Who would’ve thought going gray would create such a stir?
Most of you by now have likely heard one news channel or another report on the controversy around Canadian news anchor Lisa LaFlamme getting fired from CTV News for letting her hair go gray and not dying it. A link to the story is below if you need to catch up.
Don’t worry. This StoryLife - the first missive to you in almost a year - is not about regurgitating that story. It’s about flying in the face of a culture afraid of getting old. And about absurdity, good mistakes, and playfulness. This StoryLife is about a silly text and a minute-long belly laugh while bent over a sink full of suds washing morning dishes.
I have a lot of used chicken wire from multiple attempts at building ticky-tacky temporary chicken pens and coops when I was naive before the backyard chicken saga swallowed my life - before I wised up.
My friend Carla witnessed this chicken odyssey from the beginning, and when she needed some chicken wire to protect new baby plants from her neighbor’s marauding sheep, she asked if I could spare a roll for her.
I laughed, “Of course, and good riddance. Please, take two!”
Carla is like my sister, but even better because she’s my BFF, my anchor, and my saving grace in an insane world. She’s older than I am by seven or eight years, but she’s so much more youthful than me in spirit and lifestyle. She loves to play, travel, and relishes the good things in life, while I’m serious all the time; gotta survive, make money - gotta work!
Carla has never dyed her hair. For that matter, neither have I, although I’m grayer in my 50th decade of life than she is in her 60th. She has an amazing constitution and blessed genes. Longevity runs in her family. Her mother, who was dear to me and like a grandma, lived to be 92. And I think at 90, she had less gray hair than I did.
One night, swirling red wine around a glass at Carla’s dinner table, we stumbled into the conversation of Botox and hair dying.
“I mean, really? I don’t get it. I really don’t,” Carla said and meant it. She lived an off-grid homestead lifestyle in Oregon for the last thirty years, growing food and a fabulous flower garden. In this rural culture, it’s a good day just to brush your hair.
I replied, “A friend of mine years ago in Los Angeles got Botox once. I felt so bad for her. It looked really painful. Her face was black and blue right after the surgery. I’m too chicken-s—t to do that, even if I do need it.”
Our other dear friend, Ellie, sitting on the kitchen stool, grew up in New York City, and nearly all of her childhood friends, now middle-aged, Botox and Dye.
“Oh, you have no idea. I totally get it. The pressure in our culture, especially when you hold a job as an executive or work in high-level business, is real. Very real – not to mention the social culture. Once you’re viewed as old, your career is over in many companies.” Ellie would know - she spent a lot of time in those social circles in her 20s & 30s. Carla and I couldn’t even imagine it.
But here, in rural Oregon, I have thought about dying my hair – going dark, rich chocolate, and losing the salt and pepper. Yesterday, I saw a grandmother wheeling her granddaughter around in a shopping cart at Fred Meyer. Her hair was cut short and sporty and died lavender purple. I freakin’ loved it. Mental note to self: DO THAT someday.
So, to dye or not to dye?
That can be a real dilemma for women. But no one should be fired for that choice. I’m rocking my job and career, and my hair is purple - great! My hair is blonde - great! My hair is gray - you’re fired! WTF?
All of this was on my mind when I went to bed last night after seeing the gray hair drama in the news, and I thought, “I need to make sure I get that chicken wire to Carla this weekend.”
My phone was on the counter next to the sink. A text buzzed in as I plunged my hands into the suds and washed the morning coffee mug. It was from Carla, who was out running early Saturday errands.
“Good morning! I’d like to swing by in a bit so I can get going on aging today.”
I glanced over from the sink and read her text. Then re-read it. A belly laugh erupted from my mid-section, and suds flew into the window with the burst of air. It was the kind of belly laugh that wrings tears from your eyes, nearly wets your pants, and keeps little giggles bubbling up uncontrollably for the next twenty minutes.
Yes, I know it was a spell-check error on Carla’s phone. I know she meant “..get going on fencing,” but damn, that was funny. And it was funny because of all the people I know on Planet Earth, Carla could give zero whatevers about dying her hair. Or dying in general. Carla is my “Live-Like-You-Love-It Angel.”
And if today she’s gonna get going on aging, then so am I.
☆
This is so relatable! I live in two extreme worlds. Scottsdale, AZ where the concept of beauty has been reshaped into plastic surgery, facial fillers, lash extensions, hair extensions, $100 blowout bars. And the island in Maine where I grew up and now spend summers. Life is simpler there and people are focused more on community than appearance. They don’t make make-up for Maine girls!
Delighted to have you back, Michelle.
I loved this story and laughed remembering when you got your first couple of gray hairs, I thought you were going to dye right then and there! I'm so glad you didn't, you look great! Cheers to all the brave gray hairs!!