HAIRDRESSER'S MIGRAINE

It was a mother-daughter day. Susan and I had made two appointments to get our hair done by my hairdresser, whom Susan had not met yet.  He said it would probably take three hours.  We walked in, and the salon owner said Jonathan wasn’t back from lunch.  I ran a quick errand and, when I returned, Susan and Jonathan were only in the beginning stages of discussing which style and colors would look good.  I say “discussing” loosely, because Jonathan could hardly talk.  He had a migraine and was moving very slowly – even for Jonathan.  He was squinting one eye as he talked, and he couldn’t remember what he had said from one sentence to the next.  He said he had only taken Tylenol, but I wondered. 

Any normal person would have rescheduled at this point.  But then, Hugh Mouse has never been normal.  I know Jonathan’s work, and I had told Susan that he could “cut hair in his sleep.”  Well, he sort of was asleep.  I looked at Susan’s worried eyes.  We were both wondering if he could cut and color hair with a jackhammer inside his head distracting him.

Watching him comb her hair was like watching a clock tick.  He combed out each batch of hair several times, parting it very carefully, re-combing and re-parting until I thought I was going to scream.  But I know that Jonathan is a perfectionist and, even on a good day, he takes his time. 

Four and one half hours later, he was finished.  I said I would re-schedule my appointment.  I sure hope his headache is gone when I go back.

BTW – Susan’s hair looks better than I’ve ever seen it!

                                                             

PLANT FLOWERS WHEN IT'S COOL

I’ve been dreading gardening in the summer heat.  I do not like heat.  And I do not like work a whole lot either.  So when the 51 plants I had ordered in a moment of insanity (yes, I ordered something that causes me to work because my church was selling them) arrived on a chilly, cloudy, 53 degree day, I was more than thrilled. 

I began by carefully digging a little hole and loosening all the dirt around it to give the dirt plenty of air pockets so the rain water can get to the plants, since they won’t have the benefit of garden hose water if my memory serves me correctly from the last few flower beds I cooked.  After planting five flowers this way, I reverted to stabbing the soil, pushing the “digging trowel”* (see definition below) sideways with one hand and shoving the flower roots into the crevice with the other hand, then mashing down the dirt.  Using this speedy technique, I planted all 51 flowers in 59 minutes.  I started at 11:12 and finished at 12:11, by which time I had peeled down to just a T-shirt in spite of the chill in the air.  I went inside and opened all the windows.  (I regretted that after a while.)

So my point is this.  When people tell you it’s too cold to plant flowers, don’t listen to them.

*Wikipedia says a trowel is “one of several similar hand tools used for digging, smoothing, or otherwise moving around small amounts of viscous or particulate material.”  “Viscious”?  Like maybe a snake?  Not in my garden!  Oh wait a minute.  That’s “viscous.”  Viscous means (and I quote) “sticky, gluey and syrupy, so if something is viscous , you usually don't want to stick your fingers in it.” Ya think?