Getting Down and Dirty at Operation Clean Stream

I have never really been one of the "girly girls."  I prefer shorts, tshirts and jeans to fancy dresses, and I can't even remember the last time I wore that God-awful creation known as pantyhose.

Being the klutzy sort, I gave up high heels long ago, and spend my days in flats, tennis shoes or flip flops.

That having been said, the one dominant female trait I possess is my obsession with my hair.  It doesn't need to be stylish; my favorite hairdo occurs when I hop out of the shower and immediately put it in a ponytail; no hairdryer required.  I just need it to be CLEAN. 

My long-suffering hairstylist Chrissy (sadly, I am now a slave to highlights to cover up an ever-increasing amount of gray) knows better to put "stuff" in my hair after she has finished cutting and coloring; no "product" for this girl!  Just blow it dry if you must and send me out the door. 

I don't wear hats (even when the Cardinals are in the playoffs) because I don't want "hat hair."  Yet somehow my friend Lisa convinced me to participate in "do-rag Saturday" when I visited her in Arkansas over Labor Day weekend. 

I guess  she did me a favor, though, because not long after I donned the goofy looking bandana, a praying mantis took up residence on top of my head.  In a rare act of courage, I held still long enough for someone to snap a picture before I began gyrating wildly and chanting, "Get it off, get it off, get it OFF!" 

Half a bottle of shampoo and two glasses of wine later, I was able to poke fun at myself and today I am even willing to risk a little (more) public humiliation by sharing that Kodak moment with you.

Fast forward to October 1st, when I participated for the first time in .  On a beautiful fall morning, more than 250 volunteers gathered to help clean up two miles of Manchester's streams. 

While I gamely put on my hiking boots and vowed to do my part by trudging through the muck in Grand Glaize Creek, certain things, like getting my hair involved and sweating profusely, were off limits. 

As I watched scout groups, families and individuals surge ahead, gathering an alarming amount of trash along the way, I gingerly picked my way through the creek, occasionally snagging the stray plastic bag or soda can and wondering what how much time had passed.

Soon after, a group of kids in waders, galoshes and just grubby old tennis shoes happily sloshed through the water, each trying to outdo the other by picking up the most trash. 

Shamefaced, I gazed at my nearly empty bag and suddenly I was inspired by the healthy spirit of competition and a desire to make the most of my first ever Operation Clean Stream.  Leaping from slippery rock to slippery rock, I crossed the creek and began snaring garbage like a woman possessed. 

Dirty diaper, check.  Metal pipe, check.  License plate holder, check.  Beer cans, candy wrappers, soda cups and some...um...lingerie, check.  Crawling through the underbrush like some large, flannel-clad snake, I tossed all dignity and hopes of good hair and hygeine to the wind. 

Reaching through spider webs, wriggling under fallen tree limbs, and stretching high to retrieve one last waving plastic bag, my good hair dissipated, replaced by a sweaty mat of leaf-bearing (and most likely bug harboring, though I tried not to think about that) Operation Clean Stream Hair.  And you know what?  I didn't care. 

I was doing some good for my town, helping to make a little bit of difference on a beautiful fall morning. My bag filled, I headed back to "trash headquarters," where sadly enough, volunteers had gathered enough garbage to fill 3 1/2 large trucks.

So to those out there who threw all of that trash into Fishpot and Grand Glaize creeks, shame on you.  I hope you'll think twice next time and make better decisions, like disposing of your trash properly.

And to those of you who volunteered to help clean up our town, thank you.  My hair and I will see you at the next Operation Clean Stream.  Only next year, I'll be rocking a do-rag.