A four hour trip is not a bad thing. When it gets beyond four, it can be really painful, especially if the views are old and flat, like Indiana. Sorry for that, but old habits die hard and I remember, less than fondly, the treks betwen Illinois and Ohio back in the day.
Yesterday, I finished a great book I was reading by William Kent Krueger,
I started reading
Yes, it has been a long time since I have frequented the Barber Shop. A while back, in recognition of folicular issues on my head, I took to buzzing my scalp. Then I went further with that and started shaving the fringe of coarse hair that is left. Thus, the only way to visit a Barber Shop was to have my beard tended to. The beard thing is up for grabs as I realized that I can pretty much do as well as the professionals in trimming it. That is, however, a story for another day.
Ernest Hemingway made me think of my experiences as a youth in the barber chair. What blew me away early on, was the stack of dirty magazines to be found for use by the adult men. I never did experience the reading of the really “well written articles” to be found when I became an adult, but I marveled at the audacity of these guys to be sitting while having their hair attended to and looking at their Playboy, and who knows what other magazine, while being ‘cleaned up.’ I shall leave my thoughts there.
I also remember how I would be happy when I would get shaved around the ears. There was little better than to have warm shaving cream from the little machine put around my ears after a haircut and then having the straight razor clean off the hair. My hair grows close to the ears, so I always loved the look after a haircut of looking so clean cut. It didn’t last long, though.
So now I am at the Church Hill Inn in Sister Bay, Wisconsin after almost a four hour drive from Illinois. Door County is a place we haven’t been to in years, in fact, the last time was with our good friend Fabienne and her mom, Marcelle. I hope this trip is as much fun as that one was. Wait, oh my, that was the one where Mary Kay ripped her big toe’s nail off one night, necessitating our visit to a gas station for peroxide and bandages…