More gracefully
“I thought that I could get old without anyone noticing,” she said.
What?
The woman in the stylist’s chair, waiting on hair color was moving her fingers through her hair, examining its texture.
“I used to have a wonderful head of hair, thick, shiny…almost like those shampoo commercials. Look at it now,” as she parted it lowering her head so that you could see the top in the mirror. “I can see my scalp. I’m losing my hair. It’s dry. It’s brittle.”
Another customer sitting with her hair in permanent waving curlers added, “It’s probably heredity. I used to have thick lips. Now? I have a hard time finding them. I’ve even thought of using a lip pencil, but then I’d have to find them to outline them wouldn’t I? They are there, cause I can surely talk, nothing has changed there,” she laughed.
I started to check my own boxes relating to aging.
Thinning hair…check.
Disappearing lips…check.
What about my skin?
I’m not a sun worshiper, but my skin looks like a map of the New Mexico salt flats…dry, cracked.
My feet are so dry I think I leave powdered footsteps.
I guess I should use some lotion, but I live in a state of denial which is right next to the state of never-was.
The salon scene carried on with talk about getting older.
The “women of a certain age” club was in full session.
Hot flashes, aching joints, peeling fingernails, diminishing vision…all added up to the reality which each was fighting.
“What did our grandmothers do,” I asked.
They didn’t color their hair, use lipstick, take estrogen, have retinol creams. They seemed to grow older more gracefully.
One of the stylists said that she heard a new word at the doctors the other day.
Prolapsed…there’s a lovely concept.
There were sighs all around at this one. Mothers all, they shared the experience of internal organs falling into places where they had no business and creating some for the doctors.
“Blame it on gravity and the sun. If we stood on our heads in the dark, we would probably look as young as we did 20 years ago,” one said.
A youngish patron added, “But should we look as young as we did 20 years ago? Haven’t we each gained something in the changes that have occurred?”
The questions were serious, and the answer was too.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve gained? Weight? Check. Wrinkles? Check. Aching joints? Check. Frequent flyer miles at the doctor? Check. Wait! Let’s edit the last. More doctors…specialists for all of our changing parts? Check,” we said.
One of the other customers, just settling in the waiting room laughed, “I used to have an internist and an obstetrician. Now I have an ophthalmologist, a gastroenterologist, a otolaryngologist, a gynecologist, an oncologist and a cardiologist. Ooops,” she said, holding out one and wiggling on of her feet, “I also have a podiatrist.”
I couldn’t help but think that getting older had become my own personal cottage industry.
I kept all of my health care and beauty professionals busy.
I sent their kids to college…well, maybe summer camp.
The stylist confirmed my thinking.
“Let’s add one other thing that we’ve gained,” the stylist said. “A lighter pocketbook.”
Amen to that.
