Rock the Silver

Leaving well enough alone

Good news on the hair front. Tricia, a Rock the Silver® fan, told me about a shampoo and conditioner that is not expensive and so far seems to work great. Head Organics. I bought it at Ulta in the cheap section. I'm always nervous about making a recommendation -- I still believe the red tea stuff was making my hair darker. Even my notoriously non-observant husband said it now looks shinier and silver-er. 

The conditioner and the leave-in product both have silicone, so you have to be careful. Build up is likely, but I think all it takes is a clarifying shampoo once in awhile. Lord, I hope that's all it takes, because I am loving the way my hair looks and feels.

I also had a long-overdue haircut. I got a little carried away with let it grow, let it grow, let it grow. Trims are necessary. But trims are like moderation for me in exercise -- I nice ideal that is difficult to sustain. But I'm on the right path again. My regular stylist is on her honeymoon, and I really liked the substitute. I hope it won't be disrespectful to make a permanent switch. Readers, please let me know -- can you do that? What's the proper etiquette?

My new stylist said my sides aren't pure bob yet, because all the layers are growing out. She gets it! But I am almost there. I may just wait for the perfect bob and forget long.

Here I am all scrubby and clean with no makeup in my Helen Mirren in the bathtub pose. Or maybe my Karate Kid pose. I got a nice new karate-style summer-weight robe at T.J. Maxx to fight off the air conditioning demons. I do see frizzies at the top mostly, but I think it's my incompetent blow-drying technique. I read about the Brazilian Blowout and have been wondering if that would cure my frizzies. The before and afters looks great.

I have found that if it sounds too good to be true, it generally is. So, in uncharacteristic fashion, I will leave well enough alone. What a concept!

Happy belated Father's Day

I'm a bit late for Father's Day, but yesterday I was talking with a friend who is dealing with a difficult Dad, and I thought it might be helpful to share this story. I'll tell you the end first -- get counseling if you have issues with your family. You do not have to carry this baggage forever. Live your best years without hanging onto whatever you thought you were due.

I often joke that I was raised by wolves. My dad was particularly challenging. Cold, distant, angry, verbally abusive. My mother liked to stir the fire. It didn't make for a peaceful upbringing, and I got out of Dodge as fast as I could. The key was to be several area codes away.

When I got cancer at age 43, I went to counseling. I thought I would need help dealing with the disease, but we ended up focusing on how I could earn a living without losing my creative passion and how to accept my family. I'm pretty sure we never even talked about cancer. My psychologist was sly.

She got me talking about my dad's eccentricities. Not as a disappointed daughter would talk about her father but as an interested observer might see him. I remember telling her about the camper. For as long as I can remember during my childhood, my father slept in a camper parked in the backyard.

Her: Why do you think he slept out there?
Me: My mother said he snored.
Her: No, why do you think he slept out there?
Me: I think he was a ramblin' man.

I explain. As I heard it, Bill left a hard home life during the Great Depression at age 13 and road the rails. Bummed his way around the country. Fished in Mexico. Lived with Native Americans in Arizona. Learned to bead. Ran a bowling alley in Palm Springs. Got drafted. Went AWOL one weekend and fell in love with a girl he met in a bar. Married her, went back to the war and came home afterward somehow damaged.

He never accepted the responsibilities of family life, and sleeping in the camper made him feel unbridled. He was long dead, and I had pretty much written him out of my memories, until I met up with the counselor. At some point, it wasn't about me anymore. It was about him. His rough start. His unfinished dreams. I came to the conclusion that both my parents did the best they could.

Shortly after I finished chemo, I went to California to visit my mom and sister. When we talked about my dad in earlier years, we talked about what a missed opportunity we had. For some reason, this time we talked about what a missed opportunity he had. He made mistakes, did some bad things, but if you read about him in a book, you'd think he was an incredibly interesting character.

The next part of this story is uncharacteristic of me. I am not a sentimentalist. A former boyfriend dumped me because he said my spiritual attributes were nil. Those were his exact words. I never got mad about his comment, because it was true.  So, you have to accept that this part is true, too. I had just returned from the visit home and was in bed, awake, thinking about the whole experience. No fan, no windows open. A piece of paper fluttered on the dresser top, and I instantly had this feeling of my father being in the room. I didn't see him or anything ... it was just a feeling of his presence.

Sat up straight in bed and said, "It's OK, Daddy, I forgive you."  And I've been free ever since. 

I never was big on Hallmark holidays. Always late with the card. Always late with the gift. I guess this time, too, but my friend's pain about feeling rejected by her father made me get up off my butt and say something. At some point you become an adult. If you pay attention and do the hard work, you realize that it's not all about you anymore. You are fine.

The counselor said I made a lot of progress. She said I was ready to move on with my life. Take the cancer journey wherever it was going to take me. She said the camper was finally pulling out of the driveway.

I always liked that metaphor. I picture myself cruising along on the open road, windows open, silver hair blowing in the wind. Loving life. Wishing the wolves a good night's sleep.

Younger than thou

I met a woman this week who I guessed to be in her mid-to-late 60s. She had short blonde hair and wore some kind of a mom sweater with cotton elastic-waist pants and sensible shoes. She was incredibly nice, and I thought, wow, I'll bet she is the sweetest grandma ever. I was ready to take her home and let her bake me cookies.

She mentioned someone I might know, and as we were trying to figure out if it was the same person I thought she meant, I asked, "Well, how old a guy is he?"  She said, "You know, our age."

I almost threw up.

Our age?

I'm not proud of this reaction. I'm simply reporting the facts. I discussed it intelligently with my husband later over drinks. I was going to have a gin and tonic, but I thought it seemed too old lady. I looked up recipes for trendy martinis, but it was a bridge too far. I ended up with a can of Bud Light.

Me: Can you believe it? The gall!

(gulp, gulp)

Him: What, that neither one of you is young?

Me: I most certainly am younger than her.

(gulp, gulp)

Him: It's a competition? Younger than thou?

Me: Of course not. I feel good about aging.

(gulp)

Him: Doesn't seem like it.

Me: It's a journey!

(crush)

Him: Well, you'd better get going.

Rebels at heart

In case you missed it, Diana Jewel of the website Going Gray Looking Great scored an interview on the Today Show along with several of our gorgeous silver sisters. Diana's hair is a little shorter than I've previously seen, and it looks fabulous. Anne Kreamer, who wrote Going Gray, was among the group interviewed. Her hair is pretty long now, and she is looking better than ever!

The beauty industry experts interviewed on the episode said women who have gray hair are rebels. The pressure to conform and cover those grays is huge, and those of us who resist are butting up against man and the machine. OK, they didn't say it exactly like that.  But they did call us rebels!

I like it. I've always thought I marched to the beat of a different drummer, but it seems that age has muffled the sound just a bit. I have found that all manner of small concessions are required to live in the mainstream.

Still, there's that inner rebel who rather likes the idea that a head of silver hair is somehow living dangerously. I'm still the same 18-year-old girl who joined the Army to see the world. Still the same girl who didn't change her name when she got married 31 years ago. Still the same girl who marched for the Equal Rights Amendment. 

Truth be told, at this point in my life it's not so much about living dangerously as it is living with authenticity. Not so much about political statements but facing every day without fear. And I think that's what gray hair is all about. 

Well, all that, and being cool.