Camano Cuts

Sixteen years ago, around this time of year, we buried our precious little Pebble.

She was 16 years old—a tiny toy Chihuahua who could practically fit in the palm of your hand. She had just been weaned from her mother when she came into our family, and I was so excited to have this little bundle of life to love.

Before bringing her home, I went shopping for puppy food. I wanted to buy the very best for my tiny new baby.

I found a bag with a special promotion: buy a pound of puppy food and get a little can of soft puppy food free.

Perfect! I thought. I could mix the two together and make it easier for Pebble to eat.

Then, as I walked toward the register, I saw an even BETTER deal.

Buy a 50-pound bag and get an 8-pound bag FREE!

Well…that was a no-brainer to me.

I couldn’t even lift the 50-pound bag myself, so someone from the store helped put it in my car. I drove home very proud of the wonderful bargain I had found.

My husband opened the trunk, looked at that enormous bag of dog food, looked at me, and finally asked:

“Did you tell the store clerk what kind of puppy you have?”

There was enough puppy food in that trunk to feed Pebble’s entire family tree!

I can laugh so easily about it today. But for many years, remembering Pebble brought tears before it brought a smile.

She was my little companion for 16 years. My one special pet of my own. She walked beside me through so many chapters of my life, asking for very little and giving so much.

Maybe that is one of the greatest gifts our animals teach us.

They don’t know what tomorrow looks like. They don’t worry about how many years they have left. They simply show up today and love us.

Recently, one of my longtime clients had to say goodbye to his beloved companion after 18 years together. I had heard about her through the years and knew how deeply she was loved and cared for.

When he came to see me, I could see his grief before he even had to explain it. He had lost weight. The emptiness was still so fresh.

There wasn’t anything I could say that would replace what he had lost.

So we simply talked.

We remembered.

We shared stories.

And eventually, we even shared a little laughter.

As he was leaving, he looked back at me with such appreciation. It reminded me that sometimes another human being doesn’t need us to fix anything. They simply need someone who understands enough to sit beside their sadness for a little while.

Starting my fourth year in this little neighborhood business, I realize more and more that the people who walk through my door have become much more than appointments on a schedule.

We share pieces of life.

Births. Grandchildren. Illness. Recovery. Marriage. Aging. Laughter. And sometimes, heartbreaking goodbyes.

Their joy becomes something I celebrate, and their losses are something I feel too.

Perhaps that is what companionship—human or animal—is really about.

We walk into an unknown future together. We don’t know how long we will have one another. We don’t know which ordinary day will someday become a precious memory.

All we can do is love while we have the opportunity.

Love generously.

Expect little in return.

Be present.

And when someone’s heart is hurting, offer a listening ear, a little compassion, and maybe one more hug.

Sixteen years later, I can finally think about Pebble and smile before the tears come.

And I realize the tears were never only about losing her.

They were proof that I was fortunate enough to have loved her.

For another morning, another memory, another person to care about, and another chance to love—

I am grateful.

Thank you, Lord, for another day.

My four-year-old grandson has started inviting himself over for weekend sleepovers.

Of course, Grandpa and I love having him. He loves jumping on Grandpa, running around, getting dirty, and turning almost anything into an adventure.

This weekend, I had a long list of things waiting for me. I work full-time, and weekends are usually when I try to catch up—laundry, the garden, cooking, cleaning, and getting ready for another week.

For a moment I thought, How am I going to entertain a four-year-old and get all of this done?

Then I realized something.

Why separate the two? Why not invite him into my ordinary day?

So that’s exactly what we did.

We went outside and checked the compost pile. I showed him how compost is made and encouraged him not to be afraid of the worms. Little hands went right in!

Then we harvested a garden full of cherry tomatoes. Taking the stems off became a game. Naturally, he won. That is one of the rules when you are four.

Those tomatoes became spaghetti sauce, and then it was time to make meatballs. Suddenly I wasn’t cooking dinner anymore—I had the world’s most famous four-year-old meatball chef working beside me.

Next came laundry.

I handed him clothes one at a time, and he ran back and forth to hang them in the closet. Were they hung perfectly?

Absolutely not.

Did it matter?

Not one bit.

I told him he was my Laundry Fairy, and we laughed about how surprised Grandpa would be when he discovered that all his clean clothes had magically found their way back into the closet.

And somehow, as the day went on, we got everything done.

The funny thing is, he barely touched any of the expensive toys available to him.

He didn’t need them.

What he really wanted was to be included. He wanted little jobs for his hands, conversation, laughter, praise, and someone’s full attention.

That made me think about when my own three children were young. I was working and trying to keep life moving. Some days we barely had enough time to sit down together for dinner. I didn’t have grandparents nearby helping me or giving me the kind of support I sometimes wished I’d had.

I don’t look back with resentment.

Instead, maybe those experiences taught me something.

I can give my grandchildren a little of what I didn’t have.

Not by buying them more things.

By giving them time.

And this little four-year-old reminded me of something I sometimes forget myself: unconditional love is not about what comes back to us.

You don’t love a four-year-old expecting anything in return.

You simply love him.

You let him make crooked meatballs.
You let him hang clothes the wrong way.
You stop worrying about the mess.
You let the chores wait—or better yet, you turn the chores into memories.

Maybe that’s something we adults can remember for ourselves too.

A beautiful life doesn’t always require more money, more time, more things, or a perfectly organized day.

Sometimes what we already have is enough:
a garden full of tomatoes,
a pile of laundry,
a few worms in the compost,
someone we love beside us,
and another day we’ve been given to enjoy it all.

At the end of the day, my house wasn’t perfect.

But my heart was full.

Thank you, Lord for another day.

This morning I woke up to pictures my daughter sent from their visit, and before I even got out of bed, I was smiling.

Another day. Another reason to be grateful.

Sometimes a picture can take you back years in just a few seconds.

It seems like yesterday that I became a grandmother for the first time, almost 14 years ago. I can still picture our first granddaughter lying in her bassinet.

Back then, I didn’t have one of those fancy baby entertainment centers with lights, music and moving toys. So I made my own.

I tied little baby toys to strings and hung them where she could see them near the ceiling fan. Then I ran a soft string down toward her clothes so that whenever those little arms and legs started kicking with excitement, the toys moved too.

She would notice them moving, get even more excited, kick harder…and make them move even more!

It became our homemade, never-ending baby entertainment system.

No batteries.
No timer.
No instructions.

Just one very entertained baby and one brand-new Mimo having the time of her life.

Fourteen years later, we now have four grandchildren. Ages change. Family life changes. Everyone gets busier and moves in different directions.

But one thing hasn’t changed for me: I still love getting the kids involved in ordinary life.

Recently the big adventure was…breaking eggs.

Yes, eggs.

I had a four-year-old and a seven-year-old learning how to crack eggs for the first time.

Was it neat?

Absolutely not.

There were shells where shells shouldn’t be, little hands trying to figure out how much pressure was too much pressure, and plenty of laughter.

But eventually those eggs made it into the bowl.

Egg Breaking 101: successfully completed!

And watching their faces, you would have thought we had accomplished something much bigger.

That’s what made me think about my own life.

When I was a younger mother, I was so busy making a living and taking care of everything that needed to be done. Cooking, cleaning, working and raising children often felt like necessities on a very long list.

Now I see some of those same ordinary things differently.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts of getting older.

You realize that teaching a child to crack an egg isn’t really about the egg.

It’s about standing beside them.

Letting them try.

Letting them make a mess.

Laughing together.

And giving them a little memory they may carry much longer than we realize.

I don’t have a degree in psychology or child development. I’m simply sharing what life has taught me through raising my own family and now being Mimo.

Some of the best family memories don’t require packing a suitcase, buying an airplane ticket or planning months ahead.

Sometimes they happen right on the kitchen floor, only 30 minutes from home.

Maybe that’s why those pictures from my daughter touched me so much this morning.

They reminded me that a meaningful life isn’t always built from the big events.

It is built quietly, one little moment at a time.

A ceiling fan and homemade baby toys.

A messy bowl of eggs.

A haircut.

A conversation.

A laugh around the kitchen.

A hug before someone goes home.

Those tiny moments somehow become our family history.

So if you’re reading this over your Saturday morning coffee, maybe you don’t need to plan anything special today.

Call your kids.

Invite the grandchildren over.

Make pancakes.

Teach somebody something simple.

Sit around the kitchen table.

Or just spend 30 minutes together without worrying about making the moment perfect.

Make the mess.

Take the picture.

Enjoy the laughter.

Someday, that ordinary little moment may be the picture that makes you smile when you wake up years later.

Here I am in my golden years, still working, still learning, surrounded by family, clients and wonderful neighbors on this island I call home.

And this morning my heart simply says:

Thank you, Lord, for another day. And thank you for teaching me to notice the little things.

40 years of doing hair, I thought I had seen almost everything that could happen around a salon chair.

Then I met this couple.

The wife has very limited movement in her body and depends on a wheelchair. Her husband wants something for her that sounds so simple: as much of a normal life as possible.

But what touched me is how far he is willing to go to make that possible.

He looks at obstacles differently. Instead of saying, “She can’t do that anymore,” his mind seems to ask, “How can I make this possible for her?”

He has even used his imagination and mechanical skills to create ways of lifting and moving her, including adapting an automotive engine lifter to help give his wife more freedom and possibilities.

And here is the part that touched me even deeper: her husband has physical limitations in one of his own hands.

Yet he keeps finding ways.

When they wanted her to have her hair highlighted, he studied my salon, looked at the equipment and space, and together we figured out how we could safely make it happen.

It wasn’t simply about highlights.

It was about helping his wife experience something normal again—coming to the salon, having her hair done, feeling beautiful, and enjoying something many of us do without ever thinking about how fortunate we are.

Watching the two of them made me think about love differently.

Sometimes love isn’t flowers, fancy dinners, or beautiful words.

Sometimes love is looking at a wheelchair and asking, “How can we work around this?”

Sometimes love is building something with your own hands when the world wasn’t designed for the person you love.

Sometimes love is having limitations of your own and still using whatever strength you have to make someone else’s life a little easier.

After 40 years behind the chair, this went far beyond hair for me.

When I saw the happiness on her face after we finished her hair, I looked at her husband and realized I had just witnessed one of the strongest forms of love: not doing everything for someone, but continually finding ways for the person you love to keep experiencing her own life.

This couple reminded me early this morning, as I sit with my coffee, how much of “normal life” we take for granted.

To get up.
To move.
To take care of ourselves.
To do something simply because we feel like doing it.

Those ordinary things are enormous gifts.

And maybe true love is simply this:

When life says, “You can’t,” someone who loves you looks around and says, “Let’s see what we can do.”

That is the kind of love I hope we can all give—and, someday when we need it, be fortunate enough to receive. Thank you Lord for another day.

I watched a little video about someone waiting to get warm without first making a fire.

It made me smile because yesterday felt a little like that.

I had a very full day ahead of me, and my hands are still recovering. Looking at the whole schedule at once, I thought, Well… this is going to be a long one! 😄

So I decided not to carry the whole day in my head. Just start the fire and see what happens.

Around lunchtime, my husband appeared and said, “You go eat. I’ll sweep and clean up.”

After more than 30 years together, he knows when I need a little extra piece of wood for my fire. ❤️

But my favorite part came later.

Seven weeks ago, I met a woman who was new to Camano Island. We knew from the beginning that we would need an evening appointment, so we made a little plan: if we’re going to be here at dinnertime, let’s have dinner together!

So we each brought something to share.

While her color was processing, out came our food. We sat, ate, talked and laughed. Suddenly it didn’t feel like a late work evening. It felt more like two sisters having a visit—with hair color happening in the background. 😄

When I finished my work late that evening, I was definitely ready to rest, but my heart felt surprisingly light.

Maybe that little video was right.

We can wait around hoping life will make us warm… or we can put a little wood on the fire ourselves.

And sometimes, if we’re lucky, other people come along and add a piece too. ❤️

Thank you Lord for another day.

Before I even get out of bed, my hands have already sent me the morning report:

“Good morning. We’re stiff today.” 😂

Okay, okay…I hear you.

Getting older has an interesting way of changing the morning conversation with your own body. Some mornings, before my feet even touch the floor, I already know which parts of me apparently worked overtime while I was sleeping. 😂

But I have a choice.

I can lie there thinking, Ohhh, everything hurts…

Or I can say, “Come on, body. We’ve got another day. Let’s loosen things up.”

So I reach for my earphones, put on some music, and begin what I call my Sunday morning exercise program:

Dancing with my blanket. 😂

No gym membership required.

My mattress is the dance floor.
My blanket is my partner.
My stiff fingers start moving.
Shoulders roll.
Feet wiggle.
A little stretching here, a little rolling there.

Nobody is watching, thank goodness. 😂

As the music picks up, somehow I do too.

My eyes are still closed, but now I’m smiling.

A few minutes later, my hands aren’t quite as stiff. My body feels warmer. My mind feels lighter.

And before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee, I’ve already been reminded of something important:

Maybe today doesn’t need a big plan.

Working on the island these past few years, I’ve met so many people entering different chapters of life—retirement, downsizing, simplifying, making plans for an unknown future.

We all plan.

Then life changes the plan.

So we adjust it.

Then life says, “Not so fast…” and changes it again. 😂

Planning is important. But I’m learning not to spend so much time preparing for tomorrow that I forget to enjoy the morning I’ve already been given.

Inhale.

Exhale.

So simple. Our bodies have been doing it all night without asking us for instructions.

Maybe Sunday morning can be that simple too.

Move what still moves.
Loosen what feels stiff.
Put on some music.
Have your coffee.
Smile at somebody you love.

And if everything else feels too complicated…

dance with your blanket. 😂❤️

Tomorrow can wait its turn.

Today, I’m here.

And for this Sunday morning, that is plenty.

☕ Happy Sunday, everyone.

Thank you, Lord, for another day.

Raising three children taught me that every child needs to be noticed in a different way.

The oldest is experiencing so many things first. The youngest naturally needs extra care and protection. And the child in the middle is often becoming independent in her own quiet way.

My own daughter, who was the middle child in our family, taught me something years ago that I never forgot: sometimes the child who seems to need us the least still needs to know that we see them.

Maybe that is why this particular day at the salon touched me so much.

Since my carpal tunnel surgery, this 12-year-old young lady has been helping me around the salon. She has worked at the reception desk, swept hair after clients, watched how I interact with people, and quietly taken in the atmosphere around her.

I began noticing how responsible she was becoming. She handled herself with maturity, and one day she told me she might like to become a cosmetologist when she grows up.

That little comment stayed with me.

I thought, if a child shows even a small spark of interest, why not make a little room for her to explore it?

So our family volunteered to become her guinea pigs. 😊

Grandpa deserves an especially big hand.

He showed up during his lunch break and willingly became her first real haircut experience. With me beside her giving instructions, she learned how to hold the clippers, work with a comb, and carefully begin cutting short hair.

I could see Grandpa looking just a little uncertain about what his haircut might look like when we were finished. 😂

But he stayed right there.

We laughed. We joked. We made the whole experience fun.

And watching her face, I realized something.

For that little piece of the day, she wasn’t someone’s older sister or younger sister. She wasn’t the middle child of three.

She was simply herself.

A 12-year-old discovering something new.

A young person being trusted.

A little seed being planted for a future she doesn’t even know yet.

When her mom came to pick her up with her sister and younger brother, her face was full of excitement. You could tell she had so much to share about what she had accomplished that day.

That smile was enough for me.

It also brought back a sweet memory from years ago, when a little boy came to the salon with his grandmother. He watched everything I was doing to her hair and wanted to copy me. I gave him a safe little way to participate, and I still remember those curious little hands and how proud he looked.

Maybe this is part of what people mean when they say, “It takes a village to raise a child.”

Not because parents aren’t doing enough.

But because each person around a child can offer something different.

Parents give love and guidance. Grandparents give patience and memories. Teachers open doors. Neighbors encourage. And sometimes even a small-town hair salon can become a classroom for an afternoon.

We don’t have to raise someone else’s child.

Sometimes we simply make a little room for them to grow.

An ordinary lunch break, one brave Grandpa, a pair of clippers, and one very proud 12-year-old turned into a memory I think she will carry for a long time.

And I will too.

Thank you, Lord, for another ordinary day that became something meaningful. ❤️

Sometimes I hear someone put into words something I have been trying to live without even knowing how to explain it.

I’m not trying to change the world in some big way. I’m simply trying to take care of the little piece of the world that is placed in front of me each day.

For me, very often, that happens behind my salon chair.

A person walks through my door for a haircut, but I never really know what they carried with them before they arrived. Maybe they are tired. Maybe they are celebrating something. Maybe they are going through a difficult chapter. Or maybe they simply need a haircut and a little conversation.

So I try to meet them where they are.

Over the years, I’ve learned that my work is not only about hair. It is about the few minutes of life we share together.

Sometimes I listen.
Sometimes we laugh.
Sometimes I make a little extra time when someone needs it.
Sometimes there are very few words at all.

And sometimes they are the ones giving kindness to me.

That part has become especially meaningful to me.

When a client is patient with me, encourages me, brings a smile through my door, asks how I am doing, or simply continues to trust me with their hair—I notice it. I may not always have the perfect words to say it, but I carry a very deep gratitude for those small acts of kindness.

Living on this island has made me appreciate ordinary human connections even more.

We see one another at the store, on the road, around town, and sometimes sitting in my chair. Little by little, strangers become familiar faces, familiar faces become clients, and many clients become people whose stories I genuinely care about.

I don’t need to reach thousands of people.

If I can make one person feel a little more seen, cared for, beautiful, comfortable, or appreciated today, that is enough.

And tomorrow, I can try again with the next person who comes through my door.

Maybe that is how kindness travels—not through something grand, but quietly, one ordinary person at a time.

To everyone who has sat in my chair and shared a little piece of your life with me, thank you.

Your kindness has touched my life too, probably more than you know. ❤️

That is the kind of life I am still learning to live—simple, grateful, and present for whoever happens to be in front of me today.

Thank you, Lord for another day.

Being the youngest of eight children, I’ve always had seven older siblings ahead of me in life. 😊

As we’ve gotten older, our conversations have changed. We talk about how to stay healthy, how to keep our minds sharp, and how to enjoy this chapter of life with the best quality we can.

Being the youngest, I get LOTS of information from my older siblings. 😂 Some goes in one ear and out the other… but some makes me stop and think.

This video was one of those.

Learning more about Alzheimer’s and brain health made me think differently about something very simple:

What am I doing TODAY?

Not next year.
Not when I start forgetting things.
Today.

So I thought I would share my own little morning routine. Nothing scientific or fancy — just my way of telling my body and brain:

“Good morning! We have another day! Let’s get going!” 😂❤️

First thing in the morning, I look at myself in the mirror, give myself a BIG smile and actually say out loud:

“GOOD MORNING!” 😁

Yes, I talk to myself!

But somehow that smile feels like my START button for the day.

Then while brushing my teeth, instead of just standing there half asleep, I practice balancing on one foot for a little while, then switch feet.

Brush, brush, brush… BALANCE! 😂

I gently move my head and neck, roll my shoulders, stretch, and sometimes massage around my neck and upper chest. It helps me feel loosened up and ready to move.

Then comes a little light exercise.

Nothing heroic at 4 or 5 in the morning! 😂

Just enough movement to wake up my body, get my heart working a little, breathe deeply, and feel more alert.

What I took away from this video is that brain health isn’t only something to think about when we’re older or when something starts going wrong.

Sleep matters.
Movement matters.
Balance matters.
Learning matters.
Social connection matters.

And maybe even our attitude when we wake up matters.

We can’t guarantee that any particular routine will prevent Alzheimer’s or dementia. But we can give our bodies and brains some love every single day.

So tomorrow morning, when you see that sleepy person staring back at you in the mirror… 😂

Give them a BIG smile.

Say, “GOOD MORNING! We made it to another day!”

Stand on one foot while you brush your teeth.

Stretch a little.

Move a little.

Breathe.

And most importantly — enjoy being here.

We spend so much time worrying about tomorrow that sometimes we forget today’s little choices become tomorrow’s foundation.

Keep moving.
Keep learning.
Keep smiling.
Keep connecting.
And keep giving that beautiful brain something to do. ❤️

From the youngest of eight, passing along something one of my older siblings shared with me.

Now I’m passing it on to you. 😊

Thank you, Lord for another day.

She came into my salon with her mom, a high school sophomore, knowing pretty clearly what she wanted for her hair. As I looked at her, I couldn’t help thinking about my own granddaughter, who is around the same age and recently sat in my chair for her own special haircut.

For a moment, this young lady felt a little like another granddaughter coming to me before an important day.

She showed me the style she wanted, and my job was to listen first. Then I made small changes to work with her—her face shape, her hair density, and the way her hair naturally moves. I wanted the layers to have softness and movement around her face, so when she turned her head, the haircut would move with her instead of simply sitting there.

But somewhere during the haircut, it stopped being only about hair.

We talked.

She shared some of the things she enjoyed and what she had been doing during summer vacation. Little by little, I got to know the young person sitting in my chair.

I think the teenage years are such an important time. You are old enough to begin discovering who you are, yet there is still so much of your future you cannot see.

I remember being that age.

I wondered what kind of work I would someday do, who I would marry, what my family might look like, and where life would take me. I certainly couldn’t have imagined that one day I would be standing behind a salon chair on Camano Island, having conversations like this with young people beginning their own journeys.

That is one reason I still love what I do.

A haircut may seem like a small thing. But before the first day of school, picture day, graduation, a new job, or another milestone, sometimes that little change on the outside helps someone walk out feeling just a little more confident on the inside.

And to the teenagers who sit in my chair:

You don’t have to have your whole future figured out yet.

There is so much life ahead of you. Keep discovering what you like. Keep dreaming. Keep learning who you are. And when you look back at those school pictures years from now, I hope you remember more than your hairstyle.

I hope you remember the person you were becoming.

When she finished today and I saw that beautiful smile, that was my favorite part of the entire haircut.

Families here have allowed me into so many little moments of their lives. Some of you I see more often than members of my own family who live far away. Over the years, you stop feeling like “customers.” You become part of the community and part of my life.

That is one of the beautiful things about living and working on Camano Island.

Thank you for trusting me with your children, your stories, your milestones, and sometimes something as simple—but meaningful—as a haircut before picture day.

And to this beautiful young lady: I hope tomorrow, when that camera clicks, you give them the same smile you gave me as you walked out my salon door.

That smile is already beautiful.

Thank you, Lord, for another day, another young life crossing my path, and another reminder of why I still love standing behind the chair. ❤️