Names: Sarah and Gerry Kempen When and where: Wednesday, October 21st, 2015 at the Scottish Bakehouse, Vineyard Haven Beverage: coffee Last time we met in person: we had dinner together in Newport during the summer Friends on Facebook: Sarah since January 2012, Gerry since October 2010 Friends in real life: about the same time.
Chris and I were on vacation on Martha’s Vineyard for the week, so Gerry and Sarah flew over in their plane to visit us, as they often do. We shared a very enjoyable 24 hours, during which time we also had lunch at Offshore Ale in Oak Bluffs, and dinner at the Copper Wok in Vineyard Haven. At the Copper Wok we ran into Jess, another Facebook friend, who recommended the Scottish Bakehouse to us, so that’s where we went for breakfast the next morning.
Gerry and I first met when he came into my place of work to order some printing for his business. Not long after that he became a member of Mensa and recognized my name on the list of local members, so he got in touch and we’ve become friends since then. He started taking flying lessons around the same time I started piano lessons. Now he flies all over the place, whereas I can sort of play a Barry Manilow song.
I’ve yet to pluck up the courage to fly with Gerry, which is no reflection whatsoever on his abilities as a pilot, it’s all down to my own anxieties. I’ve noticed that when the four of us get together, for some reason we always end up talking about plane crashes, which really doesn’t help. (I think it’s Chris that normally starts that topic of conversation.) It certainly would be handy to be able to fly to the Vineyard one day… the journey that takes us 2+ hours took Sarah and Gerry about 20 minutes!
Names: Ted Romanosky and Susan Weaver When and where: Sunday, October 11th at Wickford Harbor Beverage: hot cider Last time we met in person: August 2nd, when we went for a sail on our boat Friends on Facebook: Ted since December 2007, Susan since January 2014 Friends in real life: I’m guessing since 2003-2004, or something along those lines
It appears my project has got off to a very slow start, and I’ve spent the last two weeks in sombre isolation, yet that is not the case. I have actually been quite sociable (for me) and have done things with people on a number of occasions, but they did not meet the requirements I have set, eg. we didn’t share a drink together, we weren’t Facebook friends at the time, no photographic evidence exists. But now I’m back on track! Ted invited us out for a sail on his beautiful schooner Good Fortune and we were quick to accept. Previously I’d only ever been on board at the dock in the dead of winter, so this was very different. I’m not a big sailor: I get nervous (I don’t swim, plus most forms of fun frighten me) and I tend to get seasick, but I must say this was one of the most pleasant and exhilarating boating experiences I’ve ever had, and Ted and Susan took excellent care of us.
Good Fortune under sail, with us on board (photo nicked from Ted’s Facebook friend Michelle Salisbury)
Ted was a regular customer when Chris had his store in Wickford, so that’s how we originally met. Over the years we’ve discovered our shared love of the Beatles and music in general. He’s been learning to play bass as I’ve been learning piano, so we’ve also shared our experiences and frustrations of learning to play musical instruments. We met his lovely lady Susan before long, and gradually his friends became our friends and our friends became his friends, which is all very nice.
Name: Bud Heaton When and where: Sunday, September 27, 2015 at Fifth Element, Newport, RI Beverage: red wine Last time we met in person: probably 2 weeks ago
Friends on Facebook: since 2010 Friends in real life: since 2000
On Saturday night, my husband Chris and I were talking about Facebook. He deleted his account some time ago as it was all getting too much for him, but has recently come back, and is keeping it manageable by only having 33 friends, all of whom he has met and most of whom he has shared a beer with at some point. I, on the other hand, currently have 356 friends, most of whom I’ve met, but in some cases not for a very long time. I have been getting very reclusive and antisocial lately, and Facebook has been my primary source of socialising, so I announced yesterday that I was aiming to get together with as many of my Facebook friends as possible in the next year or so. I liked Chris’ criterion that a Facebook friend should be somebody you’ve shared a beer with, but I’m expanding that to any beverage. I particularly like the idea of having a nice cup of tea and a sit down with somebody.
Although Chris is one of my Facebook friends I’m not counting him, at least not right away. Maybe we’ll purposefully have a special cup of tea and sit down at some point. So last night we got things off the ground, and went out for dinner with my father-in-law Bud Heaton. Although we live in the same town and talk on the phone all the time, and Chris works with him every day, we can sometimes go for weeks not meeting in person, so it was nice to catch up last night. We inevitably talked about the store (which he and Chris run together) but we also had a general gossip about stuff, and it was all very enjoyable.
I’ve got an odd relationship with my hair. We hang around together a lot, but we’re not close. I’m not one of those people who spends hours styling it (I’d be happy if I never had to do anything with it ever again) but I grudgingly acknowledge that it plays a big role in the image we present to those around us, and we are inevitably going to be judged on it. Therefore I will wash it on a semi-regular basis, to let the world know that I don’t have a complete disregard for its hygiene standards. But I don’t really have the time nor the inclination for any more than that. Having to make myself look presentable for a special occasion is something I find rather tedious and annoying, if not stressful.
My hair started being needy in my late teens. Before that, we were on good terms. It grew long and silky, a lovely dark brown, almost black. It hung in pigtails most of the time, trouble free. Maybe it all went wrong when I started messing with it. I had a big bubbly perm when I was around 15 (it was the 80s), so perhaps when I started finding the odd grey hair a couple of years later, that was my hair’s revenge. No problem, I’ll just hide them with a few red and orange highlights, I thought. The grey hairs multiplied, so I started getting a semi-permanent colour every few weeks. Within a few years, the greys were so abundant, only permanent dye would do the job. The texture of my hair, once fine and silky, was now uncontrollable frizz. I scraped it back into a ponytail and tried to forget about it. I’m so hopeless with hair, I couldn’t dye my own roots (I tried a couple of times and gave up — it was never going to work) so I’d have to go to the salon to get it done. The appointments got closer together as the regrowth became more obvious. I tried dyeing it a lighter color so the roots would blend in better, in an attempt to stretch the time between salon visits.
Before I realized, it had got to the point where I looked in the mirror and saw a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize, with a boring blondish brownish functional hairstyle. It didn’t reflect the person I am inside, not one little bit. What was I to do?
Todd Rundgren, my hair inspiration.
It was Todd Rundgren who solved the problem for me, when I saw him in concert with Ringo Starr in June 2014. Now in his mid-60s, he’s still the epitome of rock star cool, and has been rockin’ his crazy colored hair since the early 1970s. I mused to myself that he probably doesn’t have to bleach the white bit on top any more… and there was the answer. If I bleached the top of my hair white, and dyed the underneath black, those roots would be hidden and so I could go longer between salon visits. But would I have the nerve to do it? Unlike Todd, I’m not a rock star (other than in my imagination) so would those around me be able to accept this new image? Did they already assume I was that mousey middle aged woman in the mirror, and would this hairstyle represent to them some sort of mid-life crisis or a desperate cry for help?
I’ve never been one to worry too much about what other people think, so in August of 2014 I went ahead and carried out my plan. It’s only hair, after all. What could possibly go wrong? I could always dye it back. It took me a week or so to get used to it, but once the initial shock had worn off, I started to notice something interesting. People were talking to me. Strangers. People on the street, in shops, everywhere. Nice people. They weren’t talking to me about my hair, but they were striking up conversations with me in a way I’d not experienced before. I have been accused of appearing aloof and intimidating in the past, so it’s not something I was accustomed to. Was there something about the way I looked now which made me suddenly appear more approachable, or was I just more noticeable?
Once everyone had got used to the black/white (and the natural white was growing in nicely) I decided to introduce some color, so I had some blue and purple bits added in between. Straight away, complete strangers were stopping me to tell me they loved my hair. This had never happened before in my entire life! At first, it was mostly women my own age (or a bit older) but as time went on I was picking up compliments from all kinds of folks: conservatively dressed old ladies, trendy young girls, cool hipsters, homeless people in doorways. All ages, all races, all social groups: the appreciation for multi-colored hair apparently knows no bounds. Since I swapped the purple for green recently, it seems I’ve widened my appeal to now include children among the admirers. On one recent grocery shopping outing, a little girl (approximately age 7-8) stopped me to tell me she loved my hair. Then in the next store, the same thing happened again with another little girl around the same age.
Now when I look in the mirror, I see somebody who looks a lot more like the inner me. Could it be my confidence in the image that I’m now projecting that people are responding to, or is it just because that person looks like someone who’d be fun to talk to?
I wonder, maybe if we all boldly let the world see who we really are inside, people wouldn’t be so quick to judge us on arbitrary things like skin color or where we live, or pigeonhole us according to what we do to earn money, or what teams we support etc. So don’t just dress to show which social tribe you feel you belong to, dress to be YOU. If others see us as an individual, maybe they’ll look a little deeper for what unites us as people, rather than what makes us different.
I woke up with this song in my head this morning, and it’s still playing in there. I’ve no idea what sparked it off, as I’m fairly sure I’ve not heard it in years, or possibly decades.
The Wimbrel 
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