Regarding what I said on Monday, that the connection between barba and barber hit me with body-shaking force:
I was totally not joking. Earlier that day, I'd been saying to myself that I would gladly pay a qualified professional for some help with beard care. I haven't yet figured out how to do it to my own satisfaction, and every day or two I find myself with clippers or scissors in my hand, staring at shape or a number of stray hairs, feeling a bit perplexed about the best course of action. That it's so constant annoys me a little, and I don't feel like I'm good at it, and my beard and mustache never quite look as neat as I'd like them to, and whatever combinations of words I've used as search terms has turned up endless pages--in modern America, information regarding facial hair care being nothing if not abundant--but not the hard, practical, specific information I'm looking for. Yes, I say, impatiently, but what if your mustache is bristly? I've learned about beard brushes (legitimately useful) and beard oil (necessary) and beard balm (jury's still out) and mustache wax (see bit above about bristly mustaches), but the particulars of wielding the trimming blades with a warrior's grace are either few and far between, or else so abstruse that they don't show up on the front page of Google's rankings, in which case (as we all know) they essentially don't exist.
Perhaps there are whole sections of the Dark Web devoted to these dark arts, I considered. Perhaps covens of scissor-wielding wizards travel amongst the shadows. They speak in shiver-inducing whispers, the hoods of their cloaks raised, and show up unannounced at our doors. Their knock is a secret knock, but one which everyone knows. A knock that contains within it a mystery, waiting to be solved. Shave and a haircut? it queries, and waits knowingly. When the proper reply comes--Two bits!--nothing further need be spoken. They just know.
So anyway. When it hit me that I was wishing into existence a thing that's existed literally since the Middle Ages, I was flabbergasted and amused that I'd never made the connection before. I mean, I've known the Spanish word for beard for the majority of my life. Did it really never occur to me before right now that there is a connection between these words, that they share the same root?
Nope. Never occurred to me.
I think the last time I went to an actual barber was 1996. How many of them even exist anymore? Have they not all been done away with by stylists and salons?
I have so many questions. Do true barbers see cutting hair as merely an adjunct to what they consider their true callings? Have they just been waiting, patiently, while the spinning helices of their barber poles explain to all eyes capable of seeing that time both passes but is also an endless flow? Do the endless spirals encode an invitation to a cleaner and better world?
Will I walk in, stumble over my words as I try to describe the convoluted path to linguistic realization that brought me to their shop? Will I struggle as I try to express the layers of confusion and stress that have built up as I've tried to navigate this chaotic, unknown, bristly world, this perplexing and stressful topography that grew up concomitant with the whiskers on my face?
Will I be met with a strong and empathic gaze and a comforting arm around my shoulder? Will a calming voice reassure: "I know, son. We understand. We've been waiting for you."