Pat

Pat is my hairdresser, a talented woman. With a few tools: scissors, blow dryer, and clippers...and a little magic, she can make even my stubborn hair look good enough to get compliments. I don't understand it, but some people, quite a few people actually, profess that they like white hair. I am very sure that none of those people have white hair themselves. They don't have to look in the mirror and see a white-haired person looking back at them. White hair is a scourge, passed down to me by my mother, and by me to my daughters. I know they love me for it!

White hair, at least the kind that lives on my head, is best worn short. The less white hair, the better, in my opinion. And that's where Pat comes into the picture. Every four weeks, she skillfully washes, trims, and cuts my hair into a short style that I can manage on my own between visits to her salon. That may not be a miracle, but it is definitely a gift.When she completes the transformation, I can walk out her door and feel like a new woman. A shampoo, blow dry, and haircut...serendipity!

Pat is my hairdresser. She is a generous person with a big heart who cares about the people who know her and call her a friend. I am blessed to be one of them.