Competent People: AlysiaP, One and Three

You wouldn't think a youngish female hair stylist (with a pair of scissors, a separate business, and a family) might be thought of as a genius. But I do. And she is.

I mean genius is at least three senses of that word. First, she's uncommonly bright. Second, she's exceptionally skilled in the artistic work she has chosen. Third, she's gifted in dealing with a broad range of people.

Just as important, she's a disciplined worker.

AlysiaP is my barber. I shy away from saying she is my hair-stylist. Women have their hair styled. Real men and aspiring young boys go wait in line at a barber shop, where they have their hair cut.

In fact, in the olden-days of my youth, young males often waited in line for hours in the barber shop for their turn in the barber chair, meanwhile discussing girls and last-night's football game, girls and the latest auto designs, girls and that last damnable calculus problem, girls and various shenanigans at last Friday's dance, girls. . . .

We sat around cracking wise and telling jokes of questionable taste. Of course, I was not among the jokesters, clean-cut Boy Scout that I truly was. But then, I do vaguely remember having once heard the one about the traveling salesman and. . . .

But I digress.

Again: AlysiaP is my barber -- by appointment only. No waiting and no jokes, please. So skillful is she, in fact, that she maintains not only a large clientele of women, but a surprising number of males, also.

How can I say this without sounding sexist? I guess I can't! Alysia is a really good-looking, not-quite-fortyish woman. Short, well-built, dark haired, big-eyed. Perky and endlessly energetic. (None of which would matter, were she not a good barber, by the way. But still. . . .)

I always arrive on time for my appointment, lest some lucky interloper walk in and take my place -- not that Alysia's not worth waiting for. She has a special knack for shaping hair. Not only that: she somehow arranges any mangy coif in such a way that it not only looks good, it makes any old face look better, too. ('Snot always easy!)

But you would have to see what's left of my face and hair to appreciate her level of expertise. Alysia's work is so effective that it approximates plastic surgery. Enough to say, that during last year's Asian Flu scare, I was one of those who looked much better wearing a surgical mask. My hair remains my best feature -- thinning and gray, but presentable. I constantly fight the impulse to wear my hat so that it covers my face, rather than my hair -- as even my own mother long ago suggested I do.

But I digress (again).

Alysia is also a gifted conversationalist. She knows all about a wide range of interesting things. I dare you to keep up with a retired university professor who studies all the time, yet has too few people to keep bored. Alysia holds her own. We talk about everything from global warming to raising her three sons about the ages of my grandsons. Her able Sonsmanship is noteworthy. Her boys range in age from ten to 14. They are

helpful in a home where both parents work,
clean-cut and nice looking,
well-mannered,
good students,
tough and athletic,
respectful of their elders,
boyish enough to be unpredictable,
and generally a credit to their parents.

They're boys, thank goodness. I mean: who wants to raise a trio of priggish little sissies? Not Alysia and her husband. Still, boys may be boys. But in Alysia's household they are well-behaved boys. There may be some Black-Magic-Witchery involved. But, more about that later.

Busy, though Alysia truly is, she has become a baseball aficionado.

She can speak knowledgeably of her boys' burgeoning skills as well as rattle off their improving on-field statistics. She is an avid student of the game right down to hit-and-run and squeeze-play, Texas-leaguer and hook-slide. She follows the game like an old timer. In many ways she's a skillful umpire.

Which is to say she knows the rules -- on and off the field. I'm not talking only baseball here.

Alysia knows boys in general. And she knows her own boys specifically. She runs a light-handed, tight household. She's a doting mother and good-wife. The males in her family look to her for approval. I mean, her husband's wonderful. But Alysia, too, is a natural leader.


As if juggling family responsibilities and professional hair-styling were not enough, Alysia and her sister bought a florist shop nearly two years ago. Sister Audry is identified among close family as the artistic head.

Alysia does much of the artistic stuff, too. But she is also the business head. She does most of the management and all the accounting tasks. Just getting the increasing number of events onto the calendar, preparing the designs, transporting arrangements to the various sites, decorating, and keeping up with contracts and payroll must be exhausting. But job sites must also be cleared of decorations after an event.

The floral business is demanding and endless. And word-of-mouth praise is the best advertising. As I have said, the business is growing rapidly. And why not. No matter the general business climate, people continue to fall in love, marry, or pass away.

The sisters are close and loving. So is the entire family. And because the business has virtually exploded, it has become necessary for nearly the entire family to become involved. Any weekend may mean numerous weddings and funerals. Any weekday is equally hectic. Retired aunts and uncles, cousins and in-laws, old friends and new, all pile in to fulfill

Audry's designs,
transport flower arrangements,
decorate wedding chapels and reception halls,
funeral parlors and grave sites.

The walk-in trade is a whole other demanding thing. The business has recently grown out of its original store-front location. So rapidly has the growth occurred, that two generations on both sides of the family have become involved. Two large Catholic families. Count them on your fingers and toes. Many pitch in to help Audry and Alysia.

Alysia seems equal to the task of organizing the entire enterprise.

My greatest fear is that she will soon become too busy with the floral business and have to quit barbering. I tell her: "Never mind! In the new building, we'll put in a barber's chair just inside the back door."

I once read in one of Plato's learned tracts that losing a barber is something akin to divorce or death of one's spouse. I don't know how Plato could have known Alysia.

But he must have.
I guess she's older than she looks!