Thank you Rebecca Jones for your thoughts on keeping our eyes and hearts open for learning opportunities.
The dreadlocks were glorious. Brown, with streaks of gold, they flowed down the young man’s back ending at his waist. I wondered how he had gotten them so long, and so uniform. I wondered how heavy they were. I wondered how he washed them. Does one wash dreadlocks? Now understand that I am not a lover of this particular hairstyle. Call me an old fuddy-duddy, but I generally appreciate a head of flowing, fluffy, just-washed looking hair. I tried the hippie thing years ago and it just wasn’t a good fit for me. If I never smell patchouli again, I shall die a happy woman.
On this occasion, however, I was willing to make an exception. The young glass blowing artisan truly had an awe-inspiring mop. With his scruffy beard, cargo shorts, and work boots, he looked rather formidable. Yet his eyes were kind as he showed my son where…
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