There was no time for a blow dryer. For the past few weeks, my hair has been in braids anyway.
The hours of sorting, packing and otherwise running errands for my upcoming move from Ashland to Austin left me, most days, in desperate need of a hot, soapy shower. My look had definitely morphed to Grandma Clampett, sans the shotgun.
In the summer months, they crowd the waiting area where I get my hair trimmed. They are filled with laughter and secrets and a great deal of joy.
When I see them, I know immediately that they are either bachelorettes out for a day of primping and camaraderie or they’re getting ready for a wedding that’s about to happen.
My college degree was not what I thought it would be. It didn’t prepare me for life. But what it gave me was this: it taught me how to learn. It made me a lifelong student.
A friend of mine is limping into his 60s with a sense of loss. Loss of youth, energy and significance. I understand all of that and believe that most of us go through a passage where we grieve the younger life we’ve left behind.
The television screen shows a young couple, strolling down a city street, holding hands. When they arrive at the steps of the woman’s brownstone, the man hesitates as if he wants to move in for a kiss.