The Gray Lady (Someday. Not Yet)

Little me with my wise Nana (why wasn't I taking notes?)
Oil painting by Carolyn Majewski

OK, so apparently my existential crisis is all in my head (my hair, to be precise). At age 67 and a half (precisely), and in consultation with my wonderful hair stylist Sue, I’m beginning to explore…going gray at last. The dye bottle has been mi amiga for almost 30 years now. At 38, I saw the dreaded grays beginning to appear in my very dark brown hair. What was, for several decades, a logical approach to premature aging, is now starting to look a bit silly (at least for me), as my aging is no longer remotely “premature.” 

The current game plan is to return to a short haircut, which had been my go-to for many years, by age 70, and then let nature take her course, color-wise. Several friends took advantage of the pandemic to stop with the tinting. As I so often am, I’m late to the party. But now I’m (almost) ready (not yet! Not yet! Don’t rush me!) 

I anticipate a period of adjustment for sure, but eventually I’ll stop feeling horrified when passing mirrors. The Graying of the Hair should dovetail nicely with the attendant Wrinkling of the Face, Flabbing of the Arms and so on. I gave up on aging like the ridiculously fit Jane Fonda eons ago; nowadays, I aspire to age like the actress Ruth Gordon, who rocked a wry and spry, if crinkled, look, into her late 80s.

 

As I settle in to my new status as an Elder, I know I should probably add the adjective “Wise” for maximum self-esteem. But I worry about identifying that way, because I rarely feel “wise” (unless “wisecracking” counts). Indeed, most days I struggle to spout any Words of Inspiration at all, even to eight-year-old Peter. I fear, by the time my final grandchild is old enough to converse, I will be reduced to whatever I recall from Poor Richard’s Almanac. “Ah yes, dear one, a stitch in time saves nine! What does that mean? I have no idea!”

 

For you see, mine was not a past marked by walks to school uphill both ways in the snow, or weeks of boiled potato and cabbage dinners. I was a child of the 1950s and 60s, and my biggest sacrifice involved having only three TV channels. Character building did not come naturally to someone who spent her after school time, not plowing the back 40, but watching “That Girl” reruns.

However, it’s not too late! Wisdom is a mere Google search away! Just as I did when leading Bible study at church, I only have to stay one click ahead of my students! Yes, my little descendants will sit at my swollen, arthritic feet. “Nana! What’s the Secret of Life?” my precious kiddles will ask. And I will rock my rocker back and forth awhile, for dramatic effect. 

 

“Listen closely, my children. The Secret of Life? Know when to stop dyeing. 

Hair dyeing, that is. You can’t actually stop 'dying'.

 

Hey! Where are you going?”

Photo by Elena Kloppenburg on Unsplash