Do ya like it?

Many expats have their funny things they obstinately save for home.  Doctors' appointments, children's schooling, golden syrup, marmite.  For me, it's all of those things, but more peculiarly, it's my hairdresser.  So far I have refused to look for another one anywhere else. The first cut she gave me was just before our wedding.  It was a special cut so I had streaks put in and she straightened it. When I went to school the next day, everybody EVERYBODY commented on my amazing haircut.  The children told me I looked like a princess.  Jbird insisted on documenting it in photos.  She thinned it out and it was easy to manage for months and months.

You see, I have curly hair.  People don't know what to do with curly hair.  Baltimore was full of curly hair, but it was the kind of curls found on African-Americans.  They're a whole different kettle of fish, requiring straightening, wigs, and extensions.  It  took me 28 years to know what to do with my curly hair, and it was she that taught me.  Why would I go to anyone else?  For the first time in my life, I'm venturing out without hating it unless it's tied back.  This is a break through!

She has her salon in the Waitakere ranges, surrounded by beautiful New Zealand bush (you. really. must. visit. this. place).  She has done my hair since my wedding and knows all about Jbird and I, over there.  I go to her once a year, when we are home for the 'summer'.  I broke this fast yesterday, as it had only been four months since my last cut by her.  She knows I won't let anyone else cut it, obliterates my split ends, and admires how long it is getting - as a hairdresser, she finds it very hard to grow her own hair. 

When I went yesterday, she gave me a cutting from her jade tree, known as a 'money plant'.  I will plant this in my kitchen in Bloomington and think of her and the fabulous hair cuts.  We won't be back next summer, I think it might be  time to move on.  For the time being.