Roots

Yesterday I got up and got myself over to the hair place for a nine 0’clock coloring job. Two hours. The lady who does my hair remarked that I didn’t have much gray, which is good, I suppose. However, the gray I do have sits on the top of my head like a beanie – kind of the reverse of when I was little and had a Brownie beanie on top of blonde hair. SpellCheck, wants me to take the “e” off of blonde; yep, redline again. To heck with them. Okay, maybe I’m being petty. SpellCheck is also getting a redline; this one is sort of satisfying.

The reason I didn’t mention the name of the lady who does my hair is because while she was cutting my daughter-in-law’s hair as my color absorbed, she related the news that her granddaughter had died at age eight months last spring. Her parents had taken her into the ER two or three times and been sent home and then, a day before she died of dehydration, another ER admitted her.

I have had my hair done between then and now; I did not know this. But her birthday would have been Friday . . .

What you don’t know about people who pass through your life . . .