When Diana sees this post she’ll be annoyed. It’s an artified version of photos taken while she was still in her housecoat, before she’d had her first resuscitating cup of java and a chance to gussy herself up for the day.
But that’s the point of the image, which I created as the cover of her 2026 Mother’s Day card. We often laugh about her woken ‘swirly-doos,’ wild hairstyles that go beyond the most avant-guard arrangements of contemporary coiffure.
That ability to laugh and have fun with our foibles is one of the joys of marriage. We learn so much about each other when we are accepting of differences and joyfully amused by oddities.
On the other hand, joking can be a gentle nudge toward correction. Diana is not my mother, but she is the mother of our family, so I am not beyond the scope of her unerring urge to make things right. She’s always on the lookout. Even if she ascends to heaven someday—may that ascension be long postponed—she will be finding things that need adjusting and repairing.
Being a supportive husband, I give her plenty of opportunities to exercise this ceaseless desire to make improvements. I’m often the first earthly companion she offers remedial advice to; she’s the second, when she sees her most recent swirly-doo in the bathroom mirror.
In fact, Diana is most severe when it comes to her own appearance and behaviour. I often have to remind her that I’m far less perfect than she, and yet I am able to forgive myself as I indulge in another cookie, or swig of beer, or any other of the degenerative habits that are likely to make my ascension into the afterlife earlier than hers.
Don’t hide your ‘faults’ under a bushel, I recommend—or in this case under a hat. Display them boldly as part of the unique personality you are. Be proud of your differentness. Be the artist you were born to be, starting with the compositions and expressions of self.
An aspect of Diana’s motherhood is her art. Rather, I should say that the mothering instinct often shows up in her mixed-media creations. Her latest works capture her love and intense understanding for the most recent addition to our family, Carlos. He’s a Mexican rescue who can best be described as part whippet, part chihuahua, part feral fox, and who knows what all else.
In fabrics and acrylics, she captures his essence and, in doing so, reveals the depths and universality of compassion and love. As is the case with most truly compelling art, the displays are as much about the artist as the subject.
Carlos is cautious around strangers, and possessive of those he loves and who have proven they love him. Once he does trust, he’s joyful, affectionate, and playful.
A swirly-doo isn’t necessarily an indicator of genius. But there are examples that suggest follicles do transmit energy from the brain into their implanted hairs.
Of course, weird coifs could be merely explained as interactions between scalps and pillows: When a person is sleeping, particularly a subject prone to tossing and turning in the throes of dreams and bouts of insomnia, their hair gets mussed.
I like to believe there are other factors in Diana’s case. As an artist, her creative energy never ceases its flux and flow, not even when she’s trying to sleep—perchance to dream. If it can’t be discharged through the bristles of her brushes, it will out through the static, electrical aura of her hair.
Just look at the frazzled hair halos of Albert Einstein, and you will appreciate the theory of follicle transmission…
Genius often results in a restless thatch. Albert Einstein’s theory of relativity might help explain his incorrigible mane. The hair simply will not behave when ideas as exciting and incomprehensible as E=MC2 are zapping a soul’s synaptic gaps.
Enough theorizing! I’ll simply close by saying: Thank you, Diana, for being the mother and companion you have been for almost half my life. I look forward to greeting you and admiring your swirly-doos for many years to come.
