Esther Weiss

Her hair, on weekends, was tidy -- just as she kept her home, garden, closets and accounts.  During the week, tendrils and wisps plagued her forehead. Constantly pushing them back, she used silver edged combs to arrange her hair, keeping her face free.

Until marriage, my mother’s hair had been very long. She wore it in a bun at the base of her neck or in braids which she fastened with hair pins behind her head.  Cutting her chestnut brown hair was one of the ways that she became more suburban, stepping away from the traditional ways of the old community. She saved her hair, knotted with a swirl, in an olive wood box.

Never good at styling her hair, she relied on its natural waves and folds.  She cared more about beautiful scents dabbed on sparsely when she wore her non-work ensembles. Caring for her skin was a daily routine--cleansing, moisturizing-- without makeup, bright and clear.

Towards her twilight years, easier habits became hers, meals repetitive, taking time to organize her papers. Her rich hair color thinned out with strands of silver gray, she chose shorter styles and the silver trimmed hair combs lay in a box with pink cotton which became mine, along with so many images of her cool, beautiful hands brushing along her eyes, sweeping her hair off her face.  That motion is how she centered herself, quieted her thoughts, tendered her children and grandchildren; a motion that said, All is well. You have done enough.