Curlz, Cuts by Us, & Other Connects

During my beloved’s layoff, my hair turned dark brunette, via oil-of-avocado pour, shake, and squeeze colorant. Today my husband returns from a Texas work trip. His earnings are steady. Our pantry bulges. And my gray hairs vigorously emerge.

The week we closed on our new house I thought I’d get those aged curls hid. I couldn’t go to the fancy place my dear realtor recommended. Still in a cheap, home-sick grumpy funk, I drove to one nearest our new home, aptly named, “Cuts by Us.” Fast cut franchises hurry harried customers through. Mary, however, took the time to talk with me and examine my hair.

“You don’t have that much gray,” she observed. “Why don’t you let your natural color grow back, before I put highlights on?”

I shrugged. She snipped.

My sisters will cringe when they see my bangs next month at Cutie Patootie’s first birthday soiree. Doesn’t matter. Three time zones from well-meaning siblings, 600 miles from friends, God let me release pent up thoughts. In the barber chair I got real about life, the move, my melancholy.

Two stylists,with no customers, overheard and told me how nice “livin’” was in a small town. They left the traffic and crime of big cities. Mary, however, never lived anywhere else. She longed for the franchise to move her from the town I did not want to move to.

Mary and me, blonde and brunette, rural, suburban, we connected. And it was good.

Though my beloved had employment, my two kids still needed jobs with assistance. We tried Google and phonebooks. Buddy’s Ohio MRDD counselor tried, yet failed find out where to send the records. Each state in America has peculiar bureaucracies that use peculiar acronyms. I finally determined that MRDD services in Ohio are really DDMR services in Georgia. No wonder we couldn’t find a Google link!

Mary didn’t know her state’s acronyms. But she told for whom she stayed put: a grown special needs sibling with an aging parent as guardian.

On her card she scribbled the names of two local places that served special persons. Through one of those places we received the papers needed to work with the right agency. And when Buddy’s flustered counselor called me, I could give him the name and contact number.

Ever dream for the weekend on a hard Wednesday? Ever dream of the southland when the cold season hits? Ever pray to escape this tragic world for a better one...?
I could curse my melancholic makeup. But the One who made me blesses through it. At the right time in what I consider the wrong place, He ever reminds me, “I will show you how much I love you and those you love... here and now.”

His poet assures us...wherever we are,

“Since ancient times no one has heard,
no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
who acts on behalf of those who wait for him... (Isaiah 64:4)

As for my ancient curls (to be continued)...