Sometimes I'm glad I have naturally curly hair

This is me after I got a haircut this morning.  

This is before; I was starting to get that "Little Orphan Annie" look.  

Brother-in-law's haircut

One of the first things that happened when we arrived at the campground where Cliff's brother had set up camp was a haircut. Yes, Don decided his hairline had receded sufficiently that the best thing he could do was have his hair cropped short. His sister, Rena, was just the person to do that.

This is the "before" picture.

Here's the "after".

Please notice the lovely Honda Gold Wing in the background.

Here's a slide show that takes you through the entire ordeal, right down to showing you a pathetic white clump of discarded hair on the ground.

All good things come to an end

The face of my little town has changed, lately. Some fellow bought one whole block, and part of another, as a place to set up his business, which is some sort of software/computer-geek enterprise, I hear. He has taken buildings over a century old and put new fronts on them, at times blocking half the road through town with construction.

This could be a good thing for my town, I suppose. Perhaps there will be local jobs to be had. But it's disaster for me.

Why, you ask?

This guy bought my beautician's building, which served as both home and business for her. He paid her such a good price that she's out of the hair business and relocating into a nice, almost-new, roomy house in a bigger town to the south.

Any beautician can handle my hair. It's naturally curly, and all I need is four to six haircuts a year. Cut the same length all over. No problem.

But Connie could squeeze me in at a minute's notice, which is a good thing for someone who puts off making appointments until the last possible moment. And she's only a couple miles away; I've been known to walk there, on nice days.

And the best thing of all, she's fast. She could have my hair cut in ten minutes, flat.

Tuesday, I had Cliff stop by; I was going to see if I could get one last haircut at Connie's. A sign on the door said, "Closed". So I came home and tried to call. The number has been disconnected.

There's another lady with a beauty shop in town, and I suppose she'll get my business. But it isn't going to be the same.

I hate change.