The Barber Shop, A Sad Reunion, A Book and I found Fred's ring

It wasn't a real intense day. I went to the office, mainly to read the paper and have some quiet time, and decided it was time to get a haircut. When I got out of school 30 years ago, my hair was long and bushy (and black). Since then, it has shortened by an average of 1/4 inch per year, gotten salt & pepper, and then gotten thoroughly grey. Now, I get what is locally known as a "cop cut," so either the average will go down, next year the barber will have to get a razor, or I'm gonna die.

I go to the "Barber Shop." Well, it may not be a sexy name, but it just about says it all. The barber, Lou, has been cutting my hair since I was in school, and recently moved to half of an old gas station building at the bottom of Hospital Hill, when his partner of 30+ years retired. The barber chair is in front of a large & sunny picture window (suitably painted with the words, Barber Shop). It's a small space, and mannish as possible. Lou keeps the TV on ball games or sports shows, the magazines are mostly "Field & Stream," "American Rifleman," and so forth. Lou is a trader, and always has interesting hunting/sporting equipment laying around, and he loves nothing more than wheeling and dealing. The parking area out front wasn't crowded, so I assumed it was good to go to slip in, get the haircut, and slip out. Damfino where they parked, but the place was packed. I hadn't brought my book in with me, so I relaxed, joined the male-bonding banter and observed the scene. A grandpa, dad and little boy were all ahead of me. Grandpa was a scruffy fellow with a viva zapata moustache, skinny legs in shorts and a beer belly, and he's the one who mostly held his grandson. All of the men in there were careful with their language owing to the little boy, and the way everyone interacted with the little boy was absolutely cute. I guess those of us who were dads were thinking of when our children were that age. After the three of them were done, and older gentleman and his wife came in. The rest of us weren't in a hurry, so everyone insisted that the old gentleman "play through." The presence of the older lady changed the banter to quiet and correct conversation, maybe that's why we all wanted them to go ahead of us. Well, I got the cop cut, and as usual refused to let Lou trim my moustache. I've worn it mostly bushy for lots of years, and only have really trimmed it when a girlfriend some years ago wanted it that way.

This evening, I chauffered my mom to & from her 66th high school reunion. I've mentioned before, my mom is a real lady, 84 years old, very healthy and quite feisty. When I picked her up to come home, she said that the reunion was, at best, "not bad." It reminded her that she is one of the very last healthy people in the class, and also that many, many of the people who were special to her in high school have died. I'm reminded of a passage in Proverbs which says, as best I can remember, that generations pass away, new generations arise, and only the earth is forever. (I'm too lazy this evening to save this and look up the exact quote at bible.com.) She says that she doubts if she ever goes to another class reunion. For some reason, this all strikes me as very sad. I don't have much experience with class reunions -- I graduated from a high school that I just attended in my senior year, so I'm somewhat a "man without a country" as far as high school is concerned. Everyone in my class who I have any desire to see, I see.

I read late into the night last night and lots today on one of the new books that came from Amazon that I'd been looking forward to. This book is Settling Accounts: In at the Death, an alternate history by Harry Turtledove. It is the 10th volume of a series that's been written over the last 15 years, and I've thoroughly enjoyed them. Alterate history postulates what would have happened if certain key events had gone differently, and this series is based on the premise that the Confederacy won the Civil War and the two Americas continued to violently clash for 80 years. Turtledove tells it as a series of vignettes involving several different characters. He certainly attains, at least with me, the "willing suspension of disbelief." I feel like I know these people, and they exist in a corporeal way someplace. Why do we have emotional reactions like this to FICTION? I am reminded of a line from a Simon & Garfunkel song from the 60's, ". . . and we note our place with bookmarkers, to measure what we've lost." When you've read all that a particular favorite author has written, and particularly after s/he has died and there will be no more work, there is a sadness that's hard to define. That's how I feel about lots and lots of authors - Dickens, Sinclair Lewis, L'Amour, Zane Grey, Asimov, John D. MacDonald, to name a few. Tonight, I'm contemplating my strange relationship to books, which are certainly among the most important things in my life.

I've been looking for months for my friend Fred's masonic ring. It's not much as jewelry goes. It was hand-made from 3/4 inch stainless steel tubing shaped by some process that's foreign to me, and stamped by dies with the various appropriate symbols. It's not valuable, but I really treasure it. Anyway, I did a treasure hunt of my bedroom this morning, and found the darn thing. I think I'll start wearing it constantly. Fred was a police officer who retired in the early 90's. He would stop by the office about 7:00 in the morning just about every day, and we would relax & drink coffee, and solve all of the world's problems. Fred died suddenly a year ago. He had owed me some money for a while, and his widow asked me the balance. I told her to forget it, and she asked if there was any remembrance from him that I'd like to have. So I told her I would love to have that cheap steel ring, since he didn't have a son to leave it to. To me, this represents continuity, another aspect of that quote from Proverbs. There are not distinct generations, there is a continuous flow of people, always handing knowledge and experience and tradition from hand to hand and mind to mind.

I started another of the new books, Wheel of Darkness, by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child tonight. La Elu is wrapped up on the net, Tim is out with buds, and the dog & cats are sleeping, so it's back to quiet reading for me.

Mizpah!

R