And It Will Be Random…

So had an 11:45 AM haircut. Nothing unusual – set to pay $50 plus tip for 15 minutes worth of work plus 45 minutes of air-clipping and combing at my few remaining hairs to make me feel better about the experience. Well, that, and the two beautiful blonds working the front counter who call me "Cecil Craig" and flirt unapologetically with fake laughter while toying with their perfect dos. I eat it up. That's what I pay for... that's why I return.


Again, nothing unsual.

Well, after the small talk with my stylist ends, I'm left to my own thoughts. Normally my mind wonders to work. What will the week be like? What drama is forthcoming? To whom do I owe deliverables (damn just thought of one…mental note made)? While trying to put work from my mind, I often day dream about what flavor latte I will treat myself to on the walk home. I also try to convince myself that I do not need a massage and wonder how I will work in a run before Mass (yes, I usually get my haircut on Sundays) or between Mass and Sunday night television. Then my mind wonders back to work, as I wonder if I should get a jump on the week ---- and then the process starts over.

Today, however, I randomly tried to recall what movie I saw with my mother during my last visit home. I was annoyed that I could not remember, so I dug deeper and thought harder. Finally, I came up with Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol. And I thought, hm... How did I talk her into seeing that? And then I thought what a wonderful visit home I had; one of the best in a long time. We went to the Columbus Zoo to see the winter lights display. We bonded as my mother showed me every coin in her coin collection. My mother calmed me as I was stressed over this whistleblower stalker. We made oven pizza together and watched scary movies. I told her I loved her a thousand times and wouldn't trade her for any mother in the world (I am sentimental and usually sneak this conversation in once during every visit; she always ate it up). And finally, it was time to leave… and, as I was always eager to leave after a long visit, I choked up a bit, she choked up and we hugged lots. This happens. It happened about once every second or third visit since that first time she dropped me at the airport, when I left for *good*, I cried the entire flight to Chicago… and at my first solo dinner in Chicago at the Rock and Roll McDonald's.

And so I puddled-up like a jerk in the salon. I tried to stop it. My stylist said nothing. Perhaps he suspected. Had it been allergies, he would have asked, right? Sometimes people just know. It wasn't waterworks. It is waterworks now. It was that damn Mother's Day poster, I know it.

I've been reasonably composed, but I miss her dearly. I am comforted by my Jedi beliefs. I truly believe my mother is part of the force. Luke Skywalker cried when Obi-Wan passed, but came back stronger. I know my mother is with me, I can feel it with the certainty that today is Sunday and it is raining. I am great on memories and confidence in my ability to pursue my dreams while acting with the integrity that she would expect. But it is not okay that I cannot hear her voice, I mean I can hear it, but I want to hear it. Alas, we don't always get what we want … and it is insanity to long for the impossible, but the feeling remains. And it will be random . . .