If truth is beauty, how come no one has their hair done in a library?

(Lily Tomlin. Gotta love her. )

I tend to agree with her sentiments, as expressed above, on the issue of hair. My own hair has usually been an afterthought at best. I mean, it's there. And yeah, it's prominent, by virtue of it just being there, atop my head, all crowning glory and whatever. But if it were up to me - and trust me: I'm married; it's not up to me - I'd shave my head bald and cross "hair" off my list of things to think about on any given day. I have no talent or patience with my hair. Even when I noticed a few wayward strands of gray appear here and there, the thought of coloring it, of getting on that endless merry-go-round of upkeep over my HAIR, had zero appeal.

None.

Whatsoever.

That said, this weekend afforded a little different perspective on the subject. I spent the entire weekend working out on the yard cleaning up and each night felt the effects of oldeness. My knees would shame a prostatute, my fingers hurt just to bend them, lets not even talk about my back. By the time Sunday night rolled around I had a major migrane (one I haven't seen in years). So by this morning I felt like I had a hangover as I stepped into the shower. While I was brushing my wet hair I flipped my head over to grab up the scraggly bits into a pony tail, the light fell across the underside of my hair, revealing a startling piece of knowledge to my virginal vanity.

All that glitters is not gold (and I think I am getting a receding hair line!!)

Silver.

Okay, okay. Silver may be too kind.

All that glitters is, clearly, gray. Although I can say from experience, when singular, random strands of gray migrate into massive bunches and are displayed in flagrante under horrifically accurate lighting, gray looks a whole lot like silver.

I'm not above admitting there were tears. There were unintelligible mutterings. There were sympathy seeking sniffles. There was, ultimately, a thought of early bed time, marred by dreams of wrinkles and sensible shoes.

For the first time in my life my hair oriented vanity leaped to the fore of every nerve ending and every sweeping reaction, drove every thought and every action. If I were to pluck every one of them out I would surely be bald (ok maybe not bald). But with my thinning hair and old body I was hoping the "old thing" would take it's time and - it has chosen not to.

The last time I had tried to get my hair done (a gift from my girls ) I was a nervous wreck. In a good "the more things change the merrier, everything old is new again" terror filled excitement sort of way. But in the end just could not do it....in fact I sat there and cried.

Change is so hard in many ways.

Gah.

Hair brings one's self-image into focus; it is vanity's proving ground. Hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.
~ Shana Alexander

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?
~ Satchel Paige

I'm not offended by all the dumb-blonde jokes because I know that I'm not dumb. I also know I'm not blonde.
~ Dolly Parton