Cement Head

by Shirley Bahlmann
It was a flashback to my childhood. When my husband, Bob, complained that some of us watching a late movie at our son's house last weekend was so loud he couldn't sleep, I told him he should develop a cement head, like me.
He gave me a funny look and said, "But you used to get mad at the kids who called you 'Rock Brain' in school."
"No," I said. "I mean you should make your head so heavy and dense that when it hits the pillow, you can sleep and no noises will bother you."
His face did not light up. Apparently, he didn't get it.
Maybe it's just something inborn, that blessed ability to shut out the noise and confusion from the world outside your head so you can create characters and places inside your mind that eventually find their way on paper for others to read. And don't forget that wonderful cement head ability to sleep any where, any time. I've slept in station wagons with seven siblings and two parents (one of whom was driving.) I've slept on airport floors, restrooms, and in church. I've even slept in the bathtub. (Glub, glub.)
There's something to be said for knowing what's going on around you at all times, but I'll leave that to Bob. I'm happy with my cement head and all the wonderfully tangled adventures inside it.

Stepping-on-Foot Award

by Shirley Bahlmann

I recently returned from the Storymaker Conference in Salt Lake City. What a literary blast! I was energized by all the presenters, the committees, and the AWARDS!
There were several gift baskets and awards, one of the most notable given by Authors Incognito, an on-line group open to anyone who attends a Storymaker Conference. After their entertaining skit, they gave an award for the most rejections (which interestingly enough also coincided with the most published work) to (drum roll) Cindy Beck!
You may not know Cindy, but she is part of my writing class, so I clapped until my hands hurt. They held up the wondrous award and looked around the room, panning from one side to the other. My heart began beating faster. Where was Cindy? Why wasn't she jumping up and dancing on the table for joy? The presenter lowered his arm. Oh, no! Cindy's award was in danger of being un-presented! But I could take it to her. I could personally put it into her ink-stained hands and give her a "Hooray!" hug besides. So I stood up and hurried toward the front of the room, ready to say, "I'll take it!" but then I felt a lump under my shoe. I turned, horrified to see that I has just stepped on a young lady's foot. This made me feel especially bad since she was petite and had left her steel toed boots at home. I, on the other hand, am six feet tall and pushing more pounds than I care to mention.
I bent down, looked her in the eye, and said, "I am so sorry."
She took a breath, then gave me a trembly smile and said, "That's okay."
I knew it wasn't. But what else would she say? "Watch where you're going, you big lummox!" She didn't seem to be the type.
I turned back to see the presenter stepping down off the stage. The emcee moved to the microphone. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, my heart sinking, as Cindy's marvelous award disappeared into the crowd.
Beware award fever. It can strike anyone, anywhere, even if the award doesn't have your name on it. And you may forever carry an unwanted brand, something like "The Six Foot Tall Foot Stomper." That's gonna be a hard one to live down.

Toilet Paper Roll Beauty

by Shirley Bahlmann
Why is it that people (women, mostly) generally want hair different than what they were born with? If it's curly, they wish it were straight, if it's straight, they want curly. I'm guilty, too.
I'm headed for the LDStorymaker Writing Conference, and I'm a straight-want-curly girl. It's true that I have rollers. (The baaa-d sheep-wool perms of the 80's have thankfully gone by the wayside, except for the photos in the family album that make my boys ask, "Which one is you, Mom?" I point me out. "No, Mom, which one is really you?") The rollers I have are small, and I wanted big, luscious waves instead of tight, kinky curls. I tried to go the conventional route, I really did. I looked on the curler shelf at my store. They had some big rollers, all right, but they were nested with a bunch of medium, small, and tiny rollers. I would have had to buy ten packs to get the curlers I wanted. Then what would I do with the other sizes?
In the 60's, I remember my big sister used to roll her hair on orange juice cans. That was a little bigger than I was looking for. My hair isn't as long as hers was. What to do? What to do?
Then, one day last week, I was in that special room where it's always calm and peaceful, and my eyes lit on the perfect sized roller... a toilet paper roll. I was so excited I nearly jumped off my seat.
Last Sunday, I gave the toilet paper rollers a test run. I pinned the cardboard tubes to my nearly-dry hair and walked around like a medusa with coiled snakes on her head. When I was reasonably dry, I took the toilet paper rolls out and went to church. One of the prettiest ladies in our ward saw me, did a double take, and said, "Oooo, I love your hair!"
"Thank you," I said.
Some beauty secrets are better left secret.