Today is my son's birthday. He is twenty six. It is so very hard to believe. I tried to think of something original to say about the passage of those twenty six years but all that comes to mind are the cliches about how quickly time flies and anyone who has a child knows that all too well. He and his brother, Kane, were my life and when the house was suddenly empty, I felt I was too but anyone who has experienced an empty nest knows that feeling as well. It is the human experience that we all share. Holding on and letting go. I am happy to say that I let go of two incredible people. Both wonderful men and fathers but of course it is my nature to think of all of things I should have done, said, been. I remember always thinking how lucky I was that I was not only given the gift of children but that over and above that I was allowed every day to spend part of it with two of the brightest, funniest, most caring people I had ever known....what are those odds?
So, today, on your birthday, I would like to tell you that time does fly. That Rylan and Emmalynn will grow and leave before you have a chance to say enough I Love Yous. Before you think of saying everything that you think needs to be said. Life is fast and full and it just isn't possible to make every day special, to tell them how much they mean and how incredible they are...but do yourself a favor...try.
Love, mom
I noticed my first gray hair when I was 22. I had finished my lunch break and was blotting fresh lipstick when I saw it shining there in my Clinique powder compact mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked again, certain it was an errant thread or a misplaced streak of white out. But no...it remained, stubborn in it's need to be a part of the other carefully coifed strands.
They began to multiply quite steadily thereafter and so began my long affair with Miss Clairol. Golden brown, light ash brown, light auburn, red (huge mistake), and a variety of brunettes. But as anyone of a certain age knows, they become even more stubborn. A flat refusal to soak in the color and, well, blend. 20 minutes, 30 minutes, even 40 minutes and still, bits of gray showing through. My hairdresser, Jeannette, suggested an overall coloring followed by high-lights that would help mask the intruders. It worked. But I began to tire of the whole process.
I remembered my mother who had finally given in to the grays and simply stopped coloring. I cited several actresses who had beautiful silver-ish locks and decided that, I too, would let it grow. I would become what I was. A 50 something grandmother. After all, there is no shame in aging gracefully...I refuse to have any "work"done so why force my hair to be something other than what it is supposed to be!
I felt such freedom...such strength...such anticipation! I began to notice more and more women with gray and silver do's and I thought 'why hadn't I done this years ago?"
It was one morning aprox.eight weeks into the process that my husband, head tilted, slight frown said very matter-of-factly "the back of your head is completely gray." "Yes, I know...I told you I was going to let my hair grow." "But...it's gray." "Yes. What color did you think it was going to be? Maybe you thought that I had been hiding platinum blonde underneath the ash brown?" He said nothing more (he's a smart man) but the moment he left I saw the sad truth in the bathroom mirror. The back of my head was, indeed, completely gray while the front had apparently not received the memo and was a strange sort of mottled color of brown, red, old blonde highlights and, of course, grey. My head resembled an aging, mangy calico cat.
I couldn't believe it! I cannot even begin to tell you how many miles I walk or how many boneless, skinless chicken breasts I have eaten and yet my cholesterol remains high. I changed my eating habits, exercise, and lifestyle and still I battle high blood pressure, but this...this particular betrayal was too much! Seriously? I can't even grow uniformly gray hair!!! Once again I had to face the cold hard facts. Gone were the long beautiful tresses of my youth and gone was the image of my new found self. Silver and glowing.
I had no choice. I called Jeannette and made an appointment and she deftly colored the grays and left the high lights. We talked about a new hair style and I said that I would like to let it grow out a little. Jeannette knows me as well as she knows my hair and shows me how to style it while it is growing. She then places her hand on my shoulder and speaks carefully to my reflection "You are going to have to be a little patient."
Oh! I will... I think...maybe...at least for the next six weeks.
I no longer care for summer. There I've said it. I've tried but I find that for the last couple of years it has been simply a time of holding my breath and waiting for it to end. When I was a kid it was, of course, a wildly anticipated vacation. A respite from a hot 1960's classroom. A time to spend reading what I wanted instead what I was required to. In the '70s it was bikinis and basking in a mid-western sun slathered in iodine tinted baby oil trying to look as much like Farrah as we could. I love a tan. A real tan. Yes, I am aware of the repercussions... I read...but I still feel a little more alive when my skin has a peachy sort of glow, however, I must now admit that as I get older I have begun to notice that lying just beneath the glow are little brown spots and in certain areas rather large ummm splotch-iness which is really not the least bit attractive.
Never the less I, once again, filled the pool, bought the float and the suntan lotion with built in bronzer and faithfully climbed the ladder to spend an hour circling several days a week. I purchased three cute, summer dresses that were perfect for showing off a summer tan for those wonderful balmy evenings when we would venture into town to sit on a veranda or in a beer garden and sip margaritas or sweet wine. I even bought jewelry to complement each one; pink, yellow and blue baubles. I wore one of them...the pink one...once. We never sat on a veranda or even in a single beer garden this summer.
As for the pool, there were a couple of days when I actually enjoyed it but, for the most part, it felt like a chore. The heat this summer, at an unbearable 110 for several days turned the pool into a large bath tub thereby offering no relief from July's burning rays. By August 1st I had had enough. I let the air out of the floats and packed the bathing suit and the bronzer away in zip lock baggies.
The pool sits now, deserted except for the first leaves of fall floating in circles on top of the cool water. I say to myself that I will cover it for now and maybe, just maybe next year I will once again feel the spark of freedom summer once afforded and dive back in...but I know better. If I close my eyes I can still see me in my favorite bikini...white with black polka dots lying on a bath towel in the back yard of a tiny house on Lilac Lane. I can still hear the theme music and watch Farrah glowing and smiling, flipping those beautiful blonde tresses.
But it is time to say goodbye...goodbye to the bikini, the tan, Farrah and, lastly, the summer of my life.
Welcome fall...the best is yet to come.
