“10,000 people laid off at Microsoft! It’s the end of the American Dream!” I overheard a woman, who like me, was having her hair washed at my sister’s business, CD Danza Salon & Spa, in downtown Renton.

“End of the American Dream?” I gulped, being a writer had always been my American Dream and I had spent the last five years writing a novel.

“Yikes, apparently it’s the end of the American Dream.” I said.

My sister smiled down at me as she continued massaging my scalp in her strong fingers. I scanned empty shampoo bowls—once filled with clients. CD Danza was my sister’s American Dream.

“Aren’t you stressing about the economy?” I asked.

“I look at the Devil’s Ivy,” she said, pointing to an ordinary house plant whose leaves and stems had coiled branch-like arms around the salon walls. “That plant was a two-inch start. A gift from a client two weeks before Sept. 11 … Back then it felt like the American Dream was ending too.”

Sitting in the shampoo bowl, I felt warm water rush around my head, releasing my fears into my older sister’s hands just like when we were kids.

“Remember when you would wash my hair in the kitchen sink when the electricity got shut off?” I asked her.

“That water sure was cold,” she said.

“Especially when you splashed me in the face!” I said, flicking a little on her. “For old time’s sake,” I teased.

Most people didn’t know about our nomadic childhood. Our parents divorce led to a crazy commune in California and eventually homelessness and a deep poverty in the recession of the early eighties.

“The Devil’s Ivy reminds me why I started this business. When times get tough, you roll up your sleeves, dig in, work hard and never give up. Just like when we were kids, just like the character in your book,” my sister reminded me, referring to the main characters in my book about the exploits of two plucky girls, sisters, who in spite of many challenges, persevered through tough times and never gave up.

“I opened CD Danza because I love being a day maker. Eight years later, I wear about 20 hats to stay in business and am working harder than ever. I’m happy to do it … so long as I can keep making people’s day, I’m living my American Dream.”

My sister picked up her shears. “You’ve always been essential to my American Dream. Remember, you were my first client.”

“Just a trim this time,” I said and we both began to laugh.

Sitting at my sister’s salon felt like coming full circle. Her cutting my hair and me writing about our exploits, just like when we were kids, only without the dull scissors.

Cheryl Danza’s sister is writer Carolyn Ossorio. CD Danza Salon and Spa is at 717 S. 4th St., in downtown Renton. The phone number is 425-793-8000.