Chucks Barber Shop

When I was a child I’d get my haircuts at a local barber shop called Chuck’s. When it was my turn to mount the big leather chair, Chuck would hold his hand up, signaling me to wait; and I watched, enthralled, as he picked up his towel and slapped it on the seat of the chair. The previous customer’s hair was snapped off the seat, settling in soft clumps on the floor. And the chair was refreshed.

Once I was seated, with my little paper collar wrapped snugly around my neck and the cape secured, Chuck whistled as he swept away the hair clearing his area. Recalling it with my current understanding of energy, he was smudging!
 
How do I clean my canine massage table during events? Snap goes the towel. Four or five slaps and we’re good to go. The table is cleared of hair, debris, and sticky tenacious energy. The space brand-spanking ready for the next critter.
 
Sometimes we learn the lessons we need to know in the most unremarkable circumstances. Somehow though, I knew then that what he was doing was significant. I knew to pay attention. So, thank you, Chuck, wherever (whatever) you are. You were one of my first masters. And I miss having my neck lathered with warm shaving cream, and listening to the rhythmic slapping of the straight razor sharpening on a leather strop, bracing myself for the hot towel. I even miss the barbershop scent of the aftershave.