Quick Change Artist

I haven't had a haircut since before Thanksgiving, and not only am I getting a bit shaggy, but the gray is making me feel old. I'm not ready to be old, but the place where I get my hair cut isn't the kind of place where I want to experiment with highlights or coloring. I looked around for the type of salon where I thought I could expect a certain level of expertise, and found a private salon not far from the apartment.

It had been a busy and hectic day, but I kept thinking about getting a new "do" and the lift that would give my spirits. The boys hustled to get to soccer early so I could make my appointment. I was on my way when I got the message that the hairdresser had a personal emergency and would not be able to keep our appointment. How deflating!

At first I was so disappointed I thought I would just go home and pout (at my age!). It wasn't until I came to my senses that I realized I should be praying for the woman that whatever the issue was, she would be OK, that it wasn't anything serious. Poor woman!

What to do, what to do? With the boys at soccer, there was no sense going home and sitting around. My paper for tomorrow's class is done, the readings complete, the house in good shape and enough clean laundry to get through to the weekend. Duh! I must be brain dead. Here was a perfect opportunity to get a bit more Christmas shopping done. It was still early, and there were a few specialty stores I needed to get to.

I headed up Elmgrove to Ridge Road, debating whether to turn left or right onto Ridge. It had been awhile since I had visited these little shops. In fact, I wasn't even sure if they were still in existence. In the end I turned left. I drove some distance and was just about to turn around when I spotted the first store. Ah! They were still open.

I love shops where you seem to step back in time the minute you enter the door. A jangling bell mounted on the door jam announces your arrival. The counter is still a glass case, the "cash register" the old fashioned metal kind with the push buttons and the pop up dollar amounts. The gentleman behind the counter was in no particular hurry, taking his time to wait on the young customer ahead of me, a teen aged boy filled with a million questions.

While I waited, I wandered around the tilting wooden floors. The store was a house really, and the various rooms showcased different musical instruments and accoutrements. Some hung cheerily over fireplaces, others sat on window benches, most were mounted on racks all around the rooms. The floors squeaked happily as I walked around. I half expected to find a dog lying somewhere or smell wood shavings from the back work room.

As I selected my purchases, I asked the clerk if he knew of the other store and where it might be located, explaining that I had only recently moved back to the area. In his slow leisurely manner, he speculated that it was about 6 or 7 miles further to the west, after Spencerport but before Brockport. As far as he knew, it was still doing business.

I thanked him and headed out again into the darkness of roads without streetlights winding through intermittent residential and commercial areas. I had nearly given up when I found the place, but it was closed for the evening. I noted the hours and turned back towards Gates.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a fox dashed across the road in front of me, his tail streaming out behind him in so straight a line that the thought occurred to me that he must be running at top speed. For a brief moment, he was caught in my headlights, his eyes neon, his pointy ears flicking, his red coat a blur. Almost too late, he realized the danger he was in and reversed his direction, darting back into the woods where he had come from. That old saying "quick like a fox" is no joke. It was so fast I barely took it in.

I slowed down in case there were any others around, but I only saw the one. We had both encountered a sudden change of plans through no fault of our own. I wondered whether the good Lord had purposely changed mine to keep me from some danger. Perhaps. I am not as quick as a fox at changing directions, but life is too short to be inflexible. The only thing I can't say about tonight is "hair today, gone tomorrow."