Ravena Fire selects new slate of officers

By Dick Brooks

For Capital Region Independent Media

An all-day rain put a crimp in the fun activities I had planned for today, mostly weed whacking and mowing. 

Telly, my faithful canine companion, lies curled up on his comfy bed napping, which looked like a good way to spend the afternoon so I curled up on my recliner for a little ponder session followed by a short recovery nap. 

I went to the barber yesterday. It’s a real barber shop, not some kind of styling unisex salon.  Television sets all set on the sports channels, a comfy couch and even a sweet little dog who came and curled up on the couch next to me for a belly rub. 

The young man in front of me had shoulder-length hair that he had decided to have shorn. In a relatively short time, the barber was standing in ankle-deep hair and a handsome young man appeared where a refugee from the ‘70s had been. The pile of hair that was swept up was about the same size as the shop dog. 

I decided to have a ponder about hair. 

Maybe I made that choice because I was a bit envious. I have been follically challenged for more years than I care to remember. In my early 30s I became aware that my forehead was expanding.  It has expanded to the extent that I now keep a large rubber band hanging on the shower head that I hook under my chin and pull up to the top of my head so I know how far up to wash and how far down to shampoo. 

There’s no doubt that the half acre of pink scalp on top of my head qualifies me as bald. Not the fashionable bald of the younger set who achieve that state with daily use of a razor, but the fuzzy rimmed bald of a senior citizen who came by it naturally. 

I’ve come to appreciate some aspects of this condition. It costs less. I really have no need of shampoos or conditioners. I don’t need a hair dryer or an assortment of styling gels, although I will admit to using Butch Wax as a teen. I shampoo with regular soap, rinse, a quick rub with a towel and a splash of Mop and Glow on top and out the door I go. 

Losing the fur on top doesn’t mean I can no longer grow hair. Quite the contrary, it is sprouting in places where it never grew before. Shaving now takes up the time I’ve saved on my hair. Hair sprouts merrily out of my ears, the top of my nose, it waves out of each nostril, curls around each knuckle and it is braiding length on my forearms.

I suppose I could go to one of these hair restorers I see advertised and get some of the unwanted stuff transplanted to the top, but I’d probably have to weed and fertilize it like the day lilies we just transplanted in the garden. I don’t think I’d like to be responsible for that kind of care after decades of neglecting my head crop. 

There is one solution that seems viable. I recalled Andy Rooney’s magnificent eyebrows. I’m going to try rubbing mine with Miracle Grow. If it works and my eyebrows bush out like Andy’s, I’ll just comb them back and problem solved.

Thought for the week— “In youth the absence of pleasure is pain; in old age the absence of pain is pleasure.” ~ Old Farmer’s Almanac, 1892

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.

Reach columnist Dick Brooks at Whittle12124@yahoo.com.