The end of an era

I think I used to be a pretty good writer and I attribute that to my 20+ years of (almost) daily journal writing.  I hardly ever write in my journal anymore.  My writing skills have gone down the drain.  That is why I don't do the journal-ish entries on my blog.  I want to, I have a lot to say as always.  I guess I just feel like my written words don't do my thoughts or feelings justice.  With that said, I'm going to write my thoughts and feelings about today.  Bear with me.
Today started like any other work day.  Alarm. snooze... alarm. snooze... alarm. snooze. FREAK! It's 5:15 (earlier than usual), I gotta get up!  Shower, dressed, hair.  I decided I'd do my make-up in the car so I gather my stuff and head to work, but not before stopping at Beans & Brews for a super fattening yet fabulous CHAICICLE. I'm almost to the freeway when I realized that I forgot to brush my teeth- FREAK!!  I don't think I've forgotten to brush in like FOREVER.  gross.  And to think I had to work 13 hours with slime for teeth.  I texted my mom about my dilemma & she texted back, "Sounds like a mocha morning." "I already got one."  "I'm a bad influence."  "No you're not- I got a Chai."  "That sounds good.  I want one."  " :) "  I adore my mom!!
I pull into work a half hour later.  I swear- I always have 18 things to take in with me so as I get out of the car I figure out a way to finagle all my crap into the salon in one trip.  My arms are full.  Then I try to figure a way to unlock the salon door while still finagling all my crap.  Never works- especially because it's a temperamental lock.  I finally get in, throw my stuff down, turn on the lights, disarm the alarm, turn on the radio (radio from hell on X96), and a minute later Lori arrives.
I met Lori 13 years ago while working in the Kids department at Nordstrom.  She was the manager in a different department.  She intimidated me.  Plus, when I worked as a "fill-in" @ Nord a couple years later, Lori asked me to cover a shift in her dept and I said yes.  When the day came, I called in sick.  I wasn't sick, I just didn't feel like working.  I've always felt kinda bad about that.  owell.
Lori was my first client of the today... a cut and color.  I've done her hair for about 9.5 years now.  I've seen her through a LOT, from death and divorce to new career and (lots) of boyfriends.  I've done Lor's hair for as long or longer than most of my other clients.  The funny thing is, and we were talking (& laughing) about this today, Lori hasn't EVER changed her hair since I've been doing it.  EVER.  We also talked about expensive handbags & sunglasses, her new house and my soon-to-be new rental house (she gave my some great decorating ideas BTW).  Lori calls me James & Dear and I love it.  She has super blundt bangs and has become a good friend.  I love Lor.
Then it was a cut, weave and toner for Darlene.  Cut, weave and toner for Briana.  Cut and weave for Char.  Lunch time- a BIG A** sandwich from MOOCHIES- compliments of Jim (thanks Jim!!)  Weave for Elizabeth (never to be called "Liz").  Cut for Laurel.  Cut for Grace.  Cut and weave for Yvonne.
Yvonne is another 9.5ish year-er.  I adore Yvonne.  She inspires me.  She seems to have all the qualities that a balanced woman should possess.  She is educated and informed.  She is caring, nurturing and loving.  She has good boundaries.  She is a talker and a good listener.  She is healthy, active and proactive.  She is involved.  She is beautiful & happy. 
When Yvonne sat in my chair I got choked up and all teary.  She was the last client I'd put in my chair as an employee of ZADA.
Today was my last day.  sniff sniff.  I freaking LOVE LOVE LOVE my job.  The thing with me is that I have ALWAYS wanted to do hair.  Always.  It wasn't a last-minute decision for me because I didn't go to college.  I didn't go to college because I knew I wanted to do hair school, so I did that and am proud of it!   How many people can honestly say that they LOVE their job?  I honestly LOVE my job.  I love my clients, who are now dear friends.  I love making people look and feel beautiful.  I love the up-beat environment.   I love the "out" or "break" from being a mom.  I love working with my hands.  I love dressing up for the job or, in most cases, dressing down.  I love the flexibility.  I love doing color.  I love my co-workers.  I'm going to miss Candice's wit, Kathy's wisdom, Jimmy's boldness, Karen's questions, Liz's quirks, Ray's charm and Rob's laugh.
Doing hair has been a dream ever since I can remember and while I am so so sad to end this chapter, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the most amazing 10 years of a dream fulfilled.  

    One day, my mother and I were working together in the garden.  We were transplanting some plants for the third time.  Grown from seed in a small container, the plants had been transfered to a larger container; then transplanted into the garden.  Now, because I was moving, we were transplanting them again.
    Inexperienced as a gardener, I turned to my green-thumbed mother.  "Isn't this bad for them?" I asked, as we dug them up and shook the dirt from their roots.  "Won't it hurt these plants, being uprooted and transplanted so many times?"
    "Oh, no," my mother replied.  "Transplanting doesn't hurt them.  In fact, it's good for the ones that survive.  That's how their roots grow strong.  Their roots will grow deep and they'll make strong plants." 
    Often, I've felt like those small plants- uprooted and turned upside down.  Sometimes, I've endured the change willingly, sometimes reluctantly, but usually my reaction has been a combination.
    Won't this be hard on me?  I ask.  Wouldn't it be better if things remained the same?  That's when I remember my mother's words:  That's how the roots grow deep and strong.
                                                                                                             
                                                                                            -Melody Beattie


So here I am, closing this chapter and opening a new one, with hopes to strengthen my faith and my self.  Oh boy!  Wish me luck in Minnesota!