Sunday Bulletin Board: How much do you care about your hair? Does life go on after a bad haircut?

Of women and their hair Great Beauties (and Others) Division

DEBK of Rosemount writes: “Cousin Linda finds herself suddenly in great need of a haircut. Oddly, I just last evening satisfied the very same urgent need.

“That’s where the similarity ends.

“Cousin Linda, a great beauty, has been poring over photographs of other great beauties, paying particular heed, I surmise, to their hairstyles. As I understand it, these photos will be used to guide the stylist who will ultimately be chosen to cut Cousin Linda’s hair.

“The ways of great beauties will ever mystify me. Though I frequently find myself suddenly requiring a haircut, I have never in my life pored over haircut pictures. My way is to go to the parish secretary’s basement, from which I shortly emerge with shorter hair — sometimes not too ugly, sometimes very ugly indeed. Life goes on.

“Texas Sis — another great beauty — has a third approach. She never finds herself suddenly unfit to be seen (I speak of the condition of her coiffure, remember). She has standing appointments with her regular stylist, who clearly does not moonlight as a parish secretary.

“All this hair talk got me to thinking about Lois (Mrs. Jerry) Clark, another great beauty — one who passed from this life a handful of years ago. I met Lois when I was assigned by the college work-study office to serve as secretary to the Cornell College coaching staff. At the time, head football coach (and chief consumer of my work-study hours) was Jerry Clark, only a few years distant from his years playing at Iowa under the great Forest ‘Evy’ Evashevski (who was my mom’s hero, incidentally). Almost immediately, my role as Coach’s secretary expanded to include babysitting the three Clark kids whenever he and his wife traveled with the football team. Somehow, my babysitting stints earned me a frequent place at the Clark dinner table, where meals were preceded by prayers offered by both Coach and his wife. Jerry’s prayers covered quite a lot of yardage, but Lois’s supplications are the ones I remember. Beginning weeks ahead of a scheduled session with her beautician, Lois’s before-meal prayer would feature the plea that she would ‘get a good haircut at my next appointment.’”

Life as we know it “Ponderosa” Division

STINKY BANANALIPS of Empire reports: “So this whole Ponderosa (I’m sick of the word ‘pandemic’ and will substitute Ponderosa, panini, Panera, pandemonium or anything else), I’ve been an essential worker. Came into a mostly empty building for almost two full years. I am still adjusting to the rest of my co-workers being back in the office in person the last six months or so. There’s so much noise in the hallways, and less parking in the lot — you know, minor annoyances.

“Yesterday there was a last-minute ‘Can you order pizza for a lunch meeting I’m holding today?’ type of situation. Knowing that the pizza place is really good about saying they will be there at noon, but showing up 10 minutes early (love them for that), I made it into an opportunity to take a break to wait outside the front door 20 minutes early on a nice day.

“I snapped this picture of the begonias planted by the front door while I waited and decided I kind of like this part of more employees working in person.”

Life (and death) as we know it

THE DORYMAN of Prescott, Wisconsin: “Subject: The tape measure of life.

“I have been around water most of my life. I grew up on the banks of the Des Moines River, lived on Prior Lake 20 years, and for the last 18 years have lived on the Wisconsin Riviera.

“It was in a Hastings marina 20-plus years ago that I met a man who taught me about the tape measure of life. Our boats were docked next to each other on a perfect summer night, and after introductions, the two of us and Johnny Walker spent hours reveling in our love of boating and the cruising lifestyle. He was a nomadic houseboater, and I told him how much I envied that. He asked me what kept me from doing the same and then scoffed at my excuse of not being able to yet.

“He asked me if I had a tape measure handy, and luckily I did. ‘Gimme that,’ he said, and proceeded to extend it. ‘So how old are you?’ he asked, and then stopped at that number of inches: 56. ‘So what’s the average life expectancy these days, do you think?’ Upon my answer, he kept his thumb on 56 and drew out to 75. He then announced that where his thumb was marked my spent life, and where his other hand was was the probable remainder . . . and he asked: ‘What are you waiting for?’

“I laughed it off but remember it to this day. It’s especially meaningful now that I’m a couple inches over where his other hand was.”

Fellow travelers Including: Reckless abandoned

GRANDMA PAT, “formerly of rural Roberts, Wisconsin”: “My St. Paul daughter and son-in-law proposed a short trip to Ohio to visit my late husband’s Italian relatives. Like many people, I haven’t travelled much lately, and I had to consider the pros and cons. I decided to go. It was so much fun! We were driven all around by Rocco and Gino, and we enjoyed a running commentary by Mario. He, like me, is over 90.

“We were the recipients of good stories, and great food, and we connected with four generations. One thing was different, though, from trips of previous years. After lunch each day, nap time was scheduled. This was not for any small children; it was for Mario and me. Each of us was dropped off at our abodes for a few hours, then gathered up again for dinner and evening gatherings. It worked out well.”

Great minds … Headline Division

DONALD reports: “Subject: Where have I read that before?

“Last Wednesday, both Twin Cities dailies featured articles on the front pages of their Sports sections about the Twins’ acquiring a number of pitchers.

“These were the headlines:

“Paper west of St. Paul: ‘It’s a call to arms’

“Pioneer Press: ‘A CALL TO ARMS’”

BULLETIN BOARD MUSES: If the new pitchers don’t work out any better than the old ones, you can expect this headline: A FAREWELL TO ARMS. (At first we wrote “When the new pitchers don’t work out . . .” — but decided that was too fatalistic even for a lifelong Twins fan.)

Life as we know it

RUSTY of St. Paul: “I bought the ‘Tesla’ of electric lawnmowers in St. Paul and drove it four hours to where we live half the year in Northern Wisconsin, excited to try it on our long grass, as our gas mower bit the dust in June.

“Got it set up and . . . no power to the mower. Using the instruction booklet to troubleshoot, it appeared to be a battery issue. I was driving to our town’s yard-waste site and saw a stranger mowing his lawn with the same mower! As this is a town of 400, in short order he was in my car with his good battery to test my mower out, and indeed his battery ran my mower. For a thank you, I offered him a couple cans of Guinness, which he turned down, as it triggers his gout.

“Disappointed in my mower, I turned my attention to installing the new dryer belt. The old one ruptured last week when my visiting daughter put three loads worth of her wet clothes in the machine at once. The dryer is a 1988 Kenmore that my late father-in-law purchased when he owned our house years ago. He had kept the parts number order pamphlet, which I found.

“I called the Sears in the town 20 miles away to see if they had the belt in stock. No. They would have to order it, so she told me to order it online myself, as that would be quicker. I looked into that, and the belt, plus shipping and handling from Sears, was over $30. I then checked on Amazon and found the same belt from China for $7.49 — with free shipping, as my daughter has Amazon Prime delivery. I don’t relish making Jeff Bezos richer, but . . . $30 to Sears or $7.49 to Amazon?

“It arrived today, a day early, and as our laundry of four had piled up (our son is also visiting), I tackled the job.

“I don’t want to sound like I know what I’m doing. In Industrial Arts class at Ramsey Junior High in St. Paul in 1969, I got a C. And I was an A student in all other subjects. Except penmanship. Another C. I am not handy, but I am cheap, so won’t hire a job out that I think I can do by following along on YouTube.

“The installation actually went well, and I thought we were all set, but when my daughter used the dryer, this time with one load worth of clothes, she reported ‘smoke and an odor’ in the basement. The venting pipes had all come apart when I had moved the dryer to fix the belt. I had to Mack-and-Myer the pipes back in place with my wife’s help. It was very frustrating. And is still not perfect, with all the bends and turns that kept moving and coming apart. It still needs tinkering with.

“Next I partially assembled the hose reel I had bought. Made in China. The ‘estimated time for required partial assembly is 30 minutes.’ I told my wife that, and we both laughed, knowing that the C-earning Industrial Arts student was doing the work. Ninety minutes later, I high-fived the wife, as I was done. I tested the hose attachments, and no leaks!

“I asked her to water the gardens, as I was spent. Presently she called out ‘Rusty!’ and said the hose was not reeling off the reel. It was stuck. I showed her the pictographs in the assembly booklet, and she showed me that I had installed the reel on the base unit backwards. I told her that was because the pictures were in Chinese. After we removed the basket, she was able to coax the hose off the reel to water. Now there were two major leaks, as the water couplings had loosened when she pulled the hose off the reel.

“Fudge! It was 5 p.m., and I was exhausted, so I told her I would try again tomorrow.

“It seemed that a martini was in order, as it had been a long Industrial Arts day for me. My daughter was cooking supper for us, and as I reached up above the kitchen cupboard for the Beefeater’s, I leaned against the baking sheet she had taken out of the hot oven and parked on the counter and burned my bare belly. Ouch and wow! I had to apply my iced martini glass to my tummy more than to my lips to temper the burn.”

Gee, our old La Salle ran great! Including: See world

DEUCE of Eagan writes: “Subject: Mining Among the Butterflies.

“In the early 1940s, the Aberdeen Hotel was razed. It was a grand old building at Selby near Virginia, within the morning shadow of the Cathedral. All that remained was a large empty lot covered in bricks and weeds.

“Soon afterward, the neighborhood kids began ‘mining operations’ among the thousands of bricks in the lot, mostly covered with a thin layer of dirt and the 3- to 4-foot-tall weeds that took over. Our ages were from 5 to 8 years old. It was the perfect space for our forts and our mining operations. We were hidden by the weeds, with no fear of an adult telling us to leave.

“Our mining was quite the labor-intensive process. For weeks on end, we crushed and pulverized the softer bricks into a powder and stored them in Mason jars borrowed from our mothers. Our tools were simple implements: hammers and large solid rocks.

“Eventually the collections of jars grew to 40 or more, each separated into colors. Red-brown was prevalent (my personal favorite), along with yellow and orange. I kept mine displayed on a shelf in my bedroom.

“I fondly recall the beauty that surrounded us as we ‘worked’ hidden in the weeds: an abundance of butterflies, beautiful moths, caterpillars, dragonflies, large bumblebees, and grasshoppers. Large orange & black Monarchs, others of yellow & black, and an occasional blue & black added to the splendor.

“When nightfall arrived, some of the jars were used to catch amazing ‘lightning bugs,’ to enjoy close up, briefly.

“Such simple, special memories.”

Band Name of the Day: The Great Beauties