Redhead

My father: flame-haired bicycling stone-sculptor.

I've always wanted red hair. Maybe because Dad is a redhead, or maybe just because it's the brightest and most beautiful color where hair is concerned. As kids, my sisters and I all envied Dad's cascading fiery locks. Sometimes we'd play a game: "If you could change one thing about how you looked..." Desire for red hair usually topped the list. Throughout my life, I have been drawn to people--- fictional, historical, etc.---with this lucky attribute. The relative rarity of red hair (between 1% and 2% of the world's population display the trait) may add to its allure, but in the end it's simply the most beautiful color. I mean, I know "beautiful" is a sticky term and subjective blah blah blah, but really, who can argue that red is the most vivid natural hue seen on the human head? Who doesn't look twice when someone with an actual carrot-top goes by?

Dear Aunt Jan & baby Rhiannon

A host of stereotypes exists concerning the temperament and characteristics of redheads, with varying degrees of truth: "fiery temper", "crazy", "great in bed", "Irish", "not to be trusted", etc. Biologically, there are certain differences for those with red hair. One study found that they resist anesthesia, and require an extra 20% more than other folks during medical procedures. There is also a greater risk of deafness (from extended exposure to loud noise), as well as the commonly recognized susceptibility to sunburn.

Throughout history and across cultures, redheads have put up with a good deal of discrimination. In ancient Egypt, it is said that red-headed women were thought to be unlucky and were often burned at the stake. Greek mythology has them turning into vampires when they die.Aristotle believed that redheads were emotionally primitive. One Medieval recipe for poison included the "fat of a red-headed man." Spanish inquisitors believed red hair was a sign that its owner had stolen the fire of hell and must be burned at the stake as a witch. Hitler apparently had it out for gingers as well, banning the marriage of two redheads for fear they'd produce "deviant" offspring. Go figure.

Famous redheads: King Arthur, Queen Elizabeth I, Vincent Van Gogh, and Marilyn Monroe.

In spite of all this, history is peppered (cayenne peppered? Lol) with great and famous (sometimes infamous) redheads: King Arthur, Cleopatra (apparently escaped being burned at the stake), Judas Iscariot, Genghis Khan, Christopher Columbus, Henry VIII, Elizabeth I, Galileo Galilei, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Mark Twain, Vincent Van Gogh, and Marilyn Monroe among them. In addition, there are many fictional red-haired characters in books and movies that I have loved since childhood, and the list continues to grow. In fact, it's too long for this post, so I will only mention a few here.

Tintin, Pippi Longstocking, Jessica Rabbit, and Rose DeWitt Bukater.

If you love Tintin as much as I do, then you'll know why he must be saluted first. Dad bought us all the Adventures of Tintin when we were kids; several of my sisters learned to read in them. I distinctly remember helping Annwn make her way through The Black Island. Those are good memories of being a big sister. Tintin was adventure to us. We read those books countless times. Everything about Hergé's series of books is perfect--- from the plot lines to the beautiful drawings. And Tintin's red topknot: simply iconic. Next, how about Pippi Longstocking? She was a big hit in our household. Rhiannon even had a character she occasionally played who sported two braids with wire in them to stand out like Pippi's--- the aspirational tomboy spitfire girl. Then there's Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which had a cult following in our family. Again, Rhiannon was the one most obsessed with this film, and so the rest of us were by default. Rhiannon had a stuffed Roger, and hand-sewed a Jessica to accompany him. We even went so far as to build "Toontown" out of crates down on the strip. Jessica Rabbit was the epitome of *gorgeous* to us little snots. And all the more because of her red hair. Another movie character I must add, although some may sneer, is Rose from the much-loved and much-loathed 1997 Titanic. Yes, I liked that film. I still do. Rose's red hair is icing on the cake.

Petronella, The Book of Three, Anne of Green Gables, and The Hero and the Crown.

There was a book called Petronella that I loved as a child. I can scarcely remember the story, but boy do I remember that red hair! The heroine's tresses form a magical puffball of red-gold that is creatively and intricately depicted in the illustrations. I wish I could find a copy to look at once again. Some of our very most favorite books as kids were those of the "High King" series by Lloyd Alexander. I almost wish I had kids just so I could read them these books. If you have not taken part, you are missing out! The main girl character is named Eilonwy, and, you guessed it, she has red hair. It doesn't look like it on the cover of the book shown here, but trust me. Her hair is red. I included Anne of Green Gables more because I owned a very special hardcover copy of that book than because of any great fandom for it as a piece of literature. In fact, the book sort of got my goat. But the illustrations in this version, which was a gift from Dad, were absolutely beautiful. And her hair in these drawings? To die for. The final character I'll mention is Aerin from Robin McKinley's The Hero and the Crown. That book (part of a two book series including The Blue Sword) was also a powerful influence on our five-girl posse, and was read aloud by Mom more than twice. It had us all drawing dragons with tiny, tiny scales for months afterward. Those stories were so nail-bitingly awesome when I was a kid; I wonder how they would seem now? I clearly remember being saddened by how Aerin's hair grows back a darker, less brilliant red after she fights the dragon. Why did McKinley have to do that?

1000 Oceans.

Rosa Acicularis, Prickly Wild Rose

Down in the lower gardens on the strip, where the Milky Way shone bright at night, our wild roses grew. Mom brought them small from Grandma's garden up in Minnesota, but they were enthusiastic flowers and fast made our home their own. Yesterday I asked Mom if the roses were still there, and she said yes, it's hard to keep them at bay.... which I was glad to hear. Wild roses are my favorite flowers. Have you sniffed a wild rose? The scent is like a drug, it overtakes me. During this time of year, I often smell them before I see them; where are you, my delicious friend? There you are, and I make the apt-named beeline to stand and inhale, inhale until I almost faint of too much oxygen. Standing like that, I see the secret world beneath the spiny bushes and it reminds me of picking raspberries in the forest as a child. Did you know? Raspberries and roses are in the same family. I think I am part of that family, too.

From Snow White and Rose Red

Roses. Probably the most oft-referenced flower by artists and poets through many centuries, and used symbolically in countless myths/folktales/etc. When I was very small, my dad told me about the brilliance of Gertrude Stein: "Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose"... which I didn't understand, but pretended to, because Dad spoke to me like I was a smart girl who would know such things. There is a Grimm's fairy tale called Snow White and Rose Red that my sister Rhiannon and I loved. She said they were us--- she was Snow White and I was Rose Red. That suited me fine. Mom read us Romeo and Juliet out loud, explaining every line as she went. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet." Yes, yes I understood that! Because I had smelled roses, and there was no denying the transcendence of their scent. One of our best friends growing up was named Rose. Everyone else called her "Rosie"; we stubbornly stuck with "Rose." To me that meant the wholeness of the flowering plant in all its glory, whereas "rosie" sounded like an adjective, a skin tone. I still call her Rose, and I'm sure she will laugh reading this.

Last year in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, I stumbled across a treasure by the windows in the "Dutch room."

The Madonna and Child in a Rose Arbor, 16th c., Workshop of Martin Schongauer, German, 1450-1491, Oil on wood

Page of a 16th c. German hymnal

This painting is spell-binding to me. I think it feels like home. All the plants are hyper-real, which in my mind seems more real than "actual" real.... and I know what most of them are because I grew up in that garden. Roses have been used since Medieval times as a symbol for both Christ and Mary. In the 16th century German hymn "Es ist ein Ros entsprungen" ("Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming"), it symbolizes Christ's birth. Mom used to sing this hymn at Christmastime; it was always one of her favorites. I wasn't a fan back then because it was difficult for me to sing, and I didn't understand how a rose had to do with Christmas. Now I love it because it reminds me of Mom.

I eat roses. I drink roses. I put roses on my body.... Raspberries drizzled with rose water, rose-petal kombucha, Weleda wild rose body oil and Wyndmere rose oil in jojoba. I cannot get enough. Of course I am aware that roses are cliche as a favorite flower. However, I think resisting my love of these divine blossoms because so many have loved them before... would prove me rather silly. When I was a little girl, I chose brown as my favorite color for a long time, because I felt sorry for the brown Crayola marker. No one seemed to love it. These days, I just go right for the juiciest, sparkliest, tastiest, and most colorful. Sorry brown Crayola marker. After all, as they say, life is short. So I stop and smell the ... like, every five minutes.