Closing Remarks
Looking Out
Blu
Grey Lines
Draining
Why You’d Want to Live Here
Off Target
Little Houses
Clipped
The Time Traveling Haircut
About three weeks ago, I needed a haircut. Badly. I generally prefer my hair short. my hair doesn’t look good long. It suddenly takes on an alarming amount of volume and begins to coif in a way reminiscent of the late, fabulous Lady Di.
As Ian had been asking for, then protesting against, a haircut for weeks, I decided to bring him along with me last Tuesday. My own cut was uneventful. They have my numbers on file, and I just let them go crazy. Ian had insisted on going after me, and he watched with passing interest while we both rebuffed efforts by other stylists to get his hair clipped sooner.
When Ian’s turn came, I stared in fascination at this process I’d seen several times before. I lifted my little “crazy hair” three-year-old onto the barber’s chair. He sat with patience, his gaze steady and stern, as his blonde locks dropped like pedals upon his penguin apron. He wasn’t anxious; he wasn’t excited; he wasn’t overjoyed.
In too few minutes later, the stylist revealed a young man, a four-year-old in place of my little “Nian.” An entire year gone with a couple of clipped inches.
Hillside Siblings
IAN IS
The Pig-Tailed Ham
