Gray Follow-up: 1 Yearish Later

Absence makes the heart grow fonder?? I return with an ending to my ‘growing out the gray’ saga, discovering that the middle was really, really boring. There were no road-blocks, mini-goals, or suspense of any kind. No products were used to alleviate any discomfort. Even the hair cuts were of no real consequence, until now.

When I see photos of myself, as a member of the ‘gray lifestyle’, it’s still a little surprising. Such a change from the light brown-dark blonde (my usual), to the gray mix. I’m pleased with the shade, I love the cut, and over-all, presently the best decision I’ve made. When I walk down the hair dye aisle at the store, I feel myself grinning and delighting in my new-found freedom! It’s one more thing off my to-do list.

As I get older, my ability to let go of my self-esteem issues becomes stronger. I accept more of what I have been given, especially since returning to better self-care with exercise and diet. A little bit of good health changes ones perspective in so many ways. I encourage everyone to LET IT GO! It’s a rush!

So here is the before and after…yikes!

Before

After

After

My Precious

If I had to name an item, a physical object, my most-prized possession, it would not take much time or thought to know what it is. It is not a childhood memento of mine, although I suppose at some point it could be for someone else. It is not a flea market find, but it certainly would be a splendid find, for the lover of the saturday flea market. It is not a family heirloom, not yet, anyways.

The future for this object holds some uncertainty, as the best laid plans can change. However, I have a grand plan for it’s future, a desire to pass on, the beauty of it and the emotion that it holds.

It was many, many years in the making, passing through my thoughts as time went by. I had seen a few of them, and was always drawn into the beauty, of the idea that it held. Like building or creating anything, you will have a finished product to show for it. A house, a craftily designed room, a piece of artwork to hang on a wall. Something for you to admire, and bring with you into the future, even if only on film. The memories, right from the moment of conception, are given new life with each and every glance. I experience emotions from years gone by, good or bad, happy or sad, it doesn’t matter which. I love that I can be reminded to get my act together, again, or to be awestruck at the perfection and beauty.

When I wear it, I feel as though I am wrapping myself in love, and taking them along with me on every adventure. I hold them in my hand, or slip them into my pocket, protecting them in a sense. I carry their spirits with me, a closeness which is my substitute for the real thing. Nothing can touch the real thing, but the memories it provokes, go far and beyond the fact that it is just a ring.

Unlike my engagement and wedding rings, which held meaning for only a few years, my family ring will hold fast. Yes, the dad’s birthstone is on it, and rightly so, as he was a part of this family that we created together. It wouldn’t feel right any other way. I will treasure it to the very end, and hope that it will spark someone else’s memories, as it did mine.

Writing 101 last day.

Comments are always welcomed!

Gray Follow-up; Two Months Down

To start, I have to comment on how remarkably slow this going gray is. Everything else seems to speed by and sometimes, even without me noticing. Why the difference? I suppose my anticipation of having it complete, hangs out in the forefront of my thoughts. I also want to note, that it has been more than two months. I was about six weeks in, when I made the decision.

gray hair

 

 

So far, so good. It’s definitely spreading! I only ever hear comments from the mirror herself; they are generally good, depending on her mood. When I’m away from the mirror, I don’t think about it at all. When I go into a store and walk down the hair dye aisle, it doesn’t enter my head. It’s such a relief to not have that six-eight week mark, in your brain at all times, so that if you are in a store, you can pick up a box. DONE WITH THAT!

 

gray hairI don’t think I look any older, I certainly don’t look any younger, but how young do I want to look? I’d be content with looking my age. It’s taken me quite a few years to get here, and yes, I’ve earned those years, along with the wisdom that came with them. I’ve no desire to use a semi-permanent yet, but as it grows out, that is an option I will keep open. Apparently you can get clear coats, which add moisture and nutrients, without any colour. Don’t need those yet, but again, I will keep as an option.

I think I’ll go a little shorter, maybe another inch off the bottom. I do like to be able to pull it back from my face, but the shorter it is, the more wave I have. We’ll see.

I still haven’t heard from any one else who would like to join me. To anyone listening: I feel freer, more authentic, the further along I am. I actually find this fun; watching the changes in the mirror, and then sharing it with the world. Well, maybe not the world, but a world bigger than mine was before. Anyone??

You can read about my decision to go gray, here.

More good, gray, reads!

25 “Gray Hair” Bloggers Who Rock

Pull From The Tides

cropped-sea-rock.jpgI close my eyes, relief from the brightness of the sun. The wind, a little on the cool side, blows with the intention of messing up my hair. As each gust passes through my hair, if it hits my ears just right, it deafens me. My ears are sensitive to the cold wind, so I adjust my scarf accordingly. I pull another kleenex from my pocket, the wind and the chill loosens my sinuses, and I must blow more often. A natural blush has highlighted my cheeks. I keep my hands in the large, soft, pockets of my fleece. It is not too cold, just on the edge of needing a warmer jacket.

I have acquired, over the past few years, an appreciation of the ocean. It’s inexhaustible, intoxicating, beauty. The intensity of it’s purpose, and the incredible power behind it. I live near the ocean, and currently have an amazing view that changes daily. It does not matter, the roof over my head, as long as I can reach out somehow to the ocean.

With my eyes closed, my hearing is sensitive to the sounds of seagulls, the sounds of small waves splashing the shore. The salted, scent of the ocean is present, and with each gust of wind, I breathe deeply. It fills me with an intense pleasure, nature’s beauty. I move closer to the water, feeling the pull from the ocean’s tides. My feet are inches away from the wet sand and the pummelled, round, colourful rocks that line the water’s edge.

I focus on the water moving towards me and then away, and back again. After a few waves, my body starts to rock in time with the motion of the water. My vision has blurred slightly, and I am taken to a place of pure contentment. No thoughts pass through my mind, yet, it feels full. I am being rocked gently, cradled, loved. I am one with the earth, unaware now of the birds, other passersby, any other sounds. It is intensely quiet, and I am almost brought to tears with this beauty I am feeling, as it washes through me. This lasts only a few moments, and leaves me wanting more.

I am challenged to recreate that intensity, that fullness. I was not human and the ocean was not water. There were no words, no names, I just was. It is only once, that I’ve had such an experience with the ocean. It’s different somehow, than anything else. What a gift I received, in those few short moments.

Writing 101     As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged. Would love to hear what you think!

Pr. George to Anchorage

dirt road never ending road tripAlaska. Bitterly cold. Never ending snow days. Never ending darkness. Of course, it was nearing summer time when we made the trip, so there was never ending daylight. Three (almost three), straight days of driving, or as the policeman said, “I thought this was a low flying aircraft.” In our favour, we were young, and pretty cute, so my friend got off with only a warning. We were headed to Anchorage, Alaska. Where the ratio of guys to gals was, and is, the highest in the country. This, according to one of Oprah’s guests.

Because you should never trust what you hear on television, it was up to us to make sure the statements were true. A road trip was in order. There was never any other reason for me to go to Alaska, seriously. Not at the age of twenty-four. My friend would suggest otherwise, whenever I made that statement. I thought it was funny, and definitely a unique vacation story.

So, off we went, in her little white car. There were a few, too many, long, dusty, slow moving, monotonous, seemingly never ending, stretches of dirt/ gravel road. We hit these on day two. Oprah never mentioned that! I have my photograph to prove it. Purple cotton capris, red tank top, scraggly hair, pulled up into some kind of half pony-tail. Eyelids straining to stay open. Facial expression is somewhere between, I’m so tired and I just want to go home, and, I can’t wait to see how many guys there are in Anchorage. So, onward we went.

What do I remember most from that trip? Whenever I blew my nose, over a two to three day period, there was dirt. There was dirt in places you would not imagine there to be dirt. My friend’s car was filled with a fine layer of, “Hi! My name is dirt, and I’m going to cover everything you own, even you. I will be relentless in my effort to stick around.”

Despite all of that, we did have some fun, we did meet some guys, we did some sight-seeing, and we got lots of pictures.

Daily Prompt