Barbershop

I went for a haircut this morning.  I love traditional barbershops and avoid unisex hair salons absolutely.  The place I go in town has the spiraling poll next to the door, three chairs (two of which are manned by barbers in their sixties, well, one of them is probably in his 70's).  They greet you by name.  A lady walking her large dog enters and lets the customers pet Honey the dog.  As I was getting my haircut the other barber started teasing his customer, an octogenarian named Carl with just an efflorescence of white on either side of his dome, about his allegiance to Northwestern Football.  "Carl," says the barber, "when you pass they ought to put a statue of you in front of Ryan Field."  "That would be nice," croaks Carl, laughing.  My barber says, "No, no, what we ought to do is get a taxidermist to stuff him and put him there, maybe have the arm motorized so that it can wave to the fans."  "Yes, yes," says Carl, "and my nose would light up."

Immortality!

Incipit

I'm not sure why I'm starting this, but I think that I need a place to write some random thoughts.  I'm intrigued too by anonymity.  I've done a fair amount of blogging in the past, always using my real name, and I want to see how it feels to write as an unknown.

The title of this blog came to me because I think a lot now about aging.  I'm 67 (68 in three months) and in very good health, but I have a 99 year old mother who has not been in serious touch with present time in a couple of years.  Not surprisingly, I'm haunted by the idea of losing my own grasp on the present, although I seem to be losing the past more effectively.  But the "blues" in the title does not mean that this is going to be an interminable sob about getting old.  There are all kinds of blues.

So we'll see what happens here.