CRS is a real thing

– Random Writings: Column by Rebecca Lindquist –

My daughter, Hannah, needed specific photographs for a college class and asked if I could dig some out for her, and she would get them the next time she was home. It took much longer than it should have, as I visually strolled down memory lane.

It was so fun looking through old pictures, with some making me laugh out loud, bringing back wonderful memories.

Dad worked for Land O Lakes as an agronomist and livestock specialist, splitting his time between two co-ops, so we moved to a central location that afforded easy access to each place. Our new home became a small hobby farm.

We had several acres of cauliflower, carrots, pumpkins and gourds. I spent my days and evenings weeding, cultivating the fields, mowing the large yard, feeding calves and collecting eggs.

Living in a new location, we weren’t familiar with any hair salons, so I cut my hair myself. (I feel a collective shudder of revulsion, accompanied by disapproving sighs, from every individual involved in the hair industry, as I write this.) To be blunt, it looked absolutely horrible. I think I did a better job when I was five years old and “cut” my hair with safety scissors. Yes, it was THAT bad.

One day, Mom and I decided we needed professional haircuts. I was charmed the moment we walked into the salon. We were greeted with a big smile and friendly hello, and the establishment was warm and inviting. When I sat in the chair, I was impressed with my stylist, Clarice.

She didn’t display her contempt for the hatchet job I had performed on my hair, with so much as a flicker of an eyelid. Her only comment was, “Your hair is really long. Is it OK if I shape it a bit?”

I thought that was very diplomatic, since I had cut the sides to above my ears and the length in the back fell down past my shoulder blades, totally rocking a Picasso-inspired mullet.

As Clarice performed miracles on my hair, we chatted about various topics. The more we talked, the more I liked what I heard. Imagine my sadness when Clarice told me she had CRS. I was hesitant to display my ignorance by revealing I had never heard of the disease, but I wanted to know about this condition, so I timidly broached the subject.

Clarice put her hands on my shoulders and said, “ It’s very common in people in their 50s and there is no cure.” Then she said, “CRS is Can’t Remember Sh*t.” It was several minutes after that, before we stopped laughing enough that she could resume cutting my hair. From that moment on, we talked and laughed as if we had known each other for years.

Clarice’s husband, Ken, worked at Louisiana-Pacific, on the opposite shift from me, so Clarice and I went out to eat, to the movies, shopping and town functions. I met a lot of her family by attending nieces and nephews’ weddings, grandchildren’s birthday celebrations and graduations. We always had so much fun, sharing the same sense of humor and adventurous spirit.

One evening, Clarice called, wanting to know what my plans were and I told her I was in my pajamas, watching TV. She said, “Get dressed. I’ll be there in 10 minutes. We are going to the casino.” I told her I had very little cash on-hand, but she reassured me I wouldn’t need much, because there were nickel or quarter slot machines available. I was excited to experience something new.

I took a grand total of $7; $5 in quarters and $2 worth of nickels. When we walked inside, there was so much happening, it was hard to know where to look first. I’m sure I looked like a gauche hayseed gawking at everything.

I started playing the nickel slots and, once my carefully hoarded stash was depleted, I moved on to the quarter machines. I had deposited $3, when I hit the jackpot. The lights were blinking off and on, sirens and bells were sounding, and people were clapping and laughing at how excited I was, with my huge windfall of $25.

I promptly tucked $15 in my coin purse and played the rest. All in all, it was a very satisfactory night.

The ride home was a blast, as we talked and laughed about the evening. We were driving up a divided highway, when a car pulled up beside us, keeping pace, while yelling and honking loudly. Glancing over, there was a naked woman leaning out the window. Clarice casually turns to me and says, “That has to be chilly.”

We were still laughing when we looked over again and got a closer look at the naturalist, and burst into renewed laughter, when we realized it was a naked vinyl blow up doll, as the car sped off, searching for its next unsuspecting victim.

I don’t have a photograph of that, which is probably just as well, but coming across snapshots of Clarice brought a host of memories flooding back, reminding me of how extremely lucky I am to know this amazing, funny, beautiful woman. It was surely destiny that had me walking into her beauty salon that day so long ago.

It’s only fitting, now that I have CRS, too, Clarice and I have another thing to laugh about.