Thursday, April 5, 2012


There's no place like home
I remember when I first moved here.  I moved here on November 17th.  I unloaded my 26 foot truck.  Then I proceeded to unpack and get ready to host twenty-seven of Doug's family for Thanksgiving.  Then the Monday following Thanksgiving, I started a new job.  My trainer was a bitter,older woman who kept saying "got it?" each time she showed me a procedure.  I went to my car at lunch, got in and started driving around town.  I was exhausted and overwhelmed and started crying.  I just wanted to go home.  But this was home. 
That was four years ago. One way I maintained my sense of self was every nine or ten weeks I would make the two plus hours trek (each way) back home to get my hair done by my hairdresser of several years, Glenna.  Remember in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy asks "are you a good witch or a bad witch?" and Glenna says "I'm not a witch at all."  For Dorothy, Glenna was her fairy god mother.  Helping her to remember "there's no place like home."
This is how my Glenna was for me.  She would greet me with a smile after my long drive and we would catch-up.  She knew the story of my life.  She was my hairdresser.  I was always excited to see her.  I always knew I would be happy when I left.  People would carry on about how didn't I know there were people right here in Bloomington who could do my hair?  But I wanted to drive back home to see Glenna.  I would always see a friend for dinner or stop in to see family.  I rarely drove back home just to get my hair done.  It was a long day, but always worth it.  Others upon seeing my hair or seeing a photo of me would say "I see why you drive back home to get your hair done." 
A couple of months ago, I got in with someone here.   Initially, I was happy.  Liked it when I came home.  Then I decided I would try someone else.  My hair is very curly.  Nappy if the truth be told.   
Last night I went to someone totally knew.  It was right in the heart of town.  A very posh shop.  The woman who did my hair had just shaved her own head- because she turned 26 today and "she isn't getting any younger."  I was tense.  When she washed my hair, she massaged and massaged.  It was very hard for me to relax.  She was great- chatting with me all the while.  I took my photo of what I'm thinking I want to do when I head to Paris.  "I'm not ready for that, yet, so maybe something between where I am now and what I think I'm going to do."  She cut it all and then asked how I would like it styled- curly or straight.  I looked at myself in the mirror and said "you can take a little bit more off."  When I went to pay, the receptionist rung me up and then I remembered I had a coupon.  We haggled and worked it out. 
I left, walked to my car, got in and cried.  It isn't that I wasn't happy with my hair- it is fine.  It isn't that I didn't like the woman who cut my hair, she was very nice.  It was being so tense throughout it all.  Missing home.  Missing familiarity.  Missing someone who knows my life story.  Missing someone who tells me about her family, too- the good and the bad. 
I got home and Doug buzzed about me like a bee..."do you like it? looks pretty...are you happy with it?"  I said "oh, yeah, it is fine.  I cried."   He said "oh, I know, I always cry after I get my hair cut, too."  (Doug cries because he barely has any hair left to cut.)
My shop back home was like my tree house.  I loved listening to everyone talk.  I belonged there.  I loved the magazines and listening to people yell over the blow dryers telling stories, complaining about men. 
I'm going to get my hair cut one more time before I go to Paris and I just may go back home to Glenna.  Why?  Because I can.  Because I miss my fairy god mother.


MamaMonki said...

I vote for going back home for your big cut. After all getting your hair done is supposed to be relaxing. It's supposed to make you feel better than when you went in. Sorry this experience wasn't what you had hoped for.

Privet and Holly said...

I wonder what made you
decide to STOP going home?
Was there a pivotal moment?
Felt like I was right in there
with you, the hair dryers
humming and the warm water
running through my hair.....

I'm getting mine done on Saturday.
It's also farther away than is
really convenient, but, like you,
I found my own Glenna three years
ago and it's so worth the drive.

Happy Easter, Cheryl!

xx Suzanne

Rae said...

Makes me feel sad just reading this. Some things, like familiar faces and old feelings, are too hard to replace. In spite of the long drive - go home for your next haircut. The excitement of being "home" will put you in a happy mood before your upcoming trip to Paris.


I understand completely. Glenna and home is the place to be. No doubt about it. HEARTWARMING story. HAPPY EASTER. Take care.

Donna said...

I just loved this post. Gave me chills. I am one of those who was saying "You drive all that way ..." I get it now.
If I had a Glenna back home, I'd go. Haircuts from your Glenna come with so much more than scissors and gel.
Because there is no place like home.

Kris said...

Oh sweet Cheryl....go back home to your Glenna before you go to Paris!!! For sure!!!!

ain't for city gals said...

There is so much going on in this post...definitely more than just about a haircut!..I too am trying to find myself in my haircut...but just about ready to go back with my "sporty" look and forget the whole thing!...maybe I need to cover my grey too while I am at it...

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