The Barber Shop

I've been thinking, like many Americans, about the video of Donald Trump and his appalling remarks about groping and assaulting women.

There have been Trump defenders who say his remarks don't matter because they're only words, and that men talk like that all the time. I think they're wrong on both counts, but that defense got me thinking about a story from my childhood.

In the town where I grew up, in Florida, there was a barber shop called Chuck's. We didn't go there much; my mom usually cut our hair. But I went once or twice, probably with my babysitter, who knew the people who worked there and at the adjacent beauty shop. I remember it being a fairly grimy down-home place with hair on the floor, smoke in the air and guys sitting around talking in a southern twang.

During one of his visits to our house from up north, my grandfather went to Chuck's for a haircut. He came home appalled at the language used by the other men. He said he'd never heard such filthy talk.

Which is simply my way of pointing out that while some guys might talk that way, not all do. Some of us find it shocking, especially in a presidential candidate. The constituents in Chuck's (which has long since closed) are pretty much Trump's core voters, I would imagine -- but surely even among them there are men with daughters who are not going to react well to that kind of banter.

I took Olga to Hampstead Heath yesterday, and she found this narrow trench in the ground. I'm not sure what created it -- it was there during the rainy season and would periodically fill with water. Now it's completely dry, so Olga climbed right in and explored.

I think she liked it because the ground was cool. She's such a goofball.

We had a good long walk, and then Dave and I went to dinner with our friends Chris and Linda at a neighborhood restaurant. And now, back to work!

(Top photo: Autumn foliage in Hampstead, yesterday.)