(I'll try to redo this. I tried to correct a typographical error using the iPad and munched the lot of it.)

Janis wanted to see my battle scar.

I spent Monday at the dermatologist in Billings, having a quarter-sized basal cell carcinoma sliced off like buffalo mozzarella.

They got it all but *yowza* is my head hurting today. I feel like my ski helmet is on too tight. Now I know why Frankenstein was so cranky.

My mom offered to send me her vintage 1968 wig, which explains my request for the Tricia story. I don't believe my mom had a name for her wig. She could have called it Wednesday. I remember this so vividly from childhood; my mom went to The Beauty Shop (actual name of the business) in Woodlake for her appointment every Thursday at 4. Virginia, who started doing my mom's hair in 1963 and still cuts it today, would do her hair while I sat under the hood dryer looking at National Geographic. After the appointment we'd go out to dinner. Mom would wash her hair on Tuesday night and put on the wig for school Wednesday and Thursday. Wash, rinse, repeat! Just to show what a modern age that we now live in, Mom went and got the wig out of the closet and put it on so I could see it via video cam. We laughed as she said she might start wearing it again if Virginia can't get by the house to cut and perm her hair soon. I should plan a 50 year hair anniversary party for my mom and Virginia for next year. We could all wear wigs...

   

I guess it's time to dig out some scarves or wear Charlie's coon skin cap...
 

And the first try at the comb over...