holes in them. I have a pair of jeans with holes in them, I think they're cute. I never thought about being "too old" to wear them. I think it's sad that this woman believes she has to be younger in order to wear a particular pair of pants. As women, we are so often judged for our appearance. So many rules about what looks good and what doesn't. What's proper and what isn't. Wouldn't it be nice if we just styled ourselves in whatever felt comfortable and made us feel happy with ourselves? If we dressed for our own approval and not for our partners, or mothers, or what some fashion guru says. How would that feel?

I look at this picture of myself and I think,

"Swing that long hair, Jane. Enjoy yourself. Have some fun for once. Just for you."

How does that feel? It feels pretty damn good.

I never know what to do with my hands

Or my arms, for that matter. Where do they go? If I've got pockets, I'm golden. No pockets? Totally awkward.

I have extra long arms, and somewhat long fingers. I don't know if that's the reason I feel so awkward about my hands and arms, but it might be a factor. I think my awkward hand and arm issue is probably the reason I took up smoking to begin with--something to do with my hands. When I quit (thankfully when I was still young at 21) I carried a book around with me everywhere. So everywhere I used to smoke--train platform, waiting for class to start, waiting for the bus, waiting for a friend--I held a book up to my face. Voila, worked great. Now in those situations I, like everyone else, fuss with my smartphone. Also great for awkwardness.

Heck, maybe everyone feels awkward about their hands and arms. I'm still trying not to, though. I mean, they're not going anywhere.

I Can See Clearly

I read a tongue in cheek article yesterday about the problems with being a person who wears glasses, I laughed and nodded along as I identified with every single one. I have been wearing glasses since I was 9 years old. I did wear contacts for several years until I had my first child and then I just couldn't be bothered with contacts anymore. I am one of those people who absolutely cannot see without my glasses. They can be a pain, to be sure. Laying down sideways while wearing glasses is always fun. As is walking in inclement weather while your lenses get covered in whatever precipitation is falling that day.

But I really don't mind wearing them. I like the way they look on my face. Because the prescription is so strong the lenses tend to make my hooded eyes look bigger, that's a bonus. Without my glasses I wouldn't be able to drive, use my camera, recognize my loved ones, watch a movie without sitting in the front row, you get it.

Today's self-portrait is dedicated to my beautiful glasses, thank you for giving me the gift of focus and clarity. I promise to never put you in a chair or any other dangerous location and to always use a soft cloth when wiping you clean.

Cold, cold, cold

I waited too long to do this week's photo, and this isn't what I planned for it, but I procrastinated, got busy, missed the last light today, and here you have it.

Oh, and it's bitter cold out, hence curling up in front of the fire seems the best place to be.

I have chronic migraines. I have one today. Going on about hour 22 when I took this picture. I wasn't planning on having this be the topic of this week's self-portrait, but this is a part of my life. This is what I look like when I have a migraine. Tired, in pain, possibly even a little bit defeated. I won't feel this way forever, probably not even in a few more hours. In a few more hours I will feel like a weight has been lifted and I may regret posting this photo.

This is probably the worst picture I think I have ever willingly posted of myself online. That's what migraines do. They make you look like crap and feel like crap. But one thing I have learned after having them for so many years. They will not get the best of me, they will not make me hate myself when I can't get up off of the couch for an entire day, they will not dictate my comings and goings, they will not beat me.

So while I may not look so great in this photo, I feel pretty good about it. Because even in the throes of one of these damn headaches, I got out my camera and I used it. I may not have taken an extraordinary photograph but I don't think that really matters today.

Today I had a migraine and I survived it. That's what matters.

One of my favorite places

I have some artist friends. Old friends, these guys, and I've written about their talent and their generosity in other blog posts. I love them, cannot get enough of them.

I also love their house.

Their house is this magical place that kind of sucks you into a time warp... hours and hours can seemingly float by when I'm there. They tell great stories. There's art everywhere. There's a backdrop of ambient music. There is leaded glass, and antique furniture, and the light that flows in from the windows is somehow totally unlike the light anywhere else, ever. Greg dishes up killer homemade desserts and Leon pours wine, or bourbon, or whatever is handy or appropriate to the mood and it's all just so intoxicating.

Anyway, I ventured over to see what kind of self portrait I could get on this bitter but sunny February day.

One Hand

I told Lisa today that I didn't have a clue what I was going to write about this photo and she wisely said that sometimes an image will tell the story. While I do have a few things to say about this photograph, I will refrain and let the viewer think what they will.

A little bit of mystery this week then.