Friday, in spite of being sick, congested, headachy, I had my bi-monthly visit with Norma, the greatest hairdresser in the world, at Klub Soda.
And this time, I took everyone with me.
It was the only time when everyone had the opportunity to finally get, as my Dad would say, "their ears lowered."
Keith, believe it or not, has a face.
Underneath the thick, curly, coarse, white man's afro that surrounds his head like a follically steroid-enhanced halo, exists a head.
And a face.
Elation filled me when, for the first time in months, I realized he did indeed still have a forehead.
So much so that he, along with me to ensure that the grey wings have a short existence, will see Norma in two months.
Already planned.
In "the book."
With the clippers poised at the base of Keith's neck, ready to made another upwards sweep through the thick and tangled bird's nest claiming residence atop Keith's head, she turned to me and asked if I'd like to take a turn.
OH HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Granted, I like running my fingers through his hair, especially when I'm feeling particular stressed and in need of something tactile.
But it was nothing compared to the satisfaction of running those clippers upwards and watching the mass of tangles fall away.
It isn't that I don't like Keith's hair.
I do.
A lot.
However, it has a growth rate akin to that of Facebook.
So visits to Norma are a must.
At one point, with the back of his hair cut, the front wild and crazy, he looked, briefly, like a member of a 90s boy band.
He didn't find that as funny as I did, for some reason.
He is a handsome young man.
Even moreso when you can see his face.
After spending all of the morning and most of the afternoon in the dimly lit, unwindowed classrooms of James Dunn Hall, listening to the crim honours students present about their research at the Annual Student Research and Ideas Fair. . .
. . . and each and every one of them did the most amazing job. . . .I was so proud of them. . . .
I was in desperate, desperate need of fresh air.
Outside.
Sunshine.
I went home long enough to get Stephen and put on my Skecher Shape Ups.
I felt the burn, I felt the burn.
Completely in a good way, of course.
Plus they absorb more, so my knees are not hurting as much.
And most important. . .
. . . they made me taller.
Definitely worth the price of admission.
The challenge of walking on Saturday's is that shops are open.
Shops we particularly enjoy, like Cultures, a fair trade boutique located in downtown Fredericton. . .
http://www.ymcafredericton.nb.ca/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=124&Itemid=234
Westminster Books, http://www.westminsterbooks.com/ where I stopped to purchase Amphibian written by my friend Carla Gunn.
While in Quebec City with Donna and Andrij, Donna and I had a lengthy conversation about books, and I realized she would LOVE Amphibian.
Stephen wasn't all that willing to let me browse for books *I* might be interested in.
Almost aggressive about it actually.
Perhaps he just wanted to get his walk on after lounging in bed most of the day.
Shopping when you want to be out walking downtown are not necessarily compatible activites. . .
. . .or maybe they could be depending on with whom you are walking. . . . .
but it's fun, nonetheless.
I just have to remember to leave my cell phone in the car.
Under x-ray, I would be willing to bet money that a child implanted GPS would reveal itself.
Everytime we are out walking, the cell phone rings.
Everytime it is Meredyth.
"Where are you?"
I reply, "What do you want?"
If you have children, make an appontment for an x-ray.
GPS.
It's in you.
Title Lyric: GPS by Antelope
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