The Grey

Since I've been sick all winter, practically all superfluity has come to a stop, including coloring my hair, which, yes, I usually do.  A few weeks ago I noticed that I was developing a Cruella de Vil grey streak in my hairline.  However fabulous de Vill might be, that grey streak is not for me.  A friend reminded me that Susan Sontag has a similar, equally fabulous streak.  But, honestly, I think I'm too young.  Aren't I?

Anyway, I stumbled into some exceptional overhead lighting the other day (the horror!) and realized that not only did I have a grey streak, that basically ALL my hair was coming out of my head just straight up silvery grey.  I should mention that I think grey hair is actually very beautiful on other people.  I myself am not YET forty years old, however.  "Not Yet Forty" is too young to have grey hair blasting out of your hair follicles like fireworks from a cannon.

I immediately made an appointment with my colorist but she just had a baby and is harder to schedule now so I have to wait a few weeks.

Meanwhile, I'm watching the Winter Olympics.  Everyone is so young, particularly my favorite, the lady snowboarders.  I don't know their names but the American girls seem mostly to be from South Lake Tahoe and they all wear their hair in two carefree side-braids and they're as cute as can be (aside from being kick-ass snowboarders).  Snowboarding is for young people, ie, people in their 20s and below.  M tried it in his thirties and spent the whole time on his ass and with a sore tailbone for months. There's a statute of limitations on being physical adventurousness, just like there is on moving yourself.  At a certain point, you hire movers, and you can't take up new sports.  You just can't.

Anyway, M & I are watching the figure skaters and, you know, every once in a while they fall down.  Sometimes from great heights, like however many feet it is for a dude to hold you on the crotch by the flat of his palm stretched above his head.  And when they fall, we go "Oooo!"  And then the announcers go, "Oh NO!  ALL their HOPES and DREAMS were just SHATTERED!"  And for a second, you get carried away, and think, "Gee, I think maybe all their hopes and dreams of winning a gold medal just might be shattered." And maybe they get the yips and fall some more.  Ooo!  and OH NO from the announcers ALL THEIR DREAMS ARE DESTROYED!  And then it's over, and you see two young people smile ruefully and shrug their shoulders.  I mean, these are people who don't have a single grey hair in their heads; it doesn't seem like their hopes and dreams are destroyed.  You can learn a lot from those damn kids about falling down and getting back up again.

Sylvie

We got a new cat recently.  Her name is Sylvie.  She's a sweet puss and she's starting to get more used to us.  Poor little thing is only 3 1/2, but she's already been in a lot of homes, so it will probably take a while for her to relax with us and in our house.

Getting a new cat has actually been very emotional for me & M.  We had two trips to the shelter before we got her that ended in us leaving petless and in tears. All I could do was imagine the life of each animal we met flying before my eyes, only to end in agony and death 15 years later.  So strange, to see 15 happy years flash before my eyes and feel miserable.  It must be confusing for this little gal to see her two new adoptive parents quietly weeping over her all the time.  Could she understand, "Oh, I'm just mourning your eventual death which is, God willing, more than a dozen years into the future." I'm dying too, a fact that less easy to admit, or even that M will die one day, and so will everyone I love.  So, adopting a cat ended up becoming an existential crisis, but I'm glad we found each other.