Yep. One day to the next, ain't it the truth. Being a woman is a never-ending roller coaster, and I am thinking that the loop-de-loops keep morphing and changing.
Today is gray and I am suddenly tired of it. Tired of my seven gray shirts, in shades from lavender gray to blue gray to almost-black gray. Tired of my three gray dresses, my two gray shoes and even my gray earrings. Tired of the previously cozy gray days, good for reading and drinking tea and sundry indoor activities. My wintry gray color love affair has grown cold. This is a sign. You know it, and I know it. We need S-U-N.
Today I was particularly frustrated with the new gray cropping up in my hair. It made me want to call my grandmother up post-haste, tell her about it all outraged and hear her say "Oh Bethy, you know not!!" She would be just as disbelieving, and perfectly ready to soothe my beast with sweet murmurings. Not the least of which would be her forgetfulness of my age. I think I am stuck in my twenties, for her. So, after I tell her about the hair, I should go on and tell her "Mamaw, I am 35!" And then I get to hear it again, because there can never be enough of that phrase, and she delivers it so readily.... "Oh Bethy, you KNOW not!"
In fact, other than hearing her southern voice twine out the words "butter beans" as though they could melt in your mouth, her Bethy phrase is the best.
I have learned the hard way, not to bemoan any gray hairs to my mom. It goes like this, every time: "Mom! I am 35 and I am getting so many grays!"
Mom: "What?! I never had gray hair at that age!"
Me: (internally) You traitor!
Me, for real: "Yeah, yeah, you never had twins or a Phoenix either. Goodbye."
Gray days, gray days, all the better for calling a grandmother or a best friend, planning out how to attack the grays, and getting on out into the sun. I sense it peeking out, even now...