Rock the Silver

Gray hair isn't what ages us

A woman at work who is about my age complimented me on my hair this week and said she would go gray except that she competes with younger folks at work. I said, well, I do too, but I'm pretty sure they know how old we are. I'd rather just be in their face about it.

I don't think we project our most positive vibes when age and try to pretend it hasn't happened. Hell, yeah, it happened. And you'd better be glad it did, because I am that much better because of it. I'd much rather project the confidence of someone who has learned from life, is exceptional at her job and comfortable in her skin. Hide? I don't think so.

Hair is just one variable in how you are perceived. We are also judged by how we dress, what we say and even how we walk. A colleague was describing someone to me the other day, and he said, "You know, he looks like the dead guy walking." And I knew exactly who he was talking about.

I'm reading an excellent book about becoming even more vital both mentally and physically as we age. It's kind of groovy -- not for everyone -- but the stretching exercises alone are worth the price of admission. I find myself walking with more spring in my step. Gray hair isn't aging -- but aging is aging if you don't pay attention to your body and mind.

Yesterday I was shopping for a new bicycle. My hair was down and freshly blown, and I wore workout tights and my Rock the Silver t-shirt -- thinking I might do a test ride. The guy who runs the shop was probably my age or a bit older. He was pointing out a bike and said, "You're young and fit -- you won't grow out of this bike."

All day I kept thinking, he said I was young! I've stated quite frequently that I don't care if I look young, but still, it's better than if he had said, "You're getting on up there, and you won't need this bike for long." I asked my husband later if the guy was just flirting to sell me a bike. I mean I've got this crop of gray hair and wrinkles to match, surely he didn't really think I'm young?

My husband said, "Nah, it's how you come across. You seem young. That's probably what he meant."

Maybe they were both flirting.

I guess this is what 56 looks like

Today is my 56th birthday. I was thinking it was a non-event until I read an article about 9/11. One of the first responders was describing that horrible day, which also happened to be his birthday. He said the day is a joyous occasion for him now, because birthdays are a celebration of life.

I never really thought about it that way, even after being diagnosed with advanced stage ovarian/peritoneal cancer at age 43. I'm certainly happy to be here, but to me, birthdays were just another Hallmark day. But now I am going to think of it as a celebration of my life.

Sometimes I feel that I haven't accomplished what I set out to do, but overall, I think I've done a pretty good job with my time on Planet Earth. I'm profoundly grateful I got to live.

So, this is what 56 looks like. Could that be approaching shoulder-length gray hair? And leggings? I'm as surprised as anyone. So much yet to be revealed, and with any luck, plenty of time to get to the rest of the stuff.

Refusing to become irrelevant

Wondering if your best years are behind you? Read this article about 61-year-old marathon swimmer Diana Nyad for inspiration -- this particular article goes beyond the swimming -- she speaks from the heart about what inspires her to go on.

Cuba to Key West. She started last night. Go, Diana!

Too old for what?

A bunch of people think you should stop wearing mini skirts at 35, but I ignored them all and bought one anyway. Yesterday. I confess to wondering whether I was too old, but then I thought, too old for what?

These rules are starting to make me mad. Can't have gray hair. Can't have long hair. Can't wear a bikini. Can't wear high heels. No wonder people don't want to get old. Too many restrictions!

Getting older should be about tuning out the noise and being true to yourself. Like maybe you should just wear what looks good on you and do what makes you feel great? Aging should be a liberating experience. Wear what you want, say what you think, live how you like -- perhaps it is the absence of these things that makes aging such a drag for so many people.

We all have limitations -- financial, physical and otherwise. But age itself is a limitation that exists only in our minds.

Don't let the charlatans grind you down

It has been 20 years since we lived in Egypt. We were there for two and a half years and had the time of our lives. My husband was an Army officer and worked for the Office of Military Cooperation at the U.S. Embassy in Cairo. I worked for the U.S. Agency for International Development just across the street. It was the closest we ever came to being a power couple.

Dale and I both had excellent jobs, and the cost of living was ridiculously low. We'd cash one of my paychecks for $100 dollar bills, and we'd lock them up in a briefcase. When it was time to travel or go shopping, we'd open what we called "the briefcase full 'o 100s."  We traveled all over Egypt and did a lot of scuba diving in the Red Sea. We ocassionally branched out to places such as Cypress and Thailand. It was during the first Gulf War, so visiting other Middle Eastern countries was not an option.

We had both Egyptian and American holidays off. Lots of time to explore a fascinating country. We found the Egyptians warm and friendly, and the diplomatic and expat community was filled with educated, interesting people who liked to have fun. They're all away from home, so there's a sense of connectivity you don't get in the hum drum of life stateside. The lifestyle is party central. I think the reason we ultimately left was to dry out. 

Of course, we've been watching the events in Cairo and are excited for the people of Egypt as they embark on this new journey. But we also got all melancholy seeing our old haunts on TV. Sometimes life seems boring after that experience. This morning I got out the photo albums, and what I saw was even more surprising than President Mubarek's sudden fall from power. I looked young!

I mentioned to my husband that I was browsing through the photo albums, and I was stunned to see how young we were. He said, well, it was 20 years ago. Twenty years? Really? My skin was taut, my short sassy hair was glosssy brown with gold highlights and I'm sure I had yet to discover chin hairs.

Aging hasn't bothered me, mainly because I am so grateful to be alive after my cancer experience. But today was kind of a shock. I had a fleeting thought of quitting the blog and dying my hair. Maybe gray hair is aging. Maybe I'd look 10 years younger with a dye job. Maybe I could get half of that time back.

Then I said, so what? I look older. I am older, and I think I would look worse and feel worse if I tried to pretend it didn't happen. I mean, you can run, but you can't hide. Maybe the secret is to just relax and have fun. Sometimes I have to remind myself what it means to rock the silver. And sometimes the pressure is intense. There will be those who try to fool you into thinking they are younger, and it unfairly raises the bar for everyone, but don't let the charlatans grind you down.

So, I said, what the hell? It's a nice day. Put on my bikini, which I assure you does not look good. Got in my brand-new spa, cracked open a beer and said to the wind, "Cheers! This is what 55 looks like!"

Retired Husbands, Working Wives

  
My husband is retired, and I work. He shops and cooks and does some stuff around the house, but it's shocking how little he can cram into an eight-hour day. He says lazy is such a harsh word. He likes to think of himself as differently motivated.

If you are over 50 and married a man older than you, get ready, the Retired Husbands, Working Wives show may be coming to a theater near you soon. It's OK. No reason women can't be the breadwinner, but there's no reason we should be the housekeeper, either. I told my husband many years ago I was not put on this Earth to clean the house, and he accepted that. We've been splitting the chores 50/50 for years.

But the thing is, I have a demanding job that easily eats up 40 or 50 hours a week and sometimes more. I don't think equitable is equitable anymore. I had some time to think over the holidays and decided to negotiate a "renuptial" agreement. First, I asked him if he thought we should split the chores 50/50.

Absolutely!

Oops. Right answer, wrong decade.

We weren't arguing -- this was a warm and friendly conversation when both of us were relaxed. It's important to stage the renup when no one is pissed. I explain the deal about that pesky job -- you know the one that pays our bills? The one that requires me to go to the office and churn 'til I burn? I'm into it, but I shouldn't have to come home and clean the house when he has all the time in the world.

Lucky for him, I'm a flexible feminist. I'm not about harping that everything has to be completely fair. Intellectually, I think he should do it all. But we're real people here, and we make compromises to keep each other happy, and the poor thing doesn't know how to dust and all, so I am willing to do my part. Plus, ever since I read Barbara Ehrenreich's book Nickel and Dimed, I think there's value in scrubbing your own floors.

The renup was actually a very loose agreement that he take more responsiblity for the upkeep of our home. No lists, no mandates. Just try to remember that 50/50 isn't equal anymore. We don't have to be rigid about it -- but please do your part. With retirement comes new responsibilities.

I think he bought it. Yesterday he cleaned the house. The whole house. He said it might not be up to my specifications, but call somebody who cares. All I was thinking was hallefuckinglujah.

It's not about the hair

The first of the Baby Boomers turned 65 yesterday, and 10,000 people a day will join the club for the next 19 years. This may be the sweep of a broad brush, but Boomers have been characterized as the generation that will redefine aging. They want to look young, and they'll do it by any means necessary. From what I've read, the majority believe gray hair is aging and unattractive.

Everyone wants to look good, I get that. But I have this crazy idea that you can look even better with gray hair. And that's not the Clairol talking! Our skin changes and our coloring changes as we get older. Is it possible that gray hair ideally complements this transformation? I can honestly say that I love the way I've aged over five years. Older? Maybe, but who's to say older can't look better? Why is young the benchmark?

Rocking the Silver

Rock the Silver® is the name of this blog, and it is also my personal mantra for life. Lance Armstrong said it's not about the bike. For me, it's not about the hair. I think of silver not only as a cool color for hair, but also as a metaphor for aging. SPOILER ALERT: Aging doesn't have to be a drag. I'm happy to be alive and definitely want to rock the experience of getting older. I try to share stories that shine a light on this journey so that we can all keep the party going for many years to come.

I say all this for some of my faithful readers who have been here awhile and suffered with me through the hair wars, and I say it for newcomers who may be looking for a "gray hair blog." I do write about gray hair a lot, but in terms of blog fodder, I'm aiming for anything that moves. Writing with a little humor and a little pathos about a few successes and lots of mistakes -- I think that's where I'm headed.

Happy slobber dogs

 

My husband said he heard an interview on the radio with the guy who invented cookies.

Me: That's bullshit. Nobody invented cookies.

Him: The cookies on your computer.

Me: Because even if some guy did invent them, he'd be dead by now. I mean, cookies have been around a really long time, right? He would not be on the radio, that's for sure.

Him: Internet shopping carts couldn't keep track of more than one item. Cookies made online commerce possible.

Me: It was already possible. Viable? Feasible?

Him: Did you know there's a whole website devoted to stories about people who accidentally kill themselves using nitroglycerin?

Our conversations made more sense when we were young. Sometimes it's like dogs talking to each other after 32 years. But happy slobber dogs, for the most part. Clueless but harmless ... I wonder if this is the secret to a long marriage. I wonder, because today is our wedding anniversary. We've been married to each other more than half our lives. Not bad, considering we only did it for the money.

Dale is from Maine, I'm from California and we met in Germany. We were both in the Army, except he was an officer and I was enlisted. That's a no-no, but somehow we managed to slide by the rules. We had discovered on our first date that neither one of us ever wanted children, and we were happy to find each other. We saw no reason to get married.

Except that I eventually got out of the military, and he stayed in. I flew to Germany after my enlistment was up and hung out with him for nearly a year. Then we came back to the U.S., and I went to visit my family for awhile. Oops! I forgot there was a reason I left home in the first place, and that I preferred to be several area codes away. Emergency call to Dale. He said, come on out to Maryland, where he was in training.

Our travel bills were piling up. We got to thinking that Uncle Sam would pay for all this hooking up if we were to get mmmmmmmmmmmmm … married. Dale said let's do it but not in a Gary-Gilmore-famous-last-words-kind-of-way. We decided to wait until we got to his next assignment in Alabama, because we had friends there, and at least we could have a good party.

Fascinating Facts

• We got married in the courthouse. The big courtroom was being used for a trial, so we were married in an empty office in the basement.
• A friend of Dale's was the photographer. But it was a new camera, he didn't know how to use it and none of the photos came out. All photos of our wedding were staged in our apartment, and I took the pictures using a tripod (sometimes sisters just have to do it for themselves).
• We had a bash at our place afterward. We cooked all the food ourselves, and there was a lot of champagne. The same apartment would be the scene of a much-heralded toga party several weeks later.
• I did not change my name, and I did not say obey. Someone asked me if it bothered my husband that I didn't take his name, and I said I wouldn't have considered marrying someone if that bothered him.
• We got rings -- we did not get them engraved in case it didn't work out. I wore mine a couple of months, but I hated the tight-loose-tight-loose thing going in with normal fluctuations of fluids in the body -- so I put it in a safe place, where it sits today. My husband wears his.
• We sent after-the-fact announcements to friends and family members just so everyone knew we finally made it legal.
• Friends and family members sent money. Sadly, not enough for a down payment on a house. We were eager to learn a new sport called racquetball, so we took the cash and each bought a racquet.
• His dad died about a week after we got married. My dad died several months later.
• We celebrated our first anniversary on the wrong day. We were driving up to Maine, and we got confused. That might be the same trip where we saw UFOs on I-95 north of Bangor.
• Our mothers died on the same day five years ago. It was just the weirdest thing. I didn't know what to make of it, and a friend said this, "You two have had so much fun together, it makes sense that you should grieve together as well."

Boogieing and chilling

I can see now that my last post was a cry for help. A few pleasant inquiries into my retirement plans, and I go all Chuck Norris on you. Better now. I'm on vacation ... the planned kind enjoying the holidays at home (not the kind involving handcuffs or lobotomies). I didn't see Jesus in the peanut butter or anything like that, but I had a revelation. People are just curious about what you're up to. No harm intended, and I need to chill.

The bottom line is that I have no plans to retire in the near or distant future. I guess that's all I need to say. Just for conversational purposes, I could add that I'm happy doing what I'm doing, and I still haven't gotten where I'm going.

I feel better for having gone through this discussion with you -- I'm now more comfortable with the dialogue about retirement. Google baby boomers and retirement, and you will find an interesting conversation about people who can't afford to retire after their 401Ks took a beating in the recession, they need health insurance or they choose not to retire because the idea that your working life has to end is an obsolete notion. Some people are happy working, and some people can't wait to get the hell out of Dodge.

Never surrender, that's my motto. I really believe my best work is yet to come, and this is all practice. But sometimes the pace is intense, and I have to slow down and tell myself, just do your thing, keep on boogieing and enjoy the ride. I will be using my vacation to boogie and chill.

Inspiration courtesy of John Lee Hooker and Boogie Chillen:

One night I was layin' down,
I heard mama 'n papa talkin'
I heard papa tell mama, let that boy boogie-woogie,
it's in him, and it got to come out
and i felt so good,
went on boogie'n just the same

Professional expiration date?

You can ask me how old I am, if my silver hair is natural or how much I weigh; what size I wear, why I don't wear a wedding ring, what cancer was like and why I didn't change my name when I got married; what my husband does for a living, how long we've been married, if we ever wanted kids or whether I'd consider Botox; if I fooled around in high school, cheated on a test, kicked my cat or kissed him on the face; if I go to church on Sunday, give to charity or how I voted in the last election.

But please, sir, do not ask me how much longer I plan to keep working. I do not have a professional expiration date, and it's rude to imply that I do. The question is also a backasswards inquiry into my financial status, which is not your concern.