My nephew, Tim, called just as I was going out the door.

“Can’t talk right now,” I said. “Am going to the get my hair colored. I’m going to be young and beautiful again.”

“Good luck with that,” Tim said.

After he took his foot out of his mouth, Tim tried to make amends.

“Let me rephrase that. I hope you have a good trip to the beauty parlor.”

And quite a trip it was!

I love getting my worked on–nothing to do for a totally relaxing hour, while gray magically turns to brown.

Then a little blow drying, a touch of the curling iron, a gallon of hair spray and I’m set to go.

My Helmet Hair, as Bill calls it, will stand up to the strongest Colorado wind, without moving a single strand.

I paid my bill, tipped the hair stylist and walked out the door into the late afternoon sunshine—Helmet Hair in place—ready to face the word.

What I wasn’t ready for was the panel of snow that slid off the metal roof of the beauty shop onto my new hairdo.

Stunned, squished, and snow clad, I went back into the beauty parlor and just stood there—hopeless and helpless—like a small child who fallen in a snow bank.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

A lot of life rests on thas decision—do we laugh or cry?

I decided to laugh. After the staff and I figured out that I was OK—other than being stunned—we all decided to laugh.

What made the whole venture meaningful and gratifying was the attentiveness of the staff who rushed at me with towels, sympathy and humor.

My stylist, Sherri, had been on her feet for at least 6 hours, yet she didn’t hesitate to repair the damage to my Helmet Hair.

Our hair stylists and others to tend to us are blessings in our lives. My thanks and gratitude go to Sherri.

She’s one of the people who brighten our days.

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