Rite of Spring
Mar. 24th, 2007 12:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stoutfellowWell, it seems to be that time of year. The weather's been intermittently stormy, but we've had highs in the high 50s/low 60s F for a week or so. My pear trees are in exuberant bloom - even the one that was damaged so in December's ice storm - and this morning the mockingbirds were out. So, I decided that today would be Shearing Day.
The ritual begins over the bathroom sink, as I haggle away with scissors at about four inches of beard. It's not the easiest of tasks; working on the right side of my neck is especially awkward. After about twenty minutes, I reach the point of diminishing returns with the scissors. I have about a quarter-inch of scruff left. I no longer resemble Karl Marx; I actually fancy a vague resemblance to the actor Jason Carter - not the charmingly raffish Marcus of Babylon 5, but the nasty-looking Demon of Hatred he portrayed on one episode of Charmed. (For aficionados, it's the episode that ends with Cole turning on his masters and massacring the Triad.) Now the razor comes out. Slowly the skin emerges from its winter hibernation, fresh and pink (and in one or two places bloody...). When I finish, Murphy comes in, tail wagging, to lick my new-shaven face. Canine custom satisfied, I take a shower.
Next comes the walk over to Custom Cuts. (They're not the cheapest, but they're not expensive and they have the sterling advantage of being close by.) I feel the faint March breeze strongly on my chin and neck... At the stylist, I have to explain that no, indeed, I don't want to have a couple of inches taken off; I want a couple of inches left. She is amused. (From her demeanor during the haircut, either she's easily amused or it's a professional act. I incline toward the latter hypothesis.)
It is done. Spring is officially here.
The ritual begins over the bathroom sink, as I haggle away with scissors at about four inches of beard. It's not the easiest of tasks; working on the right side of my neck is especially awkward. After about twenty minutes, I reach the point of diminishing returns with the scissors. I have about a quarter-inch of scruff left. I no longer resemble Karl Marx; I actually fancy a vague resemblance to the actor Jason Carter - not the charmingly raffish Marcus of Babylon 5, but the nasty-looking Demon of Hatred he portrayed on one episode of Charmed. (For aficionados, it's the episode that ends with Cole turning on his masters and massacring the Triad.) Now the razor comes out. Slowly the skin emerges from its winter hibernation, fresh and pink (and in one or two places bloody...). When I finish, Murphy comes in, tail wagging, to lick my new-shaven face. Canine custom satisfied, I take a shower.
Next comes the walk over to Custom Cuts. (They're not the cheapest, but they're not expensive and they have the sterling advantage of being close by.) I feel the faint March breeze strongly on my chin and neck... At the stylist, I have to explain that no, indeed, I don't want to have a couple of inches taken off; I want a couple of inches left. She is amused. (From her demeanor during the haircut, either she's easily amused or it's a professional act. I incline toward the latter hypothesis.)
It is done. Spring is officially here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-25 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-25 10:28 pm (UTC)