This is a Romanov. She is strikingly beautiful. Though she is not the woman whose photograph would later captivate me, when I saw this image of Princess Olga and she took my breath away...I felt she was a good way to convey how I felt the day I DID see the visage of the stranger on the other end of the phone.

Dear Ether,

Somewhere in Odessa there is a photograph of me.  It might be stored away gently in a envelope.  It may be crudely covered in rubble in a dump.  But somewhere…..somewhere in the Ukraine there is a snapshot of me taken when I was in my mid 20’s.

The original keeper of the photo was a woman I never met.  She spoke no English and I no Russian.  My glossy print sat on her mantelpiece for about 5 years in her modest studio flat.  It shared space with images of her grandchildren, husband and daughter and a few tattered black and white photos that survived the war.

English gent is half Russian.  His mother is this woman’s daughter.  To me she was only known as Babushka.

I only spoke to her a few times on the phone.  I muttered foolish statements that English gent had taught me.  “Ya Loo-Bloo Tibia” (I love you).  She laughed with good nature into the phone and repeated. “Ya Loo-Bloo Tibia Tour-Jah” (I love you too).  It felt sad that I was crippled by language and couldn’t communicate with a woman who I knew had a tremendous history and warmth.  I had never been handicapped by language before—in fact, it was something I was so good at.  I always handed over the receiver feeling like a puppet who’d just done her job entertaining.

One day, I asked to see her photograph during a visit to English gent’s house.  His clan are a family of pale, fair-haired, light eyed, slim people.  Babushka was in her twenties in the photo I was shown.  She couldn’t have been more than 5 feet tall.  She had coffee-colored hair and brown pupils. I know it seems crazy, but I felt a sudden closeness to her.  I felt she was from my stock.  That English gent’s genes had all come from his father’s UK side (and even his mother was shockingly fair—she didn’t resemble Babushka at all).  Though I’m much taller, we were both the dark horses.  I asked English gent’s mom if I could send Babushka MY photo.  I felt if that made me feel a connection to her where words couldn’t, maybe my photo could create the same spark.

When she received my photo, Gent told me she cried.  That she “understood.”  She loved my dark looks—and it made her so happy that he was with someone who reminded her of her heritage.  After that, I made sure no longer to be a marionette on the phone but to have a translator and convey true feelings across the line.

But, as we all know, time is a harsh enemy.  And she was not young.  She no longer could speak on the phone or read letters.  And then she died.  When English gent’s mother went to her flat for the last time, she said she noticed my photo immediately.  It stood out more than the others and looked as though it had been fingered the most.  It was slightly dog-eared and had many fingerprints on its finish.  I like to think that she passed it around for many to see.  By the time Gent’s mom came back to clean the flat, the mantle had been tidied and to this day, those pictures have never resurfaced.

Though we never got to know each other, when we looked into one another’s eyes from so far away, we had an understanding.  I often wonder what my photo got to see in her little flat?  I wonder what aromas surrounded it as she cooked her traditional meals?

Wherever I am in Odessa, decaying in a landfill or safe in a drawer, at least I can say for a moment in time a picture spoke a thousand words for both of us.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I think wigs have come a LONG way from these beauties! I discovered what I would do if I got a NEW "do" after trying on a wig that I never thought would take my fancy. I always imagined myself a blonde....sighhh......

Dear Ether,

My mom’s friend has a fun wig collection.  Not the cheap, crummy kind that you wear for fancy dress, but natural looking wigs that you would never know weren’t real.  Sadly, she had cancer.  BUT, she was one of these women who had a fantastic attitude and embraced her baldness. She decided to have the hairstyles she could never achieve with her natural coif.

Well, thank goodness she is 100% better, and her lovely grayish-blonde hair has grown back with luster. BUT she still has these fab (and might I say expensive) wigs hanging around that she likes to play with.  I was at her house the other day and she took me to her closet.  Sitting on busts were about 6 styles and colors that were tantalizing.  Blonde, black, chestnut and red.  Short, long, layered and curly.  She had the works!

I’ve never tried on a wig before because often places make you pay to do it.  Or they just say no because you obviously aren’t interested in making a purchase.  This time I had free reign!  I don’t know why, but I immediately gravitated towards the blonde bombshell with light streaking.  I was always jealous of the girls who had blonde hair in High School and dreamt of having glittering wisps of gold attached to my head—so on it went!  Here’s the problem.  I have really dark eyebrows, so I looked atrocious because the wig was SO blonde and my eyebrows were SO dark.  However, I didn’t think with my skin color I look too bad as a blonde. But my eyes are also very dark brown.  I looked too yin and yang.   Maybe if I dyed the brows—but then my lovely hair would be fried and cracking off, and my eyebrows would have roots!!!!!  A definite no-no.

The red was tres-saucy.  I used to dye my hair auburn.  I was trying to conjure Julia Roberts circa “Pretty Woman” and it was groovy at the time—or so I thought.  When I look back at pictures, I ask myself how my hairdresser could do that to me!  But this red was a brilliant color and short.  It worked well with my brows and after a decade of long hair, my adult face looked kinda sweet with a short bob.  But then I thought—oooo—this is a little too “I’m on the brink of 30 and I have to grow up look,” so I said NAY!

Can I tell you the one that was perfect?  One that I NEVER thought I would EVER choose? The pixie cut in my own shade–brown!  It matched my hair color perfectly and it was short–just like how Victoria Beckham did it.  It was such an extreme from my long hair that it really was a shocker.  It showcased my face beautifully and it also seemed so easy to manage.  I didn’t have any wild pieces flying anywhere or un-brushed bits that made me look poorly groomed.  My mom’s friend said it was always styled and perfectly polished—it was the easiest wig of them all.  I have a pretty angular face and it fit well with my facial structure—it almost convinced me to lop my hair off right there and then.

The offer stands if I ever want to borrow it I can, and I am so going to take her up on it.  I just wish I had someone who I could really shock.  I took digital pics so English gent saw me with it (LOVED IT).  But I can’t show YOU Ethers!  Anyway, my advice: For a fun day out, go and try on a wig.  You may be surprised what looks good on you and what your next hair-do is going to be!  If I ever chop this lengthy mop of mine off, it’s gonna be 100% pixie for me.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365