First Timers

It occurred to me today that moving is kind of like having a new baby. We get to experience lots of "firsts" with each new duty station.  Instead of "First Steps" or "First Words" I get excited about "First Time We Make Pizza in our New Home" or "First Time I Recognized Someone in the Commissary" (that's my true barometer of when the new place is "home.")  Okinawa has given us a slew of new "firsts" that didn't even register as important at other duty stations.  For example, the First Time we drove on the left side of the road.  More than once in those early days, the kids would choose car time as the perfect time to ask me 354 questions, and at some point I'd bark at them, "Don't talk to me....I'm driving!  I've got to focus here!"  I'm sure I added a few gray hairs the First Time I turned right across traffic.  (Think about it.)  The First Time I ventured into a Hundred Yen store and had to pay the cashier for my purchases was a panic-inducing event.  Now THAT was stressful.  I was still not too familiar with the value of all the yen pieces and there are 6 different coins to decipher.  I looked at the register to see how much I had to pay and thought I had given the cashier the right amount.  Well, I was wrong.   Meanwhile Mary is using my not-yet-purchased Japanese broom as a horse and galloping around the register, and the growing line behind me is looking at me, surely thinking, "Grrr....this dumb American!"  In desperation I held out my hands in an offering of coins and the cashier plucked the correct amount from my hands.  She really could have ripped me off that day since I had no idea if she was taking a 50 yen coin (about 62 cents) or a 500 yen coin (about $6.20.)   However, I was so ready to get the whole ordeal over with that I didn't care. 

And who can forget the First Time we found one of these little geckos hanging around in our house  (this one's in the bathroom)....

or the first (and only) time one of them fell from the top of the cabinet door and landed on my head!  And, in case anyone's wondering, no--he didn't stop to offer me insurance. 

Well, those days are long over.  I can make right turns like a pro these days, and I have no qualms about handing over my yen to the cashier (just ask my husband.)  The geckos still freak me out, but I'm learning to live with them.  However, the Firsts still surprise me now and then. 

Today was one of those days.  It's no secret that I've been needing to get a haircut for a LONG time.  (My last haircut was in my friend's kitchen at Parris Island!)  Some of you don't know this about me, but I have very thick hair.  Not thick by Cuban standards, but crazy thick by American (and now, Japanese) standards.  Back home when I call a new hair salon I've learned to explain to the receptionist that my hair is freakishly thick and they need to allot enough time to deal with it.  The ones who don't heed my warning end up frustrated when their next client is waiting while they're still drying my voluminous mane.  Here on Okinawa, the search for a hair salon was made more difficult by the language barrier.  (There is a salon on base, but I had heard less-than-stellar things about it.)  So I finally asked a friend of mine and she recommended her hair stylist....a nice, English-speaking Japanese lady named Rumiko. 

Last week I went by the salon to make my appointment.  I felt I needed to show Rumiko my thick hair to make sure she understood the severity of the situation.  "Hai, thick....yes....is okay," she naively said that afternoon.  Well, this afternoon as I sat in her chair for my first Japanese haircut experience, she was not so optimistic.  "Very thick hair!" she said.  I told you!  I'm screaming inside my brain.   We discussed the type of style I wanted (shoulder length, a few layers, easy to manage but able to go into a ponytail for those many lazy days when I don't want to deal with it) and then we went to the hair washing chair.  In my opinion, the hair washing is the best part of the hair cut experience.  Having someone else massage my scalp is pure heaven.  When I'm old, I'm going to be one of those ladies who goes to get her hair done every Saturday, just so that someone else can wash my hair.   Anyway, I slump down in the chair and notice that this sink is rather low, and I'm really having to slouch so my head can lie in it.  I'm thinking, "I know the Japanese are not a tall people, but I'm no Michael Jordan...what's up with this chair?"  At this point she says, "Please, sit up."  So now I'm mortified that I'm slouching around her salon and probably committing a serious Japanese faux paus. She lays several different towels and sheets on and around me and then tells me to lean back.  Then, the chair automatically rises and leans back to the proper hair washing position (like at the dentist.)  Fancy, schmancy I'm thinking.  She lays a final small towel on my face and starts with the hair wash.  "Lot of hair" she says (again.)  At some point during the wash, another person came into the salon and she spoke with him while rinsing my hair.  Since they spoke in Japanese, I had no idea what they were saying, but I'm sure it had something to do with my crazy-ass hair.  Finally the luxurious hair wash ended but as I started to get up she leaned my head back again and gave me a short scalp and neck massage.  Ahhhh, this WAS a first!  I could have sat there all day. 

Once the massage was over, we headed back to the hair cutting chair.  Usually this is when the scissors come out, but here in Okinawa (or at least at this salon) Rumiko blow dried my hair first.  That took a while.  (Again, if she'd only heeded my warning she would have been prepared!)  Eventually the scissors came out, and my Rapunzel mane was transformed into something more manageable.   When I finished up and gathered my things Rumiko started to sweep up my hair from all over the floor.  "Look like small dog" she said.  She's right...it did look like a wig factory had exploded and she was cleaning up the mess. 

As a special treat (and because every woman feels like she's in a shampoo commercial after a haircut) here are some pictures. This is what happens when I have too much wine with dinner fun playing with the automatic timer on the camera.....I doubt Revlon will be calling anytime soon....