Fargo, WA
It's been nippy in the mornings, in the 20s. Hardly staggering to some of you, but still it feels odd, even in winter. I had a slow morning so I went to the grocery store for essentials (shampoo, cheese, Splenda; most of your basic food pyramid) and slid all the way in, trying to recall how to negotiate ice while keeping my hands in my pockets.
Meanwhile, Beth tells me it was in the 80s in North Texas today. So much for living in the same country. I guess next time I visit I'll have to brush up on my language skills, or at least get my shots. That's just too different.
I'm too scattered to be coherent tonight; too much on my mind. I did notice that somebodies are still buying my book on amazon.com, since they do a good job of letting me know. Just a dribble, all that can be expected for a book that has had virtually no marketing at all, even though I'm sort of surrounded by potentially 50,000 people who read my weekly column and you'd think I'd get off my sorry butt and do something. I mean to, really.
Anyway, I check Amazon once or twice a week and noticed that they now have my subtitle on their site. This is a very strange thing, considering it's not technically a subtitle. It only exists on the second page of the book; it's not on the cover or anything. I only added it to (in my thinking back then) shed a little local color and maybe incentive to wandering purchasers of books, wherever you might be.
How did that happen? Did some enterprising person at Amazon notice Page Two? I have no idea. Still, it's nice. Type in "Mukilteo" in the Amazon search engine and you'll get me.
Secondly, I got a haircut last week, from Breanna. Breanna cut my hair in August, before I went to Texas. She cuts my wife's hair, and now she cuts mine. I like knowing the person who cuts my hair; it saves me the energy of improvising conversation when I'm in the chair, and like my doctor and dentist (and occasionally the mortgage company) it's nice to know someone who understands how I procrastinate.
In other words, Breanna cut my hair in August, and Breanna cut my hair in February. Who cut it in between?
I'll wait.
So I've been stuffing my hair into a cap for the past two months, trying hard not to look like a fool, or maybe a homeless person. The thing is, when a 46-year-old man wears his hair past his collar and over his ears, people tend to think it's a personal grooming choice, an attitude (if a questionable one), and really it's just about putting stuff off. But I wouldn't go to church and I tended to duck and cover in the grocery store, so Breanna cleaned me up real good and suggested I come back in six weeks. Which maybe I will.
I certainly went to church on Sunday. I practically strutted. I was Church Man, hair all cut and everything. I even sang along, waved when my wife (who was preaching) pointed me out, pointed out that the stranger in the corner was actually part of her life, which always comes as a surprise to people.
My great-grandfather on my paternal side was an itinerate Methodist preacher, a circuit rider of sorts, and my wife sort of carries on the work, in a way. That is, she will occasionally stray from her flock and fill in at a local church, sharing her wisdom and education and beauty and spirit-filled-ness with strangers. Me, I sit in a corner, if the hair is okay.
I have some issues.
I don't think you have to go to church to be a Christian, or a spiritual person, or even as an excuse. I think church is an option, I always have, I probably always will.
But my soul sings there, sings with the others, and an older woman who has known me a long time spotted me and hugged, mentioned a silly poem I'd written years ago about communion based on "Green Eggs and Ham," and I thought then that maybe I hadn't been keeping my promises.
It was a nice hug, though.
Listen: I have knelt every day for the past few years. In one way or the other. I have given in to the goodness of God and succumbed to demons who pull my hair and say it needs to be longer. I have been surrounded by love and called to by Evil that tells me to cash it in.
I have done okay. And I have searched the psalms for help and hope, and usually I've found it. You can always trust the psalmists and the poets.
Well, most of the time. Whitman got a little interesting there. And James Whitcomb Riley could be boring.
Breanna is now self-employed. Tell me about it. I told her. But she's good at what she's does, and I can sit in her chair and watch sailboats, docked or not, so I think I'll go back, knowing she's not emasculating strength but enhancing it, if for no other reason than I feel comfortable in church now. Screw Samson.
It's not about a haircut, anyway. Or Amazon. Or anything.
Except
O Lord
My heart is not lifted up
My eyes are not raised too high.
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul...
I have a haircut. Beat that.
Plus the Amazon thing.
8:08:29 PM 
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