quite different from - my friend with dementia laughs - the first would cause fear, the next some concern, the last,
true syntax just delights. I say, "Barbershop!" He says, "Hippityhop!" and we share a big hoot. Two minutes later,
at the revolving, striped pole, he says, with some dramatic urgency, "Are we at the barbershop? "Yes," I say,
"we're going to sing quartets." "Don't we need more people?" he says, half teasing, half believing, that this may be
why we are in the unknown shop he visits every other week. In the chair, smocked, bibbed, my friend is confused.
He opens his mouth for the dentist he expects. "It's a haircut, honey" I remind him. "We'll sing barbershop quartets
after your haircut." He struggles to catch up the thought. "Maybe they'll want us to leave before we sing," he jokes.
I hum Down By The Old Mill Stream while the comb pulls at his head and the scissors snip near his ears. He doesn't
mind the woman talking behind him, moving his head, pulling his smock tighter at the neck. He doesn't see her.
He looks at me.I sing two songs together
Down by the old, mill stream, hippity hop hippity hop,/where i first met you, barbershop, barbershop,
with your eyes of blue, candy buy, candy buy,/i will love you true, one for me and one for you.
My friend with dementia laughs. This song makes some good sense.
Ooooh.
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