Haircut

Yesterday afternoon I went to my barber, the woman who has been cutting my hair for years in a small, local, one-person shop.  I was contemplating a bittersweet moment, a final haircut in a familiar place with a person who has known me in a partially intimate way for a long time.  Even if she doesn't remember my name, she remembers a lot about me and what I do -- things shared in the chair while other guys waited.  I know a fair amount about her too.  About her kids and her growing up and the neighborhood and her new house and the dogs. So I was prepared to be sentimental.  Instead, she had a girlfriend of hers there and they were chatting, distracted, through the two men ahead of me and through three-quarters of my cut.  She was also snacking while cutting.  During the last part of my cut she asked a few questions about what was going on for me, how is the farm? how is my wife? how are the kids' programs?  I answered with short, factual replies.  She noted that I appeared to be in a bad mood and I acknowledged that I had things on my mind.  She finished, I paid with the usual tip, and I left the shop without looking back.

Usually a haircut leaves me fresh and upbeat.  Even though I am mostly bald (or perhaps because of that fact) a haircut reminds me that I am still vital, alive, and growing.  I usually admire myself in the truck mirror before leaving the parking lot and look at myself in the bathroom mirror several times at home.  I always wait for Jill to notice that I have been trimmed and she often remarks that it looks good.  This time I didn't look.  Jill remarked that I looked 'skinned' and I know from the feel that it is too short.

This morning I will look in the mirror before we go to inspect the Colrain farmhouse we are moving to in a few weeks.  I will be satisfied that I am still vital, alive, and growing.  And I will regret the loss of relationship.