Many of us were bald when we came into the world. And many of us will be departing from it the same way. I can still vividly remember when I used to have hair, though. I have no idea where it’s going, but the hair on my head is becoming a part of prehistoric history.

This is not what happened to my mother, or my only sister, or, for that matter, my three brothers. The culprit to blame can only be my dad, Jim Gorman, whose hair, like mine, was gradually thinning as he aged. If you are one of my descendants, and you notice that your crowning glory is getting skimpy, you can probably “thank” me and my dad for it. 

My mother, Josie, would be mortified to see it. Through the ages, Norwegians must have depended on their thick manes to keep them warm during their frigid winters. They probably didn’t produce a whole lot of balding daughters – however otherwise brilliant and talented, – or even ones like me, who they would have kept dressed in muskox hides to prevent them from turning blue as well as bald, or possibly, from being seen!

My mother was a hairdresser, of all things! Thinning hair wasn’t in her wheelhouse. Probably isn’t in that of her long lost-but-now-found granddaughter Sarah Downard either. 

When niece Rene and Sarah had their spectacular reacquaintance (see posts 467 and 468), we learned that Sarah herself is – like her great-grandma Josie – a hairdresser. It must be genetic. Or else – yes – my mother is haunting her. (Hum a little Twilight Zone music, please – (Nuh-nuh-nun-nah, Nuh-nuh-nun-nah.)

Mom was trained and then taught at the Paris Beauty Academy in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. She met another hairdresser fledging there – Elsie Gorman. It was she – my Aunt Elsie (Bailey) – who introduced mom to her brother Jim Gorman – my dad.

In this photo from 1929, Elsie is third on the right – and my mom Josie – here pregnant with Sarah’s grandmother, my sister Joan – is fifth on the right.

During most of my growing up years (when I still had hair), Mom operated her own beauty shop out of our home. My sister Joan and I grew up with all the latest “developments” in acquiring hair procedures. I remember, Mom always reminded us that “You have to suffer to be beautiful”. And we did. Suffer, that is. While our girlfriends were rolling their hair in rag curls, we were being treated to . . .

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My mother’s own thick hair went through all kinds of styles through the years of her youth. During her “flapper” years, she wore “finger-waves” . . . but by the time she was married, she was really “into” marcels which she somehow created with a curling iron that she heated on a kind of hot plate. . . . . I still love those looks, but it must have helped to have thick hair and natural curl! 

In most photos when my sister Joan and I were little, our straight hair was nearly always finger-waved and usually topped off with a giant hair bow. This is a pic of Joan, sans hair bow, but definitely finger-waved. When we got older, we were either “permanently” frizzed, or French-braided.

Speaking of braids, French or otherwise, if Sarah ever reads this blob, I hope she knows she is not alone in her quest for hair excellence. We are having a heat wave in Enumclaw this week, and our farm animals are suffering along with the rest of us. Especially the horses with their thick manes. To relieve them every summer, Sarah’s cousin Susy – my daughter –  pretends like she’s a hairdresser and does this.  . .        

This is C.J. and Dani showing off their summer coiffures patiently administered by Susy, while horsing around.

Finally, just in case you haven’t had enough hair insights and how they may be “rooted” in the family, you might want to re-read one of my previous blobs about the obviously genetic hairdresser mania which has always afflicted one of Sarah’s newfound nieces who – strangely enough – is named Josie. (Nuh-nuh-nun-nah, Nuh-nuh-nun-nah.)

https://goingon80.com/2010/12/17/102-hair-makeover/