Thursday, December 18, 2008

all hairdryers go to heaven

yesterday my hairdryer died. well, it was slightly murdered, but in some senses it was only a matter of time. norah catherine was guilty, but i guess it was more or less not premeditated. and kind of an accident. but, when something that close to you dies, you want to blame someone.

why is my hairdryer that close to me?

well, some of you might know this, but for those that don't, i love hairdryers. not for my hair so much, but for my body. ever since i can remember i have taken deep comfort in the sound and warmth of a hairdryer. i have few childhood memories, but two pertinent memories are of this sound/warmth connection. i remember being in sweet bliss when my mom would vacuum. i would run to the couch with a blanket, cover all up (except my head, people who cover their heads in blanket are freakish (sorry husband)) and fall asleep to the sweet melody of the vacuum. the other glorious memory is that of feeling cold or tired or just needing comfort and going to the kitchen to lie down at the bottom of the fridge. the little vent at the bottom shot out warm air and my mom would work around me in the kitchen while i fell asleep there on the ground in sweet warm joy; and the quieter, steady hum was also pleasant, though one prefers it a tad louder.

my parents told me some information that is perhaps linked to this habit, and if nothing else provides a scapegoat for it. when i was a baby and i would cry, they would put a vacuum outside of my door (after they had checked that i was dry and fed) and it would soothe me to sleep; allegedly. i have wondered if it was more soothing to me initially or really the soothing was theirs to have since it allowed them to not hear my crying. not that i am to judge, because for whatever purpose it was meant, i am now the recipient of this wonderful joy. i also found it pure delight when my mom would blow dry my hair, which was not often b/c she liked me to go outside and let the sun dry it. sitting with my mom and feeling the warmth of the dryer and the sound of it, it was so good, a simple thing. which is to say that i also profoundly enjoy fires and space heaters, but the sound quality is slightly lacking.

in elementary school i began to take our hairdryer into my room and fall asleep with it blowing on me. i started to get into trouble for that, what with the danger of fire and all. but i couldn't stop. i would wait until i knew my parents were asleep and then do it. oftentimes i awakened and had weepy blisters on my back or bum. over the years i have learned a good methodology for sleeping with the hairdryer and haven't burned myself since high school. and, i have never caught anything on actual fire, though i have seen a lot of sparks.

in college, i cut down quite a bit because living with others i realized not everyone thought fire hazards a thing with which to play. but still, the weekly afternoon spent reading a book cuddled up with the dryer was irresistible. it was in college that wade and i met, and the dryer thing was beyond tolerance for him. it still is. yet it is a part of me and brings me strange, but not sinful, enjoyment. i try to be considerate (and wise, i guess) and do not keep it on through the nite. but i do take naps with it and i love to turn it on as i get in bed and read and then again when i wake up in the morning. wade says it is the worst sound in the world, a cacophony, perhaps the reason for which that word was created! i think that is a bit harsh, but one man's music is another man's screaming. he actually has a cute little nickname for it, the scream machine.

the most interesting twist in the hairdryer saga, however, is the unrecruited love that my daughter has developed for it. she will come to our room in the morning, climb in bed and say (if it is not already on), "hairdryer, mommy!". i comply joyfully and we find methods to make it work for two. just yesterday, she was in our room for rest time (we had ava and ava was resting in her room) and she ran to find me and said, "mommy the hairdryer is red inside and smells like burning". rightfully alarmed, i ran into my room and found it dead. it is my fault ultimately, because i have not taught her the first rule of dryer operation; you cannot cover the back of it or it will smell most odiously, shoot sparks, and overheat (hopefully before it has caught something on fire). also, i had a chat with her about operating it without my knowing, and i think she really regretted the whole scene. we tried to let it rest and plug it for another go, but it really has expired.

so wish me luck at target today as i find a replacement.