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A short post on short hair and winning.

Posted in Aging, Life & Love, and Relationships

10846026_10204044354286775_7871690087347719235_nI’ve just had my hair cut and coloured in preparation for Christmas. Loving how I say that – I do it every month or so, but right now everything feels like festive. I’m keeping my hair really short, the cut that fashion mags refer to as gamine, from now on. And have and darkened the colour a little because the sun will bleach it out as I lounge around in the swimming pool on the new floating chair I have promised myself. One, as Jasper keeps reminding me, that must have a drink holder – “for cocktail purposes”.

As I got into the  elevator to go to my car, two women called that I should hold the lift. They slid in just as the doors closed – full of the joys of spring. Both of them were elegant in a Katherine Hepburn kind of way … flat shoes, earth tones and quietly graphic scarves. They were in their seventies. And they both had short hair. One blonde, the other that effortless grey steel colour.

“Love your hair.” said one.
“Thanks,” I said, “I was just thinking the same thing about the two of you – I so seldom see women with short hair and you both wear it beautifully.”
They looked at each other: “Not through choice in my case”, said the grey haired one. “But I am going to keep it this way.”
“I hope you do”, I said – “it suits you. And well done for winning the battle.”
They both laughed … “That I did”, she said. “And what a battle.”
As they left the elevator she gave my arm a squeeze. “You made my day. Have a happy Christmas.”

I smiled all the way home.

There is celebration in the everyday. We just have to find it.

 

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One Comment

  1. @winstonmoreton
    @winstonmoreton

    The lift lady anecdote is special. My lack of observation on a deep sea fishing trip less so. One of my mates had brought along his 16 year old son. I noticed the boy made no effort to help with any of the chores and I thought lazy. After a while I made a point of talking to him and he showed me the surgical scar, as big as they get, across his belly. My thoughtlessness still gives me grief. His father and mother had decided not to share but he was calm and accepting.

    December 19, 2014
    |Reply

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