Sunday, October 7, 2012

Hair Dye. the Fall Garden, and the Cruel March of Time

Note to readers: Many of you contacted me earlier today to say several photos on this post were blacked out. Maybe Blogger thinks it obscene to publish photos of a young person alongside her older self? Whatever. I hope the photos are there this time around. Thanks for letting me know. Mary K.


The corn is dead, rattling in the breeze. That sunflower on the left doesn't look too chipper either.
The birds have about finished it off.

Fall is a tough. I spend so much time in the garden that I identify with its cycles—not so different from human cycles, except the garden is on fast forward. You plant the seeds and get all excited when they emerge from the warming soil. You water and coax and soon they burst forth with flowers, roots, fruits, vegetables. They're good for a few months, but then senescence—natural aging and decline—takes over and it's quickly downhill. You can prop em up, water, fertilize and admire. But nothing stops the process. Before long, they'll form an involuntary vegetative-state support group and that'll be the end of it. 

Here's an Italia zucchini plant, ravaged by squash bugs but STILL producing fruit.
It'll cling to life until the first frost. But its huge-leafed youthful magnificence? Gone.
The perennials, such as the glorious rose bush, the faithful asparagus, the young berries and the aginig but reliable apple trees, will rest for the winter and surge forth in spring. They're amazing. I don't identify with them, however. I only feel kinship with those poor annual bastards facing imminent demise and they don't even know it. Maybe that's a good thing. Without knowing, there's no threat of being in denial or, heaven forbid, trying to hide the fact that you're approaching the inevitable. And that you aren't quite as fabulous looking as you once were. 

Which brings us to hair dye. I colored my hair for decades. (To younger readers: You reach a point when decades is the appropriate word when quantifying your past. You will not believe how quickly this happens.) I started in high school, took a few years off for being a hippie, and went back on the bottle in my 30s. In recent years, I've struggled with whether to continue my relationship with Clairol. I'll go without for a few months and then can't stand the grey and do another treatment. PK says, No, no no! Get over it! But I'm not quite there yet.

The juicy July garden bursting with life.

More July juiciness. It is difficult to go out there without being overcome. It isn't just the colors and the vitality, it's the birds and insects and the wonderful promise of so much botanical exuberance. And it smells so great.
Me in the summer of my life, high school grad on the left, college grad on the right. Bottle blonde and proud of it.
Juicy! Let it be known that my hair for the college photo is the best it ever looked in my entire life.


Here we come to fall with the crone look, uncombed(but colored!) hair.
Almost 50 years since high school graduation. 
I'm wise enough to acknowledge the inevitability of my personal "garden cycle." But I'm not strong enough  to at least try to postpone the drooping, the sagging, the furrowing, and the greying. Hence yoga, bicycling, careful eating, mirror avoidance—and hair dye.  I won't be botoxing and I am repelled by the idea of draining thousands into "having work done." But I'm still vain enough to deny grey.
So I'm back on the bottle. Not that most people would even notice.  My hair is naturally grey/white.  With coloring, it is white/blond. It's weak and silly, I know. But next time you see me, how about keep quiet if you think I look brassy, OK?  If you'd like to talk about the cruel march of time, however, I'm here for you. More garden photos and musings follow, if you like. 



















2 comments:

  1. Wonderful piece, Mary. I laughed. I shook my head and sighed. I've never dyed my hair and most likely never will. I love the silver strands that emanate from my temples. I remember liking my mother's hair when it turned streaky silver. I do hate my Blood Hound droopy eyelids, but I just continue to avoid the mirror and photographs of myself as I have been doing for, yep, decades. My eyelids are so bad that they interfere with my vision to the extent that the government would pay for me to have the eyelid reduction surgery done, but I'm still not going to do it. The thousands I spent recently on surgery was a move toward the hope of not losing my leg to eventual ulceration and amputation, not vanity. No one has seen that hideous thing outside a doctor's office in, yep, decades. I don't think there is any surgery that would negate the awful scarring from when the leg did ulcerate. Even if there was, I wouldn't spend money on it. To cave in to vanity and the desire for youthful beauty would be to condemn myself to disappointment and bitterness. I aim for acceptance and, contrary to Dylan's urging, I don't plan to do any raging against the fading of the light.

    I guess I saw you last in your natural hair color Hippie days, eh? I thought your hair was lovely. Most of the photos you posted are not showing up on this page for me. I can't see the ones of your younger, dyed self. I don't seem to have any vanity and have often wished for some. I read an article one time about a study of mature adults which concluded that most of us will revert to treating and perceiving ourselves in maturity as our mothers (or other primary caregiver) treated and perceived us when we were between the ages of 0-8 or so. I was completely ignored and neglected by a mother who didn't want me and was incapable of caring for me. I've often wondered about the correlation between that circumstance and my adult attitude toward myself. Did your mother dote on you? I bet she did. If you love yourself and feel entitled to the best life has to offer...you had/have a good and loving mother, I believe. Simplistic? Probably.

    I want to live in your summer garden and bury my face in that rose every morning.

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    Replies
    1. grace,
      i have been thinking about you a lot since reading your comment. There is so much i don't know about you, but much more now than when we were friends so many DECADES ago. you didn't ask, but i have some advice.
      #1. Do the eyelid surgery!!!!!my god. they interfere with your vision? you're young! they'll only get worse. that's not vanity - that's comfort and vision, commodities that will become more precious as time slips by.
      #2. go ahead and do a little raging. aging just pisses me off so much that i can't help but give the universe the finger sometimes. universe fails to observe or give a shit. but i do feel a bit more lively by making the gesture.what it comes down to, i think, is that aside from the flesh falling apart before our very eyes (if we can still see out of them) is that we make our own reality. you certainly seem to be doing that with your pet business and gardening and art and recipe development. you seem to have a full life.
      despite the fact that your mother ignored and neglected you! that's a really important thing i didn't know. it still hurts, but why continue to give her power?
      you're right about my mother. she was more than doting. her love and attention (and my father's) paid off as i am now spending time with her five or six days a week, except for when pk and i get out of dodge. the role reversal is interesting and instructive. i haven't written much about it, although i think a lot about how to say that i love and appreciate her now more than ever. i didn't really care about being with her very much after about age 12 or 13, and even said once that if she wasn't my mother, i wouldn't like her. terrible! that makes me feel so guilty now that i understand better who she is and maybe what we all are when we come near the end of life. now it's getting too complicated for me to go on.
      i am sorry that the universe dumped you with a bad mom. it must have been a hard life for her, too. but your emerged with amazing gifts of music, compassion, communication (you are an awesome writer!) art and cooking! i think i've mentioned before that you were, with your stir fries up at the bartow house, my first food teacher.
      we're about to have our first rain in maybe 100 days? i'm so sick of tomatoes! i'm welcoming late fall and even winter. and the first frost! bring it on.

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