More on Little Miss Princess

So a client came in today and gave another perspective about my dilemma regarding too much Princess identifying by my five-year- old girl. She said,"You know a spiritual perspective is that there has been way too much masculine energy running in this country, in the world for that matter...and that it is time for the feminine."

So, perhaps my daughter came in, completely got the program, and started running her feminine energy.  Not a girl acting like boy, or using her girlishness in a negative way to get what she needs, but simply expressing herself as a girl.  Innocence on one hand, and maybe a deep knowing on the other.  And the drama plays itself out until there is balance in the land.

Hm.

Feeling Poor and Ugly

Because of the way she carries herself, unafraid of who she is, unafraid of looking different, my client Francois is somebody I loved the minute I met her.   Always giving a yes to my ideas for her hair, after-all there is always a chance we shall land upon something better.

"A big girl" she calls herself, as if to saythe sensuality that oozes from every cell of her body, or the way her nose turns up, and her green eyes flirt, she will not get what she wants.

Artistry is the fiber from which she is made, generosity abounds beyond her ability at times and most people's capability, and yet where both are concerned she is an expert.

As she said to our friend, "It's one thing to be poor, but another to be ugly and poor."  Feeling the pinch financially, having the appointment set, but not knowing if she would be able to do it.  I bow to you Francois, and for me and your good friend to give to you your hair services because money is short...is nothing short of an honor.

I can only say, our ties go way beyond the confines of time and space.  We must help each other, and together is easier, even though individually we may hurt in our own particular ways.

Because it is the right thing to do.  And you would do the same for any of your friends.

New Year Musings

Last night was simple but sweet.  After riding Bart to the city with my daughter and meeting my partner in Union Square, in San Francisco, we visited the tree, the village scene at the Hilton, walked up to Chinatown, and had dinner at Kan's. By the end of our evening in the city, my daughter crumbled as we walked back to the car, and was snoring within minutes of driving home. I have to say, I had never seen so many women dressed in 3" to 4" spiked heels, and above-the-knee, lightweight, halter dresses at this time of year. I, who cannot stand to be the slightest of cold, dressed in five layers, two sets of tights, a hat, and my Z coils. I was glad about it.

I thought I would just go to bed when we got home but then thought better of it. I thought, no, even though I won't make it until midnight, ritual is important to me. And for the last several years, we have burned papers filled with what we want to let go of and posted what we want to bring in on the bulletin board, although this year it will go on my altar. Then we had a few little snacks, with some port and tea.  Then said good night.

This will be a wonderful year, with much to look forward to.  I hope to have my book completed this year, the completion of at least a ten-year project. I hope to do many readings in book groups, salons, poetry open mikes, etc.  I want to strengthen my relationship with my partner, my daughter and friends, and my Buddhist practice. I want to bring forth what I am to be.

And in regards to beauty.  Beauty in all its manifestations is vital to me, the expression of it is essential, and this has not changed. My ideas about Beauty are changing, and how mainstream they are, I don't know, they may be different than even my friends and colleagues.  But the idea that I could be wearing what I was comfortable in and feeling completely unique in the expression, I don't know, somehow, I felt confident, and like I had arrived in my own life.

Now, I want to give back.

And how I will do that is through my writing.

Good Fortune

The passing of another year.  Another year doing hair. Funny how my life not only speeds by, but that it didn't go exactly how I thought it would. My life is better for it to tell you the truth, I couldn't have imagined the great gifts in my life.  I do feel I am one of the luckiest people in the world.  I love what I do for a living, and am even more passionate about it today than when I first started 26 years ago.  And it's not just about the beautiful, fun hair I get to create, but the clients I interact with as well. More times this year than any other, I've had clients call or email to say they love their hair.  The gesture of taking time out of their day to let me know that is simply kind.

My client who says,"I'm known to have the cool hair now." Her last visit, she went on about how, "I have never been so consistently listened to in any profession or anybody for that matter, let alone by my previous hairdressers." I love that.

Not only do they appreciate me and let me know that, but they extend their loving gestures towards my family. One client in particular, throughout the year will make my daughter clothing, clothing she loves.  She hand stitches these garments, finds just the right buttons, the detailing blows me away. She knows what a little girl would love, or at least my little girl,  a box of ribbons for her hair, etc.

Another client gave her the most beautiful Christmas ornament for the tree. Exquisite, with a holiday beaded necklace for her that jingles every time she moves, all very tasteful.  This same client makes sure all the assistants, and the receptionist get a little something, this year it was a Pete's coffee card.  Not only does she book her appointments out a year, every three weeks, but she is generous each appointment. Last but not least, worth more than any and all of the above, she is pleasant to be around.

I am grateful for the work I do, the people I work with, and the clients I see.  I thank all of you for your kind words, the love you extend to me and my family, and the trust you place in me to create for you. I am a blessed woman.

Princess Christmas

More on the Princess theme.  So you do the best you can with what you have.  The fight against mainstream, corporate ideas like Disney, can be lonely.  Is it a battle I need to wage?  I think it's in my daughter's best interest that I do, but does it encourage a possible rebellion later, by not accepting her fantasy play?  While we are dressing for dinner, she is in tears because she wants to be as "pretty as me."  Where does the comparing come from? Before Auntie gives the gifts that are already wrapped to my daughter, she asks me, in front of her sister-in-law, "Is it okay if I give her the Minnie the Mouse dress and the Ariel dress as a gift?"  

I answered, "Well...okay."  They were already wrapped.  I felt like the evil mother.

Later, she brings out a coat for her, unwrapped.  "Can I give her this?"  The asking permission stems from already knowing the answer, but wanting to pursue the answer she wants to hear. 

"Yes, I'm sure she will like that.  Then maybe give the coat instead of the dresses, or just one of them."

"I asked you earlier."

"I know, but that is a lot of gifts, she will just be overwhelmed."

"Okay, well I don't know which one is which, so we will just flag them when they come up."

"Okay."

So, my daughter opens up the package, and it's the Ariel dress.  She lets out a cry of joy.   But doesn't put it on all day, thank God.  I think this is my problem.  I can't stand up to the pressure, and I can't let go of my belief that she is being spoon fed empty, uncreative play.  I am mushy all around and this makes me very unhappy.

As far as the comparing herself to me and others with how she looks, I hope this is not the beginning of an issue we will have to be contending with later. 

Is this what clients do, compare themselves to me, is there something I am exuding that creates this response?

Princess Overload

My daughter is just about five years old.  She is a charming, loving, and smart, and knows what she wants.  However, this stage we are going through now has me completely turned upside down.  She breathes, sleeps and talks Princess-- changing into Princess dresses that people have given to her immediately when she gets home from school.  The other day I thought I would fall over, grief-stricken, when she was dancing around and singing, "I'm a Barbie, I'm a Barbie."  My partner overheard and gave me a big smile, saying without having to say, "it's time you heal the princess within." The other day she talked about Princesses having long nails.  I muttered, "There are plenty of princesses that have short nails." 

She answered, "No there is not.  We are just pretending."

In the parent-teacher conference the other day they even said, "The Princess thing is a little over the top."  I exclaimed, "I know, and she doesn't even watch TV."

So where is she getting it?  The other girls, bill boards for more Disney films we see on the way to school,viewing Disney schlock at her Auntie's house.  What little she has watched has made a major impact on her psyche.  Are the pictures,and discussion amongst her friends tapping into the archetypal?  Or is my being a hairstylist and applying lipstick before I walk out the door contributing to her fantasies?  It appears there are lots of factors.

How long will this go on though?  I will be styling hair for the foreseeable future.  I've got to find a way to ask her about it, to have dialogue with her.  Otherwise, I will, as I have before, toss out anything smells of Princess in the wee hours of the morning while she sleeps. 

Is this a sign of our times?  I just don't remember identifying with princesses when I was her age.  The advertising, marketers have beat this one into the ground, and for what?  I'm saddened at the loss of their own pictures rather than Disney pictures in their head.  I'm saddened at the ways I contribute to keeping this story alive for her as well.

The Politics of Beauty

Beauty is ancient and yet so controversial. If I let on that  I am interested in it, I may be shunned or seen as non-progressive, non-feminist,or simply vein. Beauty, not just looking good on the outside, requires  a journey inward, a tapping into the mystical, ethereal world that lives within and across all time and place. Jewels line the path that lead into ones own inner life, if I am strong and daring enough. The jewels are bright and glimmer like sunlight when the darkness of the night comes.  I must shed all that I know,or perceive or have heard about what beauty is, and discover what is true for me--naked in the dark. The senses become pronounced, breathing becomes easier and enlivens my body, melting the delusion away.

But the ego doesn't want to let go, I want to hold onto the anger, it's much easier than looking at myself naked in the dark. Just keep breathing, that's it, let it all go. Pretty soon the eyes begin to  shine.  People want to know what I am doing. A man looked at me in the cafe this morning as I passed.

This pathway of breathing into my own awareness, stillness, and livliness, invites joy into my life.  It spills over and manifest itself in the detailing of the feminine expression, in whatever form that may be, whether one is male or female.  The obvious is through what fabric I drape my body in, and haircolors I play with, or whether I decide on layering my hair or not, short or not, etc. etc.  Beauty is the marriage of the internal and the external.

Ethics in the Chair, and Behind It

I have a colleague who is will be on maternity leave for four months.  I will be seeing some of her clients while she is out. I appreciate the referrals, of course. However, there are two, so far, who must blow dry their own hair, she tells me.  I'm confused here, I thought it was my job to show clients how it can look before they go home. These women are in their 50's or 60's perhaps, and seem to be very bright, competent women.  I don't understand.  Are they just unwilling to give up control for a few minutes?  Where is the insistence coming from?  And, most importantly, how do I want to handle the situation when they are in my chair? This is my profession, and they are in my chair...I want to blow dry their hair and complete the service.  I wouldn't think to tell a professional how to finish their job, especially if it had nothing to do with the performance later at home.  In fact, I need to blow the hair dry, whether it is worn curly and dried with the diffuser, or worn straight and flat-ironed.  I can see when I am drying it, where I might need to remove weight, or remove corners or, length...running my fingers through it allows me to know where I need to finesse the cut.

I'm conflicted about how to handle this with these clients. Allowing them to take control, and for me to stand back while they do this, feels funny.  Because they are not my clients, I feel I have room to say, "This is not how I do it."  Should the client have what she wants, and we do everything to provide that, including handing the blow dryer over to them.  This feels awkward, like I'm abandoning my professional ethics.  I don't want to give up control. 

 If I do hand the dryer over, than I feel that is when my service is over, and I leave the room.

Creativity

I had a dream, a most luscious dream.  Giselle and I were at her friends house.  The friend had wild fuscia and purple, frizzy hair, that pushed out from her scalp about four inches, then dropped into some length.  She wore flowing layers of similar colors to her hair. She appeared to be part of the surroundings, as the art, the walls, the furniture were all about color.  Not a square inch of the house was free of stuff.  Collections of various artists lined table tops and bookshelves. Abstract paintings in vivid reds,blues and yellows draped the walls. The back door was open to the backyard, and I don't remember lots of windows, but her home shone in a warm light.  Everything looked yummy.

There were even little plates of food in every corner. Pomegranate this and plum that, stacked on top of thin toasts, and sprinkled with cheese. The friend prepared more heaping plates of delectable treats and handed them to us to place on the table in the living room.  She prepared a feast for us. I wanted to taste everything,to touch everything, to let my eyes rest on every possible corner of this scene.  I felt at home.

Giselle and her friend have mastered creativity.  They are in touch with their own voice and their own expression of it, then they offer it to the world.  There is huge risk in the offering.  What if the world doesn't accept it.  But my mind couldn't even go there.  As I wiped the sleepers from my eyes come morning time, I realized that I am after my own expression, and be able to offer it to the world. 

This is where perhaps coming up with my own collections and photographing them might come in.  Editorial work interests me, and I've studied it a bit.  I've got to work on the stories behind the shots first.  I'm going to go get some make up training in February.  I'm inspired.

Spicing Things Up

 As a hairstylist, it is effortless to become lazy,negative, and uninspired.  Some of my styling habits are lazy, or I stop encouraging some clients to change, or I take the easy way out when under pressure--all these nowheresville tactics are called survival, but leave me empty.  I tell you, there is nothing more inspiring than participating in a professional development workshop to juice things up. I participated in a Creative Color class in San Francisco at The Studio.  Teri Dougherty taught 13 of us many creative color techniques.  Not only did I learn many useful techniques that I brought immediately into the salon, but Teri is a lovely person, with a passion for her craft, teaching, and her business, and it shows.  She has managed to manifest a life where she creates her own patterns of color, and cutting and gives that to the world.  I respect and admire the focus and attention to execute these ideas into a reality. 

I walked into the salon yesterday a bit more cocky, self-assured, and like I brought something to the table.  That something was an energy, a command with the hair, a fearlessness.  Two newish clients dawned vibrant colors, such as reds, and coppers, and blondes as they left the salon.  The patterning was such that you couldn't tell where the layout started and where it finished.  The pieces looked more like fettuccine, rather than spaghetti bits, it all comes back to food. 

Not only did I have a great time, I felt invigorated and I'm looking at Broccolini in a whole new way, thinking, "Hmmm...how can I translate this to hair color?" 

Thanks Teri. 

Check out her work!  www.teridougherty.com

Walking on Clouds

Last week, Giselle and I bought new shoes.  She brought me to Z-Coils in Fairfield. For months now, she's been talking about how I am going to love Compton, the owner of the store.  "Really?"  I said.  As we are driving there last Saturday after work, we talked and talked, relishing in being with each other outside the salon, and of course Compton. So we hurried in, and all I see are walls of neutral colored shoes, that at first site look like nurses shoes, or shoes that a really old person might wear.  Or worse yet, like some of the older women in Berkeley who've taken to wearing baggy clothes and flat, thick soled shoes.  I didn't know how I would break it to Giselle, but I couldn't imagine how I would, or could wear those shoes. 

I was timid in trying on any of them at first.  I watched Giselle try on a pair from the stack he had saved for her.  First the brown pair, and she oohed and ahhed, walking around the store.  Then the blue pair, again oohing and ahhing.  Both pairs have a visible thick coil you can see under the heel, wild and weird.

"Okay."  So, I tried the blue ones...the comfort went beyond any pair of shoes I have ever tried on before.  I didn't care for that pair, so I slipped on a couple more pairs.  Then, when I tried on the boot, I knew I'd be taking those with me. The coil is hidden in this pair, I've worn them everyday since purchasing them.  They are like walking on clouds.  They are odd looking, but odd in a sort of funky way.  They are not cheap, but I can see I will wear these as long as I am standing behind the chair. Every hairdresser should check them out, or anybody who stands.

I await the pair of Mary Janes that he is dying red for me. Oh yeah, I loved Compton.  He was the most helpful shoe guy I've ever met, and he is the kindest man.

Check it out! www.zcoil.com

Mirror-Mirror

I work in front of a mirror 24-4, it used to be 24-5 or 6.  It is everything but normal to be in front of the mirror this much.  In fact, I know I am a different person because of it. My mother used to harp on me because I tended to my personal grooming before doing chores.  She much preferred the sight of me working than playing.  I didn't see much beauty in my immediate environment-- I starved for my parents attention and emotional connection.   So I used my garments and my hair as a way to express some beauty, not really knowing what I was doing.  The act of beautfying myself emerged from a desperate feeling, and yet a place so deep. 

I came to know beauty early as a regime.  You bathe, you apply makeup, you put a lot of attention to what you wear.  I watched my four older sisters, who needed and competed for daddy's attention, it was all about adorning themselves.  We all left the house one way, and around the corner, we shortened the hemline of our skirts.

Even so, I disliked what the mirror reflected back to me, in fact, I hated what I saw.  Somehow, I knew if I faced into it though, a transformation could occur, therein lay a lifetime of work in dealing with the ego.  And even though I cut the hair of the neighborhood kids, and my own at age 11, I had no suspicion that my line of work would involve thousands of hours standing in front of the mirror and helping others make contact with the their own inner beauty.

I turn away often to what I see, I don't want to see.  And when I can look long enough, I don't know who it is I see, and I don't want anyone else to see me.  Each time feels different.  Already this feels like too much focus on the subject.  At some point you've got let it go.

What would it be like to have no mirrors?  

Power of Beauty

More on the subject of women's power coming from within.  A woman's beauty and power transcend age, wrinkles, and body weight. I hurt inside when a client pulls the skin back on her neck as I am showing her the silhouette of her haircut in the mirror.  And then, once we spin her back around, we laugh with a tinge of discomfort, she hands me back the hand mirror and proceeds to lift the skin on her forehead up.  This intimate, temporary, indulgent fantasy leaves me in a curious state of mind.

What will the wrinkle free face give her, besides a momentary sense of time standing still, or a delusion that she is indeed younger and not aging?  Will people treat her differently?  Is the dissatisfaction with the way she looks as an aging woman really only skin deep, gone the minute she goes under the knife?  It makes me shiver in my own skin.

What would it be like to have her take the mirror and not succomb to this cultures perverse pressure to be something we are not, to simply say, "I look and feel fabulous."

I wish it for us all.

Hair Flying

I've got twenty minutes to write.   Well, hum, I could write about salon politics, which seems to be prevalent.  Or I could write about a new client I had last week.  Luscious, thick, curly hair.  Lovely personality--witty, smart, creative and pretty, in a non-traditional way.  Her look was in-congruent with what seemed to be an alternative profession by dressing conservatively. Her voluminous hair sat heavy on her head, dragging down her already long face.  She was open and clear she wanted to keep length, so we did.  We layered, textured, channeled and lifted her hair, which took time.  A slight a-line, layered bob was the desired shape. 

To see her hair come to life by releasing it's swirls and arcs, and hair flying, an onlooker would think it was a well-thought-out choreographed dance piece.  Her hair came to life as we partnered in the dance.  We I handed her the mirror to look at the profile, she said, "I love it."

I thought to myself as she left, "This is the type of client I want to attract!"  

Everything about the experience left me fulfilled.  Boundaries existed, but they didn't color the whole event, and both of us appeared to be free in the time we shared.  Beautiful.

More please!

Hair in the Bay

This is old news now, but I feel compelled to celebrate the concept that salons can contribute to cleaning up waste, not just produce it.  I was called by my friend Laura, a hairstylist who now works in San Francisco. She alerted me to the fact that hair was being collected for making hair mats to help clean up the Cosco Busan oil spill in the San Francisco Bay.  We started immediately sweeping hair into bags and sending it off to the Matter of Trust organization.  Lisa Gaultier heads up this small nonprofit, and previously made these hair mat made from human hair and mushrooms.  The hair absorbs the oil, and the mushrooms will soak up oil and make for non toxic compost.

Brilliant.  It's people like this that use their minds for great things, that inspire me.  How else can hair salons clean up their act and produce less waste?  How can we become less toxic and still colour hair?  Is it possible?  What about the foils from weaving hair?  It wasn't until maybe three years ago, that I realized it was better to dump excess color into garbage, rather than the drain? 

The topic is large and painful to ponder, but how can I move this into action?  I would love to learn about any movement, organization, etc. that is educating hairdressers, passing legislation, offering workshops etc. about helping hair salons become Green and increase the awareness of their impact on the environment. 

I guess the simple question is what am I doing in my everyday life at the salon to contribute to the idea of less is more when it comes to our planet.

 www.matteroftrust.org

Nothing Changes

Louise became a client 25 years ago.  The hairstyles we've tried have varied little; a bob, a layered bob, a bob with fringe, maybe once or twice, a shorter cut with no weight line.  She colors her hair a bright bright orange, herself, and never seems to color it before she sees me.  There are always white roots to greet me, with very faded color on the ends.  Her hair is dry, yet not dry enough in her book since she insists on never conditioning her hair.  And this is the way it goes, nothing  changes and it's a slow death. A delightful slow death.  We have a rapport that has developed over the years--I could distinguish her laugh in a dark theatre, I know certain stories, because I've heard them more than once, as I am sure I have repeated a few of my own.  We have talked about life, and we have cried about love, and she is an unrealized songwriter.

She is loyal--I wonder why sometimes.  I don't suggest change often, I haven't suggested she come in and let me color her hair, and she is certainly one of the few people I don't talk to about product, even though I firmly believe her hair would look and feel like a million bucks.

What prevents me from shaking things up with her?  I suggest change 95% of the time with other clients, but with her I don't.  Some of life's challenges have forced us to grow, so maybe it is enough to wear mediocre hair, and allow mediocre hair be worn.  Besides, it is a relief to not always have to be on, and I see it as growth to just let her hair be simple.  We have an unspoken agreement, for now.

The Power of Beauty

Beauty lies within a woman's soul.  Whether she wears a refined, smooth, bob, a pixie, or a glamorous, long, look.  Her beauty reveals itself through her eyes, in the way she picks up a glass, or the way she interacts with a child.  It's revealed in nothing short of everything she does. And yet a woman's beauty is not a prescription, but indescribable, and elusive.  The expression manifests itself as differently as we are individuals, as varied as  the many species of flowers that speckle the earth.  So when a woman sits in my chair, and her eyes twinkle, she says what is on her mind, and she is leery of looking like every other woman, or even a movie star, then I know I'm dealing with a woman who is in touch with herself, her inner beauty, her soul.

"Mommy hair" is an infliction of the American woman --long blond hair, with tiny hi-lites everywhere.  A look of someone who is trying to look like what they think it means to be a woman in the American culture, instead of creating the culture itself, using herself as the canvas.

The power of beauty permeates in what she chooses to wear and how she wears it, whether it's a hairstyle or an item of clothing.  Dressing for herself as if she matters, placing attention on the face, hair and clothing, as well as tending to the inner life, give a woman an undeniable beauty.  It creates an energy that makes people smile as they pass her by, they have to look, and yet, this resonance has nothing to do with trend, and needing people to look.  She knows it is her much needed contribution of Beauty to the world, and we are the recipients.

Time to Shine

Giselle is one of those clients who walks into a room and commands attention, not by what she says, but how she looks.  She is regal, unafraid, and meets you with her eyes.  At first glance, you might think she is an artist, a gypsy, or a one woman show of some kind.  When I first met her, I knew it was my time to shine.

She was referred by a client who, in the past has liked to play with special effects in her, colors that were unnatural looking and fun.  She spoke of Giselle, and said, "One of these days she will come in, and you will love doing her hair."

The day came when she sat in my chair.  It was a match that was meant to me.  As she said yesterday, "I knew you were out there somewhere and that I would meet you, I just didn't know when."   The experience I have of coloring her hair, is one of utter, complete freedom.  I don't have to consult, ask permission, or hesitate. Her only requirement is that is doesn't look natural.

My only limitation is my own thinking, my own mind.  So I dream while I paint on her color, letting my mind imagine and wander in the kaleidoscope of the color world.  Is it lime green with orange, or purples and oranges.  Right now we are working with doing less bleach and toning, and playing with 7.40 Loreal, 20 volume at the base.  Mid-lengths and ends are bleached and toned with candy apple red, and napalm orange, and yellow, with a smidgen of orange.

Who knows what will be next.  I don't plan.  I want to stay in the moment with her hair, and before her next appointment I will probably have a creative, rich, dynamic dream about her, in full living color.

By the way, she is a most talented clothing designer.  Check her out.  www.giselleshepatin.com

Hair Types and Personalities

Over the years, I have thought about how the different hair-types match the personality of a person?  Does curly hair match a more-than-what-meets-the-eye kind of personality?  Does frizzy hair match a more complicated, uncontainable personality?   And does a pokey head of hair match a defiant personality?  I am thinking about this now as it relates to my family, whom I am visiting for the holiday with my four sisters, one brother, and their families.  Pondering this notion, if nothing else, buys me some time from considering how we are disconnected and have not changed much at all. The third oldest is the one with the most hair, she is growing her hair out again, it is mid-length, around her shoulders and big.  I mean she has three times the amount of all of us, is definitely the ringleader, activity director, and certainly one of the most vocal of the clan.  Then there is the oldest sister, who has straight, coarse, very short hair and is also one of the outspoken ones.  Her language has become more abrasive, as her personality has, shouting seems to be the way she communicates.  She refuses to change, even when she is miserable.  The fourth oldest sister wears her fine hair long, down to her lower back, it looks like there is an old perm on the last six inches or so.  She is not verbal at at, in fact it seems as if the muscles around her mouth have contracted, giving her limited range of motion.  She sends little verbal dings when she does speak, or piles on the guilt.  My brother has a lot of hair as well, sort of curly on the ends, although it looks a bit like a Mullet now, it's better than the militaristic look it had five years ago, which is the last time I saw him.  He comes off tough, and sometimes will spew racial, political words that seem spoon fed to him from some right wing rhetoric on TV, but he is the first to give hugs.

Then there is my parents, both have a lot less hair, both are all grey and white.   My dad just turned eighty years old yesterday and my mom is seventy four, both are showing signs of her age, she was limping yesterday.  My dad is soft-spoken, like his fine hair which lies down smooth, although he has been known to stand up on his political soapbox as well, he has spared us this trip.  My mother has a bit more texture to her hair, and she perms it to make it do what she would like, not so unlike her subtle manipulation with us.

And me, I am one of the soft spoken ones, particularly when around my sisters, who compete and play verbal hardball.  I do wish I had a quick mind and verbal ability, I have come to accept it is not me.  My hair is fine and short today, with some bend if given encouragement which could be indicative of my somewhat pathological need for constant fluffing, keeping things fresh, and change.

Hair texture aside, my family is familiar and yet my life is so unlike theirs.  And all though we strive to connect, we cannot go back and rewrite the play of our lives.  We love each other and we do connect in small ways.

Community

Yesterday was a most challenging day.  Total chaos in the salon--loud, bad 80's music all day-Donna Summer, Duran Duran and, and, and, oh well, I just tuned it out.  Eight chairs packed, every stylist had two clients going at at least once throughout the day.  Our new receptionist that just started this week, gone, and we were short assistants.  I felt fragile. Then, Betty walked in.  She was visiting from Boston for the holiday.  Within moments she revealed her age, a surprising eighty one years did not show.  She stood about 6'3"years old, and  wore a wide, beautiful smile.  She was stylish and well-dressed, in a Chico's kind of way, she made the clothing look classy.  Drama was written all over her, however, not yet expressed in her hair design. 

She was scheduled for a blow dry.  And, when I set the dryer down, I asked, "How long has it been since you had a cut?"

She said, "Just last week.  But you may do whatever you want."  Music to my ears.  As I nipped away, creating some asymmetry in the fringe area and taking weight of the top, she opened her heart, by telling me a difficult story, obviously one that changed her life forever.  A story that required an indomitable inner strength to survive. 

She talked about her community of friends and how they have been there for her.  And then we came back around to her hair.  She said, "I have been with my stylist for thirty eight years, even when sometimes I'm not happy."

"That is loyalty." I responded.

"Yes. I wouldn't think of changing, we have a relationship.  He's part of my community," she said.  And because I am a friend of her daughters, she treated me as if I were a member as well.

As she waved goodbye, she remarked, "This is the cut I have always wanted.  I'm going to have to move here now."  We both laughed and knew that would never happen.  I walked into the break room with the feeling I had met somebody with a kind heart, a sense of humor, and a deep soul.