shave and a haircut -- no tip

It was haircut time. And I was the barber.

The house with no name is not encumbered with plants. I have four large planters in the patio that act as privacy screens for each of the bedrooms. Two are filled with cup of gold vines and heliconia. The other with the same vines and a variety of palm.

The palms and the heliconia need only occasional snips to tidy them up and to battle the ever-present plaga -- a name Mexicans seem to apply to any viral or insect infestation that will eventually bring down the sturdiest of plants.

It is the vines that cause me to haul out the ladder and the pruning shears every three or four weeks. If I do not, the only way to subdue them would be to cut down the entire trellis-worth and let them start anew. The last time I did that, I swore I would keep up with the growth.

So, that is what I did yesterday. Usually, I will not get up on the ladder unless someone else is in the house. Omar was at work, but it was Dora's cleaning day. I had everything set out ready to launch. The only thing I had to do was to wait for her arrival at 9.

But she did not show up at 9 or 9:30 or 10. When 10:15 rolled around I girded my loins and set forth to battle the plants. This job would need to be done solo.

I cannot reach most of the areas that need trimming while standing on the ladder. What I cannot reach on the ladder, I can prune while on my knees forcing my torso under the railing upstairs. In that less-than-dignified position, I can clip away at the top portion of the trellis.

Even so, I do need to scale the ladder to shave the vines' unruly beards.

I do not like ladders. When I lived in Salem, I rode ladders down to the ground twice avoiding any serious long-term injury. I do recall climbing a three-story painter's ladder to rip the Boston ivy off of my chimney and saying to myself, "This is the last time I am doing this."

As we age we become unbalanced. Not mentally. That is another essay. We lose the ability to feel secure on ladders or other heights.

That happened to me yesterday. At one point, I felt as if I would fall backwards if I moved. It was a silly thought. But it felt real.

I finished the trimming without incident. Each of the vines now looks as if the head gardener at Suan Nong Nooch stopped by to tidy up.

And I may have completed my chores just in time. When the rains arrive, the plants in the planters will grow like 12-year old boys. The shears will then come out more often.

But that will most likely not happen for another week -- even though the cities in the highlands in our part of Mexico have already had rain. Lots of it.

We will wait for our turn. Patiently. And welcome its arrival.

And this barber, who never gets a tip, knows another customer will soon be in the chair.

I think of myself as Sweeney Todd.