Still More Random Notes

So. Yesterday… being close to the first of the month… was filled with the banal yet essential trivialities of life. Bills were paid. I completed the bi-monthly commissary and beer run with minimal drama and maximum efficiency. I got my quarterly haircut. So on and so forth.

The usual, customary, and reasonable Happy Hour was my reward for completing the necessary tasks but with the advent of warm weather we’re deprived of our soundtrack, seeing as how we keep El Casa Móvil De Pennington buttoned up tight when the AC is running. Our neighbors doubtlessly appreciate that… even though I try to keep the music at a level that’s sufficient for my ears only. We do live in close quarters here in Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park, though.

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I always get my hair cut out at the base barbershop (of late… more on that below), which tends to be more economical than the civilian shops in the area. There is a downside, though, as employee turnover is high out at the base and I’ve never quite understood why that is. I have theories… well, one theory. Most of the barbers, and they are ALL female, are probably married to GIs… and when the GIs leave, so does the help. I don’t like that. I prefer to go to the same person each and every time for my four-times-a-year barbering experience. Build a relationship, and all that. But if that’s what I TRULY wanted, I’d go local… as the barbers in the old shop I patronized a few years back were steady in their employment… being owner-operated.

Still and even… I wish there were establishments that provided services such as this in my neck o’ the woods. I’d pay good money for this…seeing as how it only happens four times a year:

We then walked down an alley and into a barber shop. There waiting for us was an old man, the barber, and two young Japanese maidens, all three smiling broadly. The old man waved me into one of the barber chairs, and I dutifully sat. The old man reclined the barber chair and I stretched out, fully supine. One of the girls then proceeded to take off my shoes and socks, while the other fetched a large handful of steaming towels from a container. She artfully wrapped my entire head in those towels, leaving a small space for me to breathe through. All the while this is going on, the other girl is washing my feet. After a few minutes, the second girl unwraps my face and the barber proceeds to shave me. The first girl is still working on my feet, giving me a pedicure and ending up with a prolonged and wonderful foot massage. After the barber finished shaving me I was escorted to a wash stand where the first girl washed and towel-dried my hair. Then it was back to the barber chair for the actual haircut while the two girls gave me a manicure. The whole experience ended with both girls massaging my entire upper body. I walked out of that place feeling like a million bucks, and I’ve never had a “haircut” like that, ever again.

Ah… but that was in Japan, in the ‘70s, and all that was had for the princely sum of around 15 Yankee Dollars, if memory serves. But the haircut was a birthday present and I didn’t pick up the tab. It could have been more, but I doubt it. (You’ll also note, if you follow the link and read the whole thing, that I was “going local” when that piece was written a few years back. We’ve since changed our habits.)

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Blog-Bud Kris is back from her cruise vacation and has posted interesting narrative and pics of the experience. Some of the pics she’s posted are of the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor… which resulted in me posting the following in her comments:

Seeing the Statue of Liberty at this level is awe-inspiring. People go mad taking pictures - myself included - and there typically isn't alot of conversation. Respect for this iconic image is obvious - the experience is treated with reverence by everyone.

The family spent five consecutive years overseas when I was a child... with no trips home... and we returned to the US via sea (the ol' Military Sea Transport Service, out of bid'niz now that everyone goes to and fro by air). The ONE thing among many I'll never forget about that trip... and it was epic, as we embarked in Istanbul and made many port calls in the Med on the two week journey home... is my Mom bursting into tears when the Statue of Liberty came into full view as we sailed into New York harbor. It was a defining moment for me, and something I'll NEVER forget.

So... I know exactly where you're coming from with this.

S’true, that. I’ve spent some time today remembering that experience… of standing on the ship’s rail in the morning’s summer sunshine, watching the coastline get steadily larger… from the thinnest of thin lines on the horizon to the point where it began to fill our view, further enlarging to the point where one could make out buildings and such… and then my Mom’s hand gripping mine so hard it hurt when Lady Liberty came into glorious full view. It was then I was going to say “Mom!” when I looked over and saw the tears streaming down her face and my father’s arm around her shoulder. Things just don’t get any more poignant than that, Gentle Reader. I was 13 years old at the time.

Just as a short digression… I’ve also wondered a bit this morning about the navigation skills of the master and crew of the ship… and just how they managed to end a two week voyage across the Mediterranean Sea and Atlantic Ocean so as to arrive in New York in the morning daylight… not to mention to facilitate the disembarking process in a manner that would allow all aboard to either make other transportation connections or get to their hotels in a timely manner. A small miracle that was.

But… let us return to our reminiscing… Five years is a long time to be away from home. Our consecutive tours in Paris… three years, followed by a two-year stint in Ankara, Turkey… were probably a LOT harder on my parents, particularly my Mom, than they were on my sister and I. Keep in mind this was in the 1950s, and we went five years with no TV and no telephone, just for starters. My family went entirely without a lot of the things we take for granted today… like fresh iceberg lettuce… for an extended period of time. While the experience was wonderful for my sister and me it was doubtless much less so for Mom. The support mechanisms our troops take for granted today… big-ass commissaries and base exchanges, just to name two… existed only in rudimentary form “back in the day.”

Another memory I have of our return is what Mom ordered for dinner our first night home. She instructed the waiter in the restaurant to cut a full head of lettuce into quarters and bring her a bowl FULL of Thousand Island dressing. And that was IT… all she had for dinner, period, full-stop. I remember that very well, as it became part of the family lore… a tale told and retold throughout the remainder of my childhood whenever the subject of homecomings came up.

I suppose you hadda be there. I'm glad I was.