Embracing Poliosis

Poliosis.

Sounds like a bad disease; but I'm referring to a benign part of maturation.

po·li·o·sis (pl-ss)

n.

An absence or lessening of melanin in hair of the scalp, brows, or lashes.

Looking straight into the mirror and being brutally honest- I see an almost 49 year-old woman with gray roots. I've colored that hair because of vanity and because my Grandmother, Mae, was very opinionated on that topic when it came to my hair. She did not want me to go gray since she had grayed so early (probably due to an illness). I agreed at first and was horrified to imagine my grade-school child with an old Mom. But, as the years roll by, he has grown to adulthood and I approach the big 5-0 I'm more than willing to stop the gray charade.

Going Gray

I did some research and found that lots of baby boomers are coming to the same conclusion.

I discovered blogs devoted to hair styles and this article about the dilemma women ponder when trying to figure out just HOW to go about going gray after having colored it for so long. Obviously- I'm going to have to go to a colorist to achieve the most gradual transition. I've asked two hair-stylists their opinions on the best method of how to go about this process and they both had to ponder it. I'm not sure if the are slow to opine on account of they've not yet faced this question with any of their clients or simply because they are carefully considering the "root" of my problem. Pun intended.

Surprisingly- there are even books published about this topic which makes it obvious to me: write and you CAN get it published (but, that's another topic). Did you know? There are about 7,160,000 results on google alone for "going gray". That figure alone should tell me it's an upward trend and encourage all women to welcome the natural turn of events and quit grasping at the unrealistic idealism of non-aging.

Besides... technically- I could be a Grandmother at this point in my life. I want to look like one- rather than one of the youngest of the baby-boomers that grew up in the 70's, achieved adult-hood in the 80's and survived the 20-year class reunion in the '00's.

Looking forward to wearing my gray badge of courage... my badge of honor for having lived a little.

Unstylish Decision Turns Into Medical Emergency

or... happy 35th Anniversary to My Kidney!

Recently I polled my FB friends to see if any of them had ever made a fashion faux pas, or had a wardrobe malfunction. Several responded and of the incidents that people are most likely to admit are the ones of mismatched color in their earrings or shoes. And, while there are a few instances of hiked up skirt tails- none of these acquaintances have experienced a wardrobe malfunction on the order of Janet Jackson’s debacle (with the exceptions of missing bikini bottoms!-JA!).

I must confess to having experienced both of these; and while mine wasn’t as shocking or as public as a Super Bowl performance, it has had lifelong consequence.

A really serious error in style judgment

The definition for faux pas literally translates from the original French to “false step”. I can claim this title in both the French and the urban English inferences.

Recollect the 70’s. Styles were largely defined by the hippie culture and celebrity haute couture. Think white vinyl go-go boots, hip huggers, short-shorts to name a few. Many will remember bell bottoms jeans- my first poor choice began with a pair of white elephant-bell pants made of brushed corduroy. I had paired them with a white leather belt with rainbow colored beads that had foot-long fringe in place of a buckle. I was convinced that I would look so cute in this outfit that I would receive a candy-gram from a secret admirer on the following day. I was looking sleek! Oh, the decisions a female will rue!

For the era, there really wasn’t anything unstylish about the outfit. Heck! Elvis wears this style and he was the King! I'd seen Elvis that previous year!! Do you know what the real problem was? Elephant bells are difficult to walk in. They will literally wrap around your ankles. Combine that with the fine weave of corduroy that is more akin to velvet and not only is one liable to trip over the excess of fabric- but, the nature of the fabric to grab hold of itself like a magnet.

Fashion faux pas turns into wardrobe malfunction....

Picture if you will: a not-so-svelte, awkward, pre-teenaged girl, prone to clumsy balance and you have a recipe for a major misstep. In band period, I was given the duty of handing out the music to a new piece of music we were practicing for a sight-reading contest all the while trying my best to weave my way through the assembled musicians, music stands all the while not bumping their instruments or tripping over their assorted personal items. While returning to my seat as I neared the band director, Eddie Goodwin, standing upon his podium- those blasted bell-bottoms started swinging back and forth and my legs got tangled up and down I went. I’m pretty good at catching myself, but in this instance- I caught the edge of the raised dais with my torso.

Most people fall down and get right back up. I’ve never been “most people” and I couldn’t get up. It was bad enough that the it happened in front of the whole Jr High band and they had laughed. But, I had fallen on my left front and my body went immediately into shock. Not the mortification kind that comes from a.) the shame that accompanies such an event or b.) that nightmare of being in front of a large audience with nothing but your undies... but, the medical kind. Something traumatic had happened and my only real memories are of Mr Goodwin calling the school nurse and then my Mom (understand my Dad was the Sr High band-director and was away at TMEA) and by the time they realized I would need an ambulance- Mom decided to get me into her car and over the to the hospital since it would be quicker.

To make a long story and hospital stay really short- I had hit with such force that my kidney was throwing so many blood clots so hard and so fast that they didn’t even think it was safe for me be medevaced to a Houston hospital. That was the last day I had two functioning kidneys. Thirty two years later- I received an explanation as to why.

February 13 marks my 35th anniversary with my one and only good kidney keeping me all pumped and filtrated. Take good care of yours!

To be continued....