As usual, our visit to the Savannah area was a mixture of fun, friends, family and fall visits to doctors.  Barb and I saw our skin doctor and our optometrist, where we conceded that our ten-year old Lasik surgeries had finally expired:  we both needed and got eyeglasses.  Barb had her annual mammogram.  (I decided I didn’t need one.)  We updated our wills.  I got a haircut, an operation that would not normally warrant any comment.  Barb usually cuts my hair, since we are normally on our boat.  So I have no “usual” barber in the Savannah area.  Barb had an errand to run, so I thought I would drop into the next barber shop we saw and get it cut while she ran off to do her thing.  We found one in Pooler called “Beauty & Barber”.  I walked in, and found that the two barbers were African American, as was the female waiting patiently for a “beauty” customer.  The chief barber invited me to sit down, and said he would get to me next.   Both barbers were busy cutting the hair of African American customers.  Their hair was being close-cut.  Very close-cut.  Patterns were being cut into their hair:  curly lines completely shorn of any covering.

When it was my turn, the chief barber introduced himself as “Pop”, and asked how I wanted my haircut.   I said I only wanted the sides and back shortened a little, with very little taken off the top.  (I have migrated away from the buzz cut that I sported in earlier years, and rather like the longer look.)  Pop asked if I wanted the sides tapered. I responded in the affirmative, visualizing the alternative as a style that would look as if a bowl had been placed on my head and only the hair below the rim of the bowl had been shortened.  When Pop made his first cut, I knew I had made a mistake, but that it was too late.  He started in front of my ear and made a cut that extended all the way down to my skin in depth, and extended all the way up the side of my head in length.   And then for 20 agonizing minutes he worked on the sides and back, pushing down firmly and repeatedly, until the areas were every bit as short as that of his former customer.  And then, mindful of at least of a bit of my initial request, he  took only a little too much off the top.  The total cost:  only $10 dollars.  When I exited the shop, I found Barb waiting for me in the car.  She found my appearance and the broad smile on my face to be more than a little contradictory, but hey, if one cannot laugh at oneself …

We drove out to our old stomping grounds near Richmond Hill, and were relieved to see that our former home was in much better shape than the last time we checked up on it.  A mile further down the road is Ft. McAlister Marina, where the new owners have further enhanced the docks and the associated restaurant.

We had lunch with Dick & Karen Munson.  We had lunch with Steve & Beth Ellis.  We had lunch with Joy Reed.  We had dinner with Mike & Iris Dayoub.  We spent a lot of time with our daughter Danielle and her two girls Abbie & Kristen, including a multi-day trip to extreme southern Georgia to spend some time at Cumberland Island – a trip that deserves its own blog.  (See the next post.)

All of these activities left us with a sense of accomplishment and a sense of satisfaction – it is good to take care of life’s responsibilities and great to see friends and family.