12 Oakdale

Blue Moon over Lake Down   I’d say that Grant just gave me the worst haircut I’ve ever had, but it wouldn’t be true. The absolute worst was by Bob in Wilton Manors. Normally a fabulous hairstylist, he was just getting started cutting my hair, when he got a phone call from either the IRS or his lawyer, I don’t remember which. As he became more and more agitated about the state of his taxes, my hair received crazier and crazier chops. Eventually he hung up, declared me done. I looked like I’d been attacked with a weed wacker. I actually paid, probably even tipped Bob, and left. I was too shocked to say anything, and he had sharp objects. I never returned, and Bob never called to apologize. Maybe he went to tax prison.  I’ve ordered hair clippers and will give Grant another chance. I may end up looking like a Marine recruit heading to boot camp, but better than it looks right now. Steph and some of my friends are going to hair salons. Others are having beauticians come to their h...

 Our friend is in hospice, the President was in the hospital with Covid-19, and my squash plants have been eaten by worms. I’m starting to be discouraged. Probably the right decision, and one I hope I would have the courage to make, but still, to choose to forgo any more treatment for cancer is heartbreaking. Fortunately he is at home with his wife. Their children have visited. His pain is managed. Now the waiting begins. Were our friends still in Fort Lauderdale, I would drive down to say goodbye, virus be damned.  Which is what, after spending a couple of nights at Walter Reed Medical Center and still contagious, our President likely said. Back at the White House, he told us not to fear coronavirus. Of course the rest of us aren’t flown to and from a prestigious military hospital via helicopter and don’t have access to experimental drugs. He does seem to have a mild case, thank goodness, not like those 200,000+ who died, and the many, many others who have lingering damage to...