So, I’m wondering if anyone has calculated how much serious time a female spends on her hair? Can I get an Amen? From birth, when Moms put flowery headbands around their little girls’ bald head, so people will know she’s a girl, to the day that a woman dies and the funeral director calls someone to “do” her hair, we are obsessed with this area of our bodies! We wash it,  dry it, comb it, curl it, cut it, color it, perm it, straighten it, the list is endless.

As I was “fixing” my hair this morning, I was having a rough time with the back of my hair. Because of the way my cubicle is arranged at work, most people see the Back of my head all day, unless I get up from my desk and move around. Anyway, I pay particular attention to the back of my hair. This morning, I had a “hole” that I couldn’t do anything with! I used my pick, I tried my comb – Nothing worked! Frustrated, I grabbed my brush and….Success!

I remember when I was growing up, Every Sunday, sitting in church, All the ladies reaching forward in their pews, fixing the “holes” in the hair of the ladies in front of them! Back then, No good southern lady “did” her own hair! Weekly trips to the Beauty Shop was a Must! Since they only went once a week, women had to be very creative about how they slept. Keeping their hairdo looking nice from Saturday to Saturday was a challenge. Well, now that I think about it, maybe not so much. Back then, hair was teased and sprayed with so much hairspray, it would not move if you wanted it to! The fear with sleeping was that you would “flatten” one side or, Heaven forbid, the Back!  Thus causing the dreaded, awful “hole”!

Not a lot has changed. Beauty Shops still exist.  Now, though, they are there to cut or color only. None of the newer girls know how to use a curling iron or give a perm. My stylist is almost my age for that reason. Most girls now want straight hair with different colors of the rainbow  colored in. Ah, youth!  Stay tuned.

Doug has been a salesman almost all his life.  Not long after Brian was born,  we moved Doug’s  Fund Raising business from our house to a large warehouse that Doug had built. I was on maternity leave from the office of Minit Mart Foods.  Doug talked me into quitting that job to run his (our) office. I wasn’t sure that he and I could work together, but I agreed to try it for 6 months. Along with setting my own hours, I had the advantage of taking the baby to work with me. We set up the office complete with playpen for Brian. Doug traveled to schools every day, while I stayed in the office to answer the phone and processed orders. We ordered product (candy) in bulk and had it delivered every two weeks.

The candy, cases of  mostly M & Ms and Hershey Bars arrived every two weeks from Nashville via semi truck. I had the same driver for almost 10 years. His first name was Will. I don’t know if I ever knew his last name.  He was a small, maybe 5 foot 6-7 inch black man that could not have weighed 130 pounds soaking wet! Always had a toothpick in his mouth and got down out of the cab of his truck, singing in a beautiful voice, “Jesus, loves me, this I know! ‘Cause the Bible tells me so!”

It’s funny , to me, where friends come from.  Because Will and I became friends. He could maneuver that truck like no one I have ever seen! He never arrived late and he never missed making my delivery in all those years, but once.

Will would back the semi up to the dock, swing down from the cab, singing the whole time. He would tip his hat at me and open up the back of the truck.  Union regulations said that after he opened the door, getting the product out of the truck was up to the customer (me). Over the years, we tried several different approaches on how to accomplish this; since I was always there, alone, when Will made the delivery.  But at first, Will would open up the truck, bring the candy to the back of the truck, jump down, and take Brian out of my arms and watch while I unloaded the candy. He and Brian got to be great friends! Will had six kids of his own. He would sing to Brian and play with him for as long as it took me to unload the candy.

Will and I would talk about our families,  kids,  his wife,  a little of everything as the years went by.  He told me on many occasions about his love of God and his hope for his children. He had a daughter he was worried about.  He thought she was “running around” too much.  He talked about his wife with such love in his voice! The only time in all those years that Will got a substitute driver and didn’t make my delivery, it was because  he had to go to court with one of his sons.

At some point, we stopped ordering that much candy and no longer needed Will, the truck driver. But I think of him and his sweet voice sometimes and pray for him and his family. A finer man, I don’t know!  Stay tuned.

I’m one of these people who have delayed reactions to comments made or situations where I should Do something. Hours later, the correct response or answer will come to me – “I should have said; I should have done.”  Although this quirk often aggreviates me, Most of the time, it actually saves me from Trouble.  Even though my husband of 45 years knows this about me, he is never quite sure what my reaction will be at any given moment.  Case in point – our next door neighbors were elderly ( yes, this was many years ago ). One day, driving home from work, I turned onto our street to see Mrs. Mathis, sitting in her car – in the Middle of the Street! Fearing that she was sick, I pulled up behind her and got out of my car. I asked if she was alright and if I could help her. She said her car had just stopped in the middle of the street, but her husband was calling for help. As we were talking, Doug’s car came up the street and pulled up behind us. He threw his car into Park and Ran up to me, yelling,   Marty, please, don’t hurt her!”  What?

We have lived and raised our children on this same street since 1979.  Our kids played and went to school with all the kids on this street.  We are not new here! And just for the record, I don’t hit people!

One day, Doug and I are walking in the neighborhood. I’m guessing I was 45 years old or so.  We are walking passed a neighbor’s house and she is at her mailbox. As we walk past and say hello, she looks at me and exclaims, “Oh my God! When are you Due?” And she has Both hands on my belly, rubbing away! I looked at Doug who had gone absolutely white in the face! (He told me later, all he could think about was me slugging her and the lawsuit that would ensue!) After I finally got my breath back, I shoved her hands off me and said, “I’m not pregnant, I’m just FAT!”

That lady was about my age.  She was a teacher.  About six months later, Doug ran into her at a convention.  Because he remembered how she had embarrassed me, and because he was grateful that I hadn’t Hit her, in their conversation, he asked her about retiring.  She said that she had many years to go before she retired. He replied, “Oh, sorry! You looked like you were about retirement age!” SNAP!            Did I tell you I Love this guy!   Stay tuned.