The Bers

My friend Melissa Bandy mentioned recently that she is excited about the "Bers" coming. She was talking about the months with "ber" at the end; September, October, November and December. It was then I realized how much I totally love the Bers. It isn't that I don't love summer, but here in Savannah it is so humid and hot and miserable that clothing sticks to you and has to be surgically removed at the end of the day. Summer in Savannah --and I mean the horrid, merciless heat of June, July and August -- is my least favorite time of year. Day after day I melt for three months straight. My hair during a Savannah summer gets so big and bushy that it requires its own zip code. I am not kidding when I say that it actually touches the roof of the car and the driver's window all at the same time. It is naturally curly, which is pretty talk for wild and way, way out of control.
Summer is hard on hair like mine. Though I style it in the morning, it starts to loosen by early afternoon and takes itself on its own personal rampage by evening, returning only so it can be piled on top of my head for the night. The evolving mess isn't for lack of trying. I carry hairclips with me. I have a few in my purse, my car and even in my laptop case. And just in case I am separated from one of the stashed hairclips, I usually clip one or two to the shirt I'm wearing. It's stuff like this that makes me thankful God blessed me by being low maintenance, especially since He also blessed me with crazy hair. Though I encounter many women throughout the day who glisten in the sun while I sweat, whose makeup is perfect while mine has run off my face and whose hair is in the latest style, even though it is 108 degrees out and mine is stuck in random clips just so I won't die right then and there from hot hair exposure, I'm okay with it. The fact that even though their unwrinkled clothes match perfectly and aren't stuck in strange places by heat, perspiration and last night's slice of pizza kinda pushes me close to the edge but somehow I muster the strength to be cordial to them while my hair is standing on end and I'm sweating like a hog at slaughter. The blessing here is that I know if I were one of those who simply has to look "just so" all the time, I'd never leave my house or be let down every single minute of the sweltering summer day. So it is with glee that I move the calendar from August to September; the beginning of the "Bers," the time when my clothes will be comfy, my makeup might just make it till noon and I'll have good fall and winter hair and with any luck, pretty decent spring hair too. Besides looking forward to manageable hair, the Bers bring weather that calls for a light sweater, blue jeans and layered shirts. Come October I can't wait for that little nip in the air, the bare hint that the Ber that is November is on its way. When I get home at the end of the day, the short time I spend on the porch digging out my house key in the sweltering heat with makeup running and hair pinned in random clumps, I smile with anticipation of turning that calendar page. It's the Bers. Thanks to my friend Melissa I have something new to look forward to. Heaven knows I'm ready. ••• Kathy Bohannon is a Georgia Press Association award winner and regular contributor to the Times-Herald. Kathy can be reached at kathybohan@yahoo.com .


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