The decision to cease and desist from hair dye has been a rousing success. The last haircut unveiled my current natural self. The process has been relatively painless, thanks to the genius of my hairdresser, who used blond highlights to camouflage the awkward emergence of grey.
It feels so good to present to the world who I really am. And the world has noticed.
The wandering dementia patients I meet in the corridors of nursing homes often mistake me for someone they know. In the distant past, I was greeted as a long-lost granddaughter, then drifted into the daughter category. But last week, a delightful old soul tottered up to me, her face beaming as she exclaimed, “Grandma!”
Once you’ve been mistaken for the grandmother of a ninety-year-old woman, it’s time to face the facts: you are old.
But we knew that anyway. The hair dye just made it sad.
8/27/2012 – Feast of St. Monica (wise woman extraordinaire)
Sleep is a precious commodity for me; I never know when I’m going to go without, for ridiculous numbers of hours on end, so I have to scarf it up whenever I can. (I’m not sure if you can really store sleep and apply it to future deficits, but I try anyway.)
I sleep when everyone else is awake, so naturally, random phone calls wake me up. A lot. I’m a very skilled sleeper, so most often I can go right back to sleep. When it happens repeatedly over a short period of time, it does make me cranky. But some interruptions I don’t mind.
Like this call yesterday afternoon:
“Me and my friend were just cleaning out our ears… (an interesting pastime, don’t you think?) and we were wondering…if you push a q-tip in far enough, would it touch your brain?”
We had a brief lesson in anatomy, and the wonderful design of the human ear.
“Thanks, Grand Mal”.
I’ve had my doubts about the wisdom of giving cell phones to nine-year olds, but I’m delighted to be the “Answer Lady”. I will take all questions, even in my sleep. And I hope they keep coming, because some day, real important stuff will be at stake. My goal is to seal my reputation as the keeper of all wisdom for the time when life-altering decisions are made.
I don’t like to send flowers, and truth be told, I don’t really like to receive them. Sure, they’re pretty, but it seems like a lot of money for such a fleeting visual treat. I’d rather give, and receive, good stuff to eat. It lasts even less time than flowers, but it can be a taste of heaven. I’m a firm believer that, in times of grief, tasty treats give you strength (and a leg up in the event of famine, when the skinny girls will wish for surplus poundage). So I was delighted to discover a great source of edible gifts for such occasions, benefiting a wonderful cause.
They’re made by a group of ladies in Tennessee who started this business as a secret way to spread cheer to the downtrodden. They stopped paying to have their laundry done, pooled the money they saved, and used it to spread anonymous sunshine in the form of cakes, school clothes and even electric bills (paid in full). They held this little ministry a secret for thirty years.Thirty years! (I’m sure their ability to talk among themselves kept them from exploding). You’ve got to check out the story of the nine Nanas! It will surely make you smile.
The next time a flower-worthy occasion comes up, I’m going to send one of these yummy pound cakes.