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Living creatively stylishly

Easter reflections

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What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.
– Kobayashi Issa, Japanese poet and lay Buddhist priest

Last year was the first Easter we celebrated without my mother. In the past, when my son was a toddler, we drove down to San Diego to spend the weekend with David’s sister’s family and his parents. After my daughter was born, we took them to Folsom to spend the holiday with my sister’s family and my mother. We still went to Folsom last year, even though my nephew, who was a freshman in high school at the time, finally won out and no longer had to participate in Easter egg hunts and the interest within my kids was also waning.

Calla lilies in our garden.

Calla lilies in our garden.

After my mother’s passing, I told David that we needed to spend more time with his parents, who are in their early seventies. I am acutely aware that I didn’t spend enough time with my mother in the last few years, and I don’t want to repeat the same mistake. When the kids were babies and toddlers, I made many a weekend trip to Folsom, but all that changed when my son got involved in sports in the second grade – baseball and basketball. He has since given up basketball, but his baseball schedule used to be every weekend from February through mid-August. My daughter joined a soccer team last fall, and now our Saturdays in the falls and springs are spoken for.

This past Christmas, David and his siblings got his parents a surround sound entertainment system, which David and one of his brothers set up. David needed to finish up the job, so he had to come back after the holidays. By the time a weekend could be found, I was out of town on a business trip. But my daughter ran a temperature on the appointed weekend, and then had another virus the following weekend, which was when the rescheduled trip had been planned. We were all set to go two weekends ago, and then his father called to tell us a good friend of theirs had caught a secondary infection while in the hospital after contracting sepsis, following a procedure to eradicate a spot on his liver. He was not expected to make it through the weekend, and David’s parents thought it best if we didn’t come.

Pink tulips in our side garden.

Pink tulips in our side garden.

Their friend passed away that Saturday evening, and his funeral was set for the following Saturday. David’s dad was scheduled to eulogize his long-time friend. Our weekend was booked for my son’s first baseball tournament of the season. On the drive home from the games that Saturday afternoon, David’s brother called. David listened to the voicemail message when we got home: His parents had been hit by a car crossing the street at a four-way stop. The driver had stopped, but then proceeded to turn. He later told the police officer that the sun was in his eyes and he didn’t see them. My mother-in-law was knocked to the ground and thankfully only suffered bruises, but my father-in-law’s head cracked the car windshield. He had broken two vertebrae in his neck and his forehead was stitched up. Fortunately, he didn’t suffer a concussion.

We came that Sunday sans the kids, and we were going to come the following weekend, when he would be home from the hospital. We ended up coming Easter weekend, which seemed a better time to spend with them. Two of David’s brothers also came. It was a 24-hour visit, as we left after my son’s baseball practice and my daughter’s soccer game. It was a short visit, but we had a nice dinner and breakfast. The kids played a Mexican domino board game with their “noni,” their uncle’s girlfriend, and their dad. They weeded the backyard for their “noni,” which she paid them for their services. We watched a little bit of March madness, some Sharks hockey, and the original Pink Panther movie in surround sound.

On cool spring days, layer a heavier sweater over a thinner floral sweater.

On cool spring days, layer a heavier sweater over a thinner floral sweater.

At night, we watched an amazing lightning and thunderstorm play out from David’s parents’ bedroom window. It was quite a display of theatrics, which none of us has ever seen before, including David, who has seen his share of Tennessee thunderstorms. It made us realize how small we humans are against the force of Nature. It made us appreciate the power of Nature. Then we went to bed, and time flew by. Time flew by – It’s a cliché I find myself referencing with greater frequency. There is an equal sense of urgency that accompanies the acknowledgment, the inevitable.

When the sun comes out, you can peel off the outer sweater.

When the sun comes out, you can peel off the outer sweater.

It was a quiet Easter, but an important one. I’m glad the kids could share the holiday with their noni and papa and two of their uncles. Like spring, Easter is a time for renewal and rejuvenation, for being amazed by and grateful for life, which is the ideal response to the events of the past few weeks.

Pink and floral for spring, sweater and thin-wale corduroy for cooler weather.

Pink and floral for spring, sweater and thin-wale corduroy for cooler weather.

Empowering our daughters early on

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The robb’d that smiles, steals something from the thief.
– William Shakespeare, British playwright

Here I am, at 51, having to deal with girl problems – my daughter’s, that is. One day she’s in; the next day, she’s out. At 10 years old, in the fourth grade, she is experiencing what many friends of mine who have older daughters have told me would happen. She will come home, complaining of various transgressions committed against her, though the usual scenario is that she and another friend weren’t allowed to play with a trio of other friends.

Feel elegant and powerful in a full, flowery dress, sleek faux fur jacket, ruffled bootie, and crossbody bag (perfect for our school auction buffet - hands free for finger food and glass of wine).

Feel elegant and powerful in a full, flowery dress, sleek faux fur jacket, ruffled booties, and crossbody bag (perfect for our school auction buffet – hands free for finger food and glass of wine).

When I first heard her stories of woe, I cringed, remembering my own painful past. My best friend in elementary school and I were in the same class from kindergarten all the way up until fifth grade. That year we were in different classes, and then I lost my best friend to a new girl in town. I made a new best friend in my class, but the following three years (I attended a K-8 school) were spent battling to stay atop and not be ousted from the threesome that comprised my old best friend, my new best friend, and me.

High school can be brutal, but thankfully I was blessed with big-hearted best friends and a circle of other good friends. My first best friend, Kathy, moved to Washington State when we were juniors, and my other best friend, Kimi, and I were inseparable until she got her first boyfriend our senior year. College had its bumps, but I was most surprised that I have encountered mean girls throughout my adult life. Up until the last few years, even the slightest cruel comment would dwell in my head for days. It was a step up from feeling mortally wounded by such a comment when I was younger, but not something I felt a woman my age should still be bothered by – if at all, if raised and emboldened with healthy self-esteem. I told myself, however, that no one is too old to learn a life lesson.

Show off strong arms in a sleeveless dress. Booties, as opposed to strappy sandals, give off a tough vibe.

Show off strong arms (use hand weights to keep your arms toned) in a sleeveless dress. Booties, as opposed to strappy sandals, give off a tough vibe.

Learning by teaching my daughter
I decided that I would give my daughter coping mechanisms and tools to deal with mean-girl behavior – something that I wish I had been given when I was a girl. First of all, I told her she had better not be a mean girl, particularly by not excluding someone from the group. Invoke the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Unless you’re a masochist, if everyone lived by this rule, we’d have a more compassionate planet. Next I told her if she witnessed mean-girl behavior, she was to defend the girl on the outs and let the others know it’s not nice to exclude anyone.

The harder part was giving her tools to defend herself when she was on the outs. How do you convince a girl to not let mean comments hurt her feelings? To not cry? Some girls are hardwired and hardy, and they can naturally withstand such assaults. For many of us, however, it takes a few years, many years, or even decades to master invulnerability, depending upon our upbringing, mentors, and other factors.

Reclaimed vintage earrings (Gorgeous & Green, Berkeley), my mother's vintage ring (given to her by her parents), and Jan Michael bracelet (Philadelphia shop) and necklace (Lava 9, Berkeley).

Reclaimed vintage earrings (Gorgeous & Green, Berkeley), my mother’s vintage ring (given to her by her parents), and Jan Michael bracelet (Philadelphia shop) and necklace (Lava 9, Berkeley).

So I told her it takes practice and more practice. Telling ourselves over and over again until we mean it. I told her mean people say mean things because they want power over you. When you cry, when you crumble, when you get angry, when you say mean things in return you have given them power. Don’t give them power! You don’t have to kill them with kindness, either. You either call them on it – that’s not a very nice thing to say or do – or you walk away and completely ignore what was just said or done.

This lesson must be sinking in. While I was away on a business trip last October, my daughter was walking to school one morning with one of our friends and her three daughters. The youngest girl told my daughter she wanted to be a hot dog for Halloween, but she was afraid the other kids would make fun of her. My friend related to me that my daughter’s adamant response was, “If you want to be a hot dog, be a hot dog. Who cares what other people think?” Amen.

When I came across the Shakespeare quote, it embodied exactly what I have been trying to teach my daughter – as well as my son. Turn the tables, and don’t give that person your power. I tried to explain what the quote meant to them during a dinner conversation, but I realized it would be another year or two for her to fully appreciate what Shakespeare was saying. I could have said, instead, “Don’t let your emotions become your bit*$,” but I’ll save that for when they are in college.

Combining florals, faux fur, red leather, insects, reclaimed vintage, and vintage jewelry.

Combining florals, faux fur, red leather, insects, reclaimed vintage, and vintage jewelry.

Gone fishing

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The time to relax is when you don’t have time for it.
– Sydney J. Harris, American journalist, Chicago Daily News and Chicago Sun-Times

Having hit the proverbial wall by doing too much in too little time and sacrificing sleep to accomplish my goals, I am partially taking David’s advice of letting go of my Wednesday posting. I’m giving myself permission to take the day off and not write, but still post pictures. Happy Wednesday! Take heed and be kind to yourself and give yourself permission to relax. As Lama Thubten Yeshe once said: “Be gentle first with yourself if you wish to be gentle with others.”

It may be spring, but it's still a little chilly. An all-black outfit is the perfect backdrop or a faux snake skin leather jacket from Urbanity (Berkeley, CA).

It may be spring, but it’s still a little chilly. An all-black outfit is the perfect backdrop for a faux snakeskin leather jacket from Urbanity (Berkeley, CA).

Go simple with accessories - Carmela Rose drop earrings and Tiffany ring for my 50th birthday from David.

Go simple with accessories – Carmela Rose drop earrings and Tiffany ring for my 50th birthday from David.

Faux snakeskin pattern can be overwhelming, so stick with an all-black outfit (simple knit dress, knit scarf, and tights), black booties with studs for added texture and interest, and simple silver jewelry.

Faux snakeskin pattern can be overwhelming, so stick with an all-black outfit (simple knit dress, knit scarf, and tights), black booties with studs for added texture and interest, and simple silver jewelry.

 

Spring fever

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It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.
– Rainer Maria Rilke, Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist

This season's crop of tulips in our side yard.

This season’s crop of tulips in our side yard.

Today is the first day of spring. After weeks of beautiful weather, which confused the magnolia trees in our backyard, the temperature dropped to the low 60s and a light rain is descending. Back in Maine, my colleagues at our headquarters are hunkered in their homes, enduring a snow storm that is hugging the northern New England coast but should be tapering off today.

Regardless of the actual weather, spring is upon us. This past weekend, my son played in his first baseball tournament, which was held in Silicon Valley. His team, whom David manages, drew an eight in the morning Saturday game. It was cold, even as the team’s second game commenced after ten in the morning. I wore a scarf, sweater, and a leather jacket and my bottom half was wrapped in a baseball-motif blanket that my daughter had made for her brother for Christmas. I was still freezing. And then slowly the sun came out. By the time the game ended after noon, it seemed more like baseball weather and some of us discovered our faces had gotten a little sun burnt.

Morning dew on tulip.

Morning dew on tulip.

When we came home, I needed to give our dog Rex, who had been inside the house for hours, his daily walk. As we walked past tree after tree full of white and deep pink blossoms, and as I breathed in the pollen, which shortened my breath and made me wheeze, I thought to myself, spring has indeed arrived.

Floral blouse and silk and linen appliqued skirt from Personal Pizazz (Berkeley, CA) for spring.

Floral blouse and silk and linen appliqued skirt from Personal Pizazz (Berkeley, CA) for spring.

Memories of spring
When I think of spring, many images come to mind. Upon learning in the spring that I had gotten accepted to UC Davis back in the spring of 1982, I rode my ten-speed bike on the country roads outside my hometown to get used to the campus’ mode of transportation. The hills bore row upon row of orange trees, thick with white starry flowers, giving off their heady perfume of orange blossoms in the early morning. No matter that I had an allergic reaction to them – I never tired of breathing deeply, as if I could not get enough of the sweet scent, as if I would never return home again. And then at Davis, after taking a heavy course load winter quarter, I opted for a light load in the spring because I was always stricken with a bad case of spring fever. I didn’t want to be in lecture halls. I wanted to be out in the sun.

Spring accessories: Lava 9 wooden drop earrings and chunky ring (Berkeley, CA), and Urbanity pearl necklace in mesh (Berkeley, CA).

Spring accessories: Lava 9 wooden drop earrings and chunky ring (Berkeley, CA), and Urbanity pearl necklace in mesh (Berkeley, CA).

My second and final year at Syracuse, I remember stepping out of the graduate dorm into a spring snow storm in 1990. I managed to slide my yellow Toyota Corolla station wagon down a hill off campus and up against a curb parking spot, completely by accident. By the end of the day, the snow was gone, making me question its very existence that morning. It became a spring day, albeit a Syracuse spring day. I remember this time in Syracuse now because I came across two poems by two poets that one of my professors taught together in a seminar. The two poets were as far apart personally and aesthetically as can be, which made them the perfect pairing for a seminar. The English poet and novelist, Philip Larkin, was known for his dark, melancholy work, while the more famous Chilean poet, politician, and Nobel Prize winner, Pablo Neruda, ardently celebrated life through his works.

In celebration of spring, I present two poems:

The Trees
by Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Enmeshed pearls from Urbanity (Berkeley, CA), linen appliques on maize-colored silk skirt from Personal Pizazz (Berkeley, CA), and colorful butterflies and flowers on a flowing blouse.

Enmeshed pearls from Urbanity (Berkeley, CA), linen appliques on maize-colored silk skirt from Personal Pizazz (Berkeley, CA), and colorful butterflies and flowers on a flowing blouse.

Love Sonnet 39
by Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
But I forgot that your hands fed the roots,
Watering the tangled roses,
Till your fingerprints bloomed
Full, in a natural peace.
Like pets, your hoe and your sprinkling can
Follow you around, biting and licking the earth.
That work is how you let this richness loose,
The carnation’s fiery freshness
I wish the love and dignity of bees for your hands,
Mixing and spreading their transparent brood
In the earth: they cultivate even my heart,
So that I am like a scorched rock
That suddenly sings when you are near, because it drinks
The water you carry from the forest, in your voice.

Brilliant white calla lilies glow in the late spring evenings.

Brilliant white calla lilies glow in the late spring evenings.

March is National Women’s History Month

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My idea of feminism is self-determination, and it’s very open-ended: Every woman has the right to become herself, and do whatever she needs to do.
– Ani DiFranco, American singer and songwriter

Cream and black, linen and lace for a beautiful spring day. Vintage handbag from Secondi (Washington, D.C.).

Cream and black, linen and lace for a beautiful spring day. Vintage handbag from Secondi (Washington, D.C.).

When I first started my lifestyle blog, The Dress at 50, I envisioned it to embody its tagline – “live the creative life.” I still follow that maxim. Striving to live the creative life touches on every aspect of my life – marriage, parenthood, friendship, career, fiction writing, blogging, fashion and interior styling – and my topics have covered that wide range. I’ve also focused on women, regardless of where they are in their lives, and their creative endeavors.

Since the launch, I’ve become fascinated by women entrepreneurs – why and how they got to where they are today with their businesses. Creativity definitely factors into many of their decisions and choices. As I’ve interviewed women whose shops I patronize, I’ve found an interesting theme of going from one career to the one of their calling – hence the category Transitions and Transformations. The one thing I’ve learned from all of these women is to truly follow your heart, taking risks along the way. And for this former non-risk taker, it is a lesson I’m still learning. But their stories are so inspiring, I come away invigorated and ready to welcome opportunities and the chance to open new doors.

Accessorizing creamy lace with a Gorgeous and Green statement reclaimed vintage necklace (Berkeley, CA), End of Century cicada ring (NYC), Alkemie scarab cuff (Los Angeles), and Paz Sintes textile earrings (Spain).

Accessorizing creamy lace with a Gorgeous and Green statement reclaimed vintage necklace (Berkeley, CA), End of Century cicada ring (NYC), Alkemie scarab cuff (Los Angeles), and Paz Sintes textile earrings (Spain).

I’ve also realized I want to celebrate women who have done amazing and courageous things in their lives. I have already met two incredible women – very close friends for more than 30 years – whose story will inspire you to stretch your boundaries of giving and living life to the fullest. Peggy and Tenny’s story will be posted this Friday, March 22nd.

March is Women’s History Month. It seems appropriate at this time to reiterate the focus of my lifestyle blog as the celebration of women at any stage of their lives who are living a full, creative life and making a difference in their communities, both local and global. I looked up the provenance of Women’s History Month: In 1987, after being petitioned by the National Women’s History Project, Congress designated the month of March as Women’s History Month. Since then, every year Congress has passed resolutions requesting and authorizing the President to proclaim March as Women’s History Month, which continues to be done.

Mixing linen and lace with carpet-bag floral and textile, reclaimed vintage, and vintage-inspired jewelry.

Mixing linen and lace with carpet-bag floral and textile, reclaimed vintage, and vintage-inspired jewelry.

The 2013 National Women’s History Month theme, Women Inspiring Innovation through Imagination, honors “women who throughout American history have used their intelligence, imagination, sense of wonder, and tenacity to make extraordinary contributions to the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) fields.” Certainly this year, I hope to feature women who have made contributions in this area, and have lived fully and creatively along the way.

My mother – as an immigrant mother who sacrificed her life to ensure that her daughters were participants in the American Dream – was a role model to me for her perseverance and her unconditional love. When I look back at my formative years, I can’t recall other female role models who influenced my life or remember studying in school women in history who made an impact on me. Whatever the reason or reasons, it matters little now. At any age, women can adopt female role models and become role models themselves.

Confidently put on that new dress and be a role model for your kids, your family and friends, and your community. And live the creative, meaningful, and full life!

Confidently put on that new dress and be a role model for your kids, your family and friends, and your community. And live the creative, meaningful, and full life!

Saying goodbye to Lino

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They say that breaking up is hard to do.
Now I know, I know that it’s true.
– Neil Sedaka, American composer, pianist, and singer

We didn’t really break up. He just never called back. Well, in December, the last time I saw him, he told me – when we parted – to “just text” him and he’d get back to me with his decision. But he never did. I know how to get a hold of him. I know where he lives. But as the days stretched into weeks, and I still did not hear from him, I realized the inevitability of our relationship and that this was probably the best time to move on.

Giving this man my hair
I was introduced to Lino in 1991, upon recommendation by a couple of my coworkers who raved about him. I furtively checked out my publisher’s hairstyle – a swingy pageboy style precisely cut. My marketing manager’s hair was layered and softly feathered. It showed me how versatile Lino was. His salon was in the heart of Union Square. His partner in business, who was also his partner in life, enthusiastically greeted me upon my first visit. Lino’s head was shaved. His business card was adorned with a picture of the top of his shiny head, with his eyes just peeking out, and the tagline: “Give this man your hair.”

My wedding haircut, October 1991.

My wedding haircut, October 1991.

I had bangs and a bob. Lino wanted to give me a completely new look. I don’t know what possessed me to give him my hair, especially since my appointment was two weeks before my (first) wedding. But I did. Maybe it was because he was charming and so full of bubbly energy. Here’s the unbelievable catch: I had no idea what he was going to do. This was the most spontaneous thing I ever did up to that point in my life. He cut my hair very short – swathes of hair fell silently to the hardwood floor. Thankfully, I wasn’t going to wear a veil that was dependent upon my previous hairstyle. And I loved it. It was the biggest change in hairstyle that I had ever had (save for the bad perm that my hairstylist cousin gave me that ruined my senior year in high school). Everyone loved the new style.

I kept my hair short for a few years until I gravitated back to the bob. Within four years, Lino and Len, his partner, opened up a consignment shop in the Mission District, and picked up a few pieces of our furniture for their shop. Lino moved to another salon now that they had this main business. I followed him, but by then I was no longer married. I moved a few times more and changed jobs along the way. Lino moved yet again to another salon. After I remarried and had kids, I continued to follow Lino to different salons. After my daughter was born and it was difficult to cart her into the City to get my haircut (though I had accomplished this with my son), Lino insisted that I come to his home in Alameda so I could have a stress-free haircutting experience.

In search of a new hair stylist, appropriately in the springtime, in a spring outfit.

In search of a new hair stylist, appropriately in the springtime, in a spring outfit.

All in the family: sons, daughters, and mothers
My daughter loved coming with me to the City to get my haircut these last few years. We had this tradition of getting her a triple hot chocolate drink and a toasted bagel with cream cheese at Borders, on the way to Lino’s salon. (Borders, of course, no longer exists in Union Square.) I would sit across the table from my daughter and smile as she savored her chocolate and bagel, thinking that when she is an adult she will remember this special time that we spent together. I hated having to rush her so we could be on time for my appointments. Lino gave her a big hug every time she walked through the door. He gave her jewelry that he either made or had given to his daughter when she was a young. Whenever my daughter wears one of his necklaces, she proudly reminds me that Lino gave it to her. One time he had one of the manicurists paint her nails bubble-gum pink, and he made sure that the two mannequin heads were available so she could brush and style their hair.

Go bold with ethnic-inspired jewelry, floral blouse, hot pink skirt, and laser-cut sandals.

Go bold with ethnic-inspired jewelry, floral blouse, hot pink skirt, and laser-cut sandals.

When Lino lost his son, who took his own life one Christmas Eve, it was the first time I had ever seen him subdued. Up until then, he was always in good spirits and was a breath away from laughter, even when he complained about a salon owner or one of his relatives. I sat, shocked in his chair, not knowing what to say, other than how very sorry I was. I hugged him a moment or two longer than I usually did when we said goodbye. He never spoke of that time again, except once in reflection months later when he relayed a conversation he’d had with his daughter – how time seemed to keep going, how people seemed to carry on with their lives, while the two of them struggled to understand what had happened. When I lost my mother at age 85 to complications of pneumonia – Lino’s own mother, the matriarch, was in her 90s at the time – he was quietly supportive. He knows what a Filipino mother is like, how strong she is, how she wears the pants in the family. And with that knowledge, he knew what a gaping hole that loss had created.

Growing old, not growing old together
Time and age started creeping up on the both of us. Lino complained of arthritis, removing the scissors to massage his hands. He kept threatening to retire. He was already in semi-retirement the last few years, into his 60s, though he looks like he’s still in his 40s – in large part, he would say, to having cleansed his diet. (He amazingly had never seen a doctor in decades.) Exhausted by work and late motherhood, I found myself falling asleep in his chair. It was one of the few times and places where I could relax. But it was getting harder to make an appointment, as I had to work around the one week a month that was his schedule. Nevertheless, I refused to look around, even though I knew there would come a time when I would have to face the inevitable. When I couldn’t get an appointment, I would resort to cutting my own bangs until I could get in. A few times I went to some local salons, only to know with the first snip that I wouldn’t be going back to this or that place.

Playing up a blooming spring blouse with earrings from a New York City street fair, Sundance flower ring, Anthropologie statement necklace, and a water buffalo horn cuff from my sister's trip to Kenya.

Playing up a blooming spring blouse with earrings from a New York City street fair, Sundance flower ring, Anthropologie statement necklace, and a water buffalo horn cuff from my sister’s trip to Kenya.

Sometimes Lino was late or completely forgot about me being his first appointment. I’d have to wait a long time, and though I seethed in the waiting area, I didn’t leave. I couldn’t leave. Nobody could do a blunt cut as precisely and reliably as he could. And we had a history together. Then late last fall, the salon owner died of leukemia, and he informed me that the other stylists couldn’t afford to buy the salon and so it would be shut down. He had an offer to rent a chair at another place, but the catch was he’d have to put in more hours, which he didn’t want to do, and then he was going to need to raise his price. (He had never raised his fee for me in the past 21 years, which friends tell me is unheard of.) Because of the increase, he felt it necessary to take a poll to see if he’d lose a chunk of his clients. I don’t know how the survey went, though I told him I’d follow him yet again at whatever price. His other option was just to hang up his scissors and retire – he was already on that path.

He told me to text him after the holidays, and he’d let me know his decision. We hugged and wished each other a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. When I couldn’t reach him, I began a search for his replacement – with sadness. I checked out yelp reviews and found Jenn Archbold of Florescence Designs (1700 Solano Avenue, Suite C, Berkeley, CA 94707, 510.526.1073). I admit that I was somewhat nervous, not having gone to a hairstylist with the idea that he or she would be the one after Lino. She listened to what I wanted and executed it perfectly. We had a nice conversation, and she was able to talk and cut at the same time – something Lino was incapable of doing, which made haircut appointments longer with him. For a moment, I was hoping that it would be just okay, which would give me permission to reach out to Lino again.

But I made the next appointment before I left. Happy to have found an artisan who can do a blunt cut and work with my cowlick. Sad that an era has come to a close. Such is life.

My new haircut by my new hair stylist.

My new haircut by my new hair stylist.