I’m getting a haircut and ditching my pantyhose. No, I’m not having a midlife crisis (been there, done that). I’m being a good citizen, donating hair and hose to the oil spill cleanup.

It seems that a company in San Francisco is making booms out of pantyhose stuffed with discarded hair, harvested in salons. The log-shaped booms are used to trap oil as it laps shorelines. (I tested the theory about oil adhering to hair last week when I was too lazy to wash-‘n-blow for three days, so I know it’s true.)

My hairy dog Oliver must’ve got the memo on this because he is very generously trying to do his part. He is shedding profusely enough to protect the entire coast of Louisiana.

The company (called Matter of Trust) which is producing the hair-‘n-Hanes booms was having one problem. Nobody seems to wear pantyhose anymore. (I wear them maybe once a year. Can’t speak for Oliver.) Without cast-off hose hey were struggling to meet the current demands for booms, until a certain community in San Francisco pitched in. Now M.O.T. is up to their ears in transves-tights.

As a crabby cook I am constantly floored by the fact that, after 63 years of marriage, my mother still cooks three meals a day for my father. Dad does not cook. He (along with my husband) belongs to that cohort that has trouble preparing canned soup. My mother is, however, getting tougher at age 90: she now makes Dad wash the dinner dishes. (He’s only 89—he can cope.)

Mom seems to find this non-stop cooking an acceptable arrangement, maybe because she cooked for eight people for so many years that her current chores seem lightweight by comparison. But I can’t help projecting. Just the thought of how much time she spends in the kitchen makes me irritable, so I try to lighten what I think of as her burden whenever possible. Mother’s Day provides a perfect opportunity for this. The hell with flowers, I’m sending her food.

I’m ordering crab and lobster cakes from Dean and Deluca online, along with a box of their Mother’s Day cookies. That way, all she has to provide is a little asparagus or something and dinner will be so done.

In the unlikely event that my daughters are reading this post, please take the above as a big, fat hint. D and D are taking orders until Friday.