Life is strange and interesting and lovely and painful and funny and full of moments worth writing about for a girl who loves to write. I love when something happens when you least expect it. A moment ends and a story will begin to unfold in my mind. I ask myself whether I can write something half-way interesting based on an exchange or an event.
I have divided my blog into three categories; Blog, being what is currently happening, Stories, which I consider to be my creative non-fiction category, and Poems. I find them all challenging in different ways, but I get excited when something random occurs that causes my brain to start spinning words.
Yesterday my son texted me and asked if I could do something for him that was virtually impossible. He does this on occasion and I thought about how when we are little kids we think our parents can move mountains. At some point, we figure out that our parents are only human. Jarrod doesn’t seem to have come to that realization and his requests can be beyond ridiculous. I don’t think he really thinks I can move these mountains, but I do think he will ask just in case. My response is usually a simple, “No,” then he says, “Why?” After that my response is much lengthier, as it was yesterday and ended with, “Are you smoking dope?” He then replied with, “Hahahahahaha!”
My point with that little story was that it was something that I considered writing about. Ultimately, I didn’t. I couldn’t get the momentum. Not everything that happens is worthy of a story or a poem, but I did just manage to sneak that in, didn’t I? Jarrod doesn’t really like it when I write about him either, but he’s had to learn to live with it.
After work tonight, I went to Safeway. I needed a few groceries and also had to pick up supplies for my first routine colonoscopy on Monday. Yay! I had not planned on sharing THAT on my blog, but I think it adds to this little story. I was standing in the soup aisle looking for the broth I intend to drink all day on Sunday when a woman approached me and said, “Excuse me, your hair is beautiful.” I said, “Thank you.” This happens to me quite often. Strangers approach me with compliments on my hair. I like it. Mostly because it was a big decision for me to let go of coloring my hair. Aging is never easy, especially for women and gray hair is a defining characteristic. I wish I could say I did it for all the respectable reasons, but I didn’t. I did it because I got tired of the cost and frequency with which I had to color it. The white roots were shining within a week. I hated it. And also, as I’ve written before, I thought gray hair would be more marketable for modeling. Not sure if that has really panned out yet.
Anyway, I thought that was it with this woman, but she went on.
“But can I ask you a question?” she said, and without waiting for me to answer, “Do you think your hair makes you look older?”
She was a well-dressed, fancy jeweled woman, who appeared to be about my age. Wealthy. Tourist. Ballsy.
“I bet I’m older than you think I am.” I said. In her defense I was standing there in skinny jeans and Converse sneakers. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, studying my face, which was devoid of make-up.
“How old do you think I am?” I asked her.
“46, 47…” she responded.
“I’m 52,” I said.
“Oh!” she said, “I guess you answered my question. I can’t believe you’re older than me.” She laughed. Then she went on to tell me that the reason she asked was because she had been thinking about letting her own hair go natural. We had a friendly conversation. I told her to go for it.
As she was walking away she said, “What do they put in the water around here? Or is it in the wine?” And then I looked in my handheld basket and wondered if she’d noticed the MiraLAX and Dulcolax.