hair after

When I walked into Yolanda's shop on Saturday, I am certain she wished one of her other barbers was on duty.

I am not certain when I had my last hair cut, but I know that when I was in Oregon for Thanksgiving, I needed one then. I will let you do the math.

Plenty of people are sporting corona-dos. But the virus was only one reason I my hair that looked like a cross between John C. Calhoun and Jeremiah Johnson.

Yolanda and I had a laugh about the state of my appearance. She asked me if I wanted it cut with scissors or clippers. I never know the answer to that question, so, I told her it was her choice. After all, it is just a bunch of dead cells that needs tending now and then.

She then asked how I wanted it cut. For whatever reason, I told her "corto" and then slipped into the next chapter of Erik Larson's The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz -- on my Kindle.

Something about the sound of the first swipe of the clippers made me look up. I had not heard anything approximating that sound since my first trip to the barber in Officer Training School. The left side of my head looked like a hillside of clear-cut timber.

By then, there was nothing to do but to wait for it to be over. When she trimmed up the edges, I was ready to head off to my Air Force history class.

Overall, it is fine. And very utilitarian. Last week, both the temperature and humidity edged up to summer levels. Both will continue to climb until they reach their peaks in September or October. For the entire summer, we will welcome every drop of rain that falls.

Taking a lesson from Yolanda, this morning I trimmed up the vines in the four planters that surround the swimming pool. At this time of year, if they are not trimmed weekly, they will be launching imperial attacks on the upper terrace.

The more important news is that we finally had a storm last night that comes close to being counted as a rain storm. Plenty of lightning and thunder, but very little rain. The rain was sufficient to prod a growth spurt in the vines. But it is not really a rain storm here until the sewers start burbling like fountains -- and what is supposed to flow below, flows above. For weeks.

I may not call it a rain storm, but a young snake, who got trapped in what some of my friends call a "water feature" but is nothing more than the pool overflow, would call it at least perilous.

I am not certain what type of snake it is, but it had no notion that my hand was going to rescue, and not crush, it. It kept striking at me with each rescue try. And I understand why. Young snakes are pretty low on on the food chain. Kindness is not expected.

With the help of Antonio the Pool Guy, I managed to get the snake into what is now being called The Rescue Bucket, and released him in the lot in front of my house.

I went several years living here without seeing a snake. In the last two months, we have seen four. My house seems to be a way-station on some serpent highway.

And who says I was going to be bored without traveling?