hair, lines, and broken plans

It's been a slow week. No different from most.

I get my hair cut —  the third time since COVID distancing began. I love the little place I go to, Blu Bocker on the UES. They take all the necessary precautions. And this week I'm the only client there. 

My hair is more silvery than gray, and surprisingly shiny and healthy-looking. I'm anxious for it to be grown out so I can experiment with highlights (or lowlights). It seems to be taking forever and it's only (only???)  been nine months. 

It's something to look forward to, anyway. 

I have two goals: not to look old (er) and not to be a slave to having my hair colored every three or four weeks. For now, since no one sees me much anyway, having dual colors is not all that hard to live with.

And though my salon may be empty, the streets are not. 

I pass long lines of people waiting to get a COVID test before Thanksgiving. This scene, in front of a CityMD, starts on 86th St. and curls around the block and up 85th. 

Some people even come prepared for the long wait with their own chairs.

My walks during the week are mostly alone, but I look forward to the weekends when I typically walk with friends. Yesterday it was supposed to be Zelia, but that didn't happen.

And today, it's supposed to be four of us.

Around 9 we set a plan.

Then a few minutes later, the plan changes.

And within a half-hour of setting a plan, there is none.

On the positive side, this plan falling apart has nothing to do with COVID, unlike just about everything else.

But the promising news on the vaccine front gives us real hope that the end of this nightmare is in sight.  

It may be further away than we'd like, but at least we can see it. And that's a whole lot better than where we were in March and April.