New Hair

Today, I had my hair cut. Short. It had been down to my waist. When I was married to ex #2, I was prohibited from trimming it more than 1/4" - women's hair was to be long. The ex did measure to make sure that 1/4" only rule was not broken. After I found out about his adultery with our next door neighbor, I cut it short as a visible sign of my independence from him and his rules.

I then proceeded to grow it long - because I wanted to - not because I was told that I had to. I long ago proved my point - my hair reached my waist. I would occasionally whack a couple inches off it with my scissors but kept it long, always pulled back into a bun or a ponytail - and I started to think seriously about cutting it several months ago.

Yesterday, I did a consult with a beautician in town - we went over the hair books - and came up with a style and made an appointment for today.

It is a long shag in the back, to shirt collar length, with layers that flip up at the ends - and then cut shorter around my face - I can finger comb it back and make it look shorter or can just let it fall where it will. The cut requires no products, no styling techniques - in short, it is the perfect kinda of hair style for me.

My computer for some reason is not speaking to my digital camera (or visa versa - I'm not sure of which) but when I get their differences mediated, I'll put up a picture. For the time being, think of a cross between Halle Berry and Twiggy with a little Dorothy Hamel tossed in.

Less Than One Month

My birthday is less than one month away which means it is now socially acceptable to say what I want, need, desire, and/or covet.

Bakeware. When I moved up here, an entire box of my kitchen things disappeared. All my pots and pans, cookie sheets, cake pans, pie plates, bread tins, muffin/cupcake trays - poof. Mixing bowls. Rubber spatulas. My grater. My rasp for grating nutmeg and cinnamon (and is also great for creating lemon zest). An offset spatula for frosting cakes. A springform pan for cheesecakes, tortes, and other goodies. Wood spoons. Thank goodness I only had a cheap handheld electric mixer to be lost instead of my yet to be acquired dream mixer.

Lets face it, the replacement 7 piece cookware set I got at KMart for $39.00 is not even close at being sufficient.

Slippers and heavy socks. They seem to appear on every list in direct proportion to the increase in my age - I get older and my toes get colder.

Flannel jammies. Ditto. Last year I got two sets of scottie dog jammies - this year I'm thinking plaid. Jammies with pockets get extra brownie points.

Cookbooks. Especially baking cookbooks.

Potholders - mine are pretty ratty looking.

Coffee bean grinder - so my fresh cup of coffee is really fresh.

Other than the whole staying warm bit, looks like 53 is going to be the year of the kitchen.

Token

Got an email today that reminded me of this picture of the cutest dog in the world sleeping on my lap - was taken in June of last year.

He is getting his summer crew cut this week and will be looking like a dog instead of his usual furball with legs. He has been picking up a bunch of burs and stickers and since he walks with his nose to the ground, his beard and moustache will be much shorter. Giving him the crew cut now because we have another two months before we start getting rains, which will end the bur and sticker problem.



My mom and step-dad are coming up tomorrow for a visit this week so I'll be offline until this weekend.

On Getting Old

I got this in an email from my mother -- 'splains it all. There was no attribution in the email of who wrote it, but who ever did, surely took a peak inside me, and I send my thanks for saying it so well.

The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.

Old Age, I decided, is a gift.

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avant garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?

I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)