When I was little, my sisters and I used to love playing in my grandmother’s basement beauty parlor.
That’s what we called it. A beauty parlor.
She was a beautician and had, in the basement of the house my dad was raised in, a full-service hair salon. We used to love spinning in the chairs, pretending to wash each other’s hair. There was even a “waiting room,” complete with a mix of really bad magazines.
I will never forget the smell in there. It smelled of really bad perm solution and hair color treatment chemicals. Always.
But there’s something else I’ll never forget.
She had a sign on the wall near one of the mirrors that I’d always read over and over in my head as I spun myself silly in the chair.
“Don’t hurry, don’t worry. And don’t forget to smell the flowers.”
I miss my grandmother. And I think she’d love this flower photo I shot in my backyard several years ago.
Today I stopped at the store to grab a few items and as I was walking in, I stopped and smelled the flowers out front.