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After strolling to the eye doctor for my annual exam and acknowledging that I need a stronger prescription, I donned my cowboy hat and strolled home. One nice thing that has NOT changed about my neighborhood is that the barbershop is still here. It’s been here since 1950 (or so I’m told). Everything else in the neighborhood has been tainted with the litigious rich and self-serving, stop-sign-running-botoxed-meanies; men and women.

The original owner of the barbershop is 93 now and although he isn’t the current owner, he still comes in on Saturday’s and cuts hair…and shaves with a straight razor!

I hadn’t stepped foot in the shop since I was probably 11 years old but something called to me yesterday…and in I went. The current owner has owned it most of my life and is a very nice, elegant Latino man who doesn’t seem to age. He looked at me, I said “Hi, does anyone want to cut this mop off my head?” He said, “Yes, $40.” I then asked if he remembered my father and after a moment he said yes and asked if he was still living in the desert. Whoa.

After a very nice woman gently washed and bobbed my hair, he told me he remembered my whole family and proceeded to say their names. This was how a neighborhood used to be: everyone knew everyone else and if there was a bad apple, word spread fast. Now the basket is rotten…with just a few shiny apples left.

That afternoon, as the sun was setting and kids were frolicking, humans getting ready for the weekend, schools out for the summer, I drove the 2 miles to my mother’s home from a home I am taking care of nearby. Since I drive a large truck and am aware of all the children, old people, dogs, squirrels etc, I drive the speed limit and yes, I stop at all the stop signs. This particular evening, a woman in a Mercedes SUV road my ass the entire way, never stopped at one intersection, and at one point attempted to go around me – in a residential neighborhood.

I saw what she was about to do and put my hand out the window screaming bloody murder. She kept riding my tail as if she was hopped up on crystal meth. She finally left me by running another stop sign, almost plowing into a driver who had the right of way. I tried to get her license plate number but she was too quick for me. Probably off to get her face injected or catch her husband with his gay lover – who knows, maybe she was late for yoga.

It breaks my heart how quickly people are racing to their own demise.

But HEY! I cut off all my hair again and it feels great! My dearest pal is my hairdresser and had refused, so I stopped in at the barber shop and shed the years. No, I’m not a man hater, no, I’m not a lesbian. I’ve gone over my hair theories in my post about dreadlocks. My hair grows like a weed and every few years I just go for it. Women tend to get obsessive and bizarre about their hair and I’m just not one of them.

One never knows what will liberate you, but driving fast in an expensive car through a quiet, residential neighborhood isn’t one of them.