Hair

As it turns out, Lily isn't having a funeral.  She donated her body to science and her daughter wrote that they'll have a memorial service later.  I realize viewings and funerals and their trappings are archaic and contrived--the deceased isn't "there" in any sense of the word--yet I'm somewhat disappointed. That psycho-babble word, "closure" seems to fit here: There seems a feeling of rightness in the old rituals when you figuratively "say goodbye"--at least, there is for me.  
My friend came at lunchtime to deliver several tomatoes (good--I was out), Swiss chard, kale, lettuce, eggplant, squash, and a big, beautiful pumpkin, which she put outside for me.  We had lunch together, then back to work she went.
Hopped in the shower and went to get my hair done, an ordeal I sometimes think of discontinuing in favor of natural color.  (Then I take a gander at my roots and change my mind.) Kyle did an okay job--it looks a lot better than it did, anyway--but I find it an ordeal to sit through all the stuff, not to mention parting with the amount of cash it takes.
It's funny: Lots of women love going to the salon; it's like a cozy, convivial little sorority.  But I've always been somewhat uncomfortable there.  I have to make small talk with a girl younger than my grandson, in whom I have little interest and she has to pretend she cares a rat's brass about me.  Ordinarily, I mildly enjoy chatting idly with strangers, but not in that situation--guess it's the forced togetherness or something.
Stopped at Kohl's, then Target after, but bought nothing except some under-eye concealer.  I'm sure that will make me look like the high school senior I was sixty years and three months ago.