Land of Lard

It isn’t just that my great-grandfather came up the river and declared the frozen tundra his home, is it?  It’s that the family stayed here and branched off and grew.

I was at my beloved and long-suffering hair person yesterday getting a haircut.  There was a woman in nearby chair getting a perm.  There was something about her face.  I kept looking over at her.

Sharon, my beloved and long-suffering hair person, looked at this woman and looked at me and back at her and back to me.  “You two look a lot a like . . . wait . . . Lisa.  You two are cousins.  Do you know your cousin Brenda?”

Okay, I love this story for a number of reasons.  First of all, the answer was yes and no.  I knew her once Sharon said who she was.  It’s actually our parents who are first cousins.  I think she’s the one who ate the penny.  There was much, much warning in my childhood about not putting money anywhere near your mouth because of whichever child swallowed the penny.

Secondly, I love what this says about the power of the hair salon.  My salon isn’t two chairs in the back of someone’s house — not that there’s anything wrong with that.  I’m just saying that a lot of people are coming and going from my salon.  A lot of connections are made.  A lot of secrets get shared.

You must be careful who you run into at the hair salon.

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