The bridge to happiness is peppered with spontaneity.
I’m 74 years old – if not now, when?
So one lazy Saturday afternoon my good buddy, Francine, calls me to tell me she found some old National Geographic Magazines for 25 cents apiece. I had just texted her that morning that I was looking for just that for my work in collage.
I could have asked her to buy them for me and I could have said that I’d pay her back the next time we were together.
I could have thanked her profusely for her follow-through and then told her I’d go there sometime and pick some up.
But I didn’t.
I hopped in the car.
I drove 45 minutes to meet her.
And then she and I gleefully perused through the whole stash – even finding one that is a collector’s item that Francine is going to re-sell on E Bay.
Then, instead of parting, we decided to eat an early dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant I’d never tried before.
The bridge to happiness is peppered with spontaneity.
Our outing didn’t end there.
We talked about our weight. Depressing.
We talked about our thinning hair. Reality.
We talked about our grandkids. Missing them.
And then I related to her a story about my hair dresser and me.
“My husband loves short hair,” I confided to my hair dresser about two years ago. “That’s what I had when he first met me. And every time he looks at our wedding picture, he laments that I’ve let my hair grow. Sooooo, I’m thinking of going mega short again.”
My hair dresser stopped trimming my bangs abruptly. “Omg,” she screeched. “Don’t even think about it. Want a dose of reality or some fake flattery?”
“Uh, reality, I guess,” I answered – quite taken aback by her vehemence.
“You will be very sorry if you cut off all your hair. Your face, no offense, doesn’t looks like it looked 47 years ago,” she confided softy. “And if you are so hellbent on a totally new and drastic make-over, GET A WIG!”
I never acted on her suggestion.
As I’m re-telling my story to Francine, she leans avidly forward and shoots me a very pointed question: “Do you have another of couple of hours?”
I carefully review what I have waiting for me at home:
Replacing the refrigerator’s water filter
Fertilizing the red geraniums on my front porch that refuse to bloom
Unloading the dishwasher
And sewing on three buttons
“Yep,” I speak up excitedly, “I’m totally free, unencumbered and fully present. I’ve got the time!”
“Great,” exclaimed my friend. “You have the time. I have the wigs. Lots of them from my work with modeling for the Home Shopping Network. Let’s do it. Let’s start experimenting.”
And so we did.
Here I am, suddenly transformed at age 74, to a BLONDE! I’m loving it. I imagine myself after a night of disco dancing, able to scrub the floors, write a new book, disinfect the re-cycle bin and whip up a gourmet candle lit-dinner for me and my hubby. I am woman. I am strong.
Way too staid and way too mature a look for me! Perfect if you want to be a frontrunner for “Timeless Styles of the 70’s” and, heaven forbid, be called a Sassy Senior. Not me, honey!
Hippy hag look. Not quite makin’ it either, unless I could adapt it for Halloween.
Not a bad look, but where’s my boho spirit?
I think I will stick with what I have.
All in all, it was a wonderful afternoon and evening.
The replacing didn’t get done.
Nor the fertilizing, unloading or sewing
But it’s okay – because Francine and I made a memory.
And now I’m even more convinced than ever that:
The bridge to happiness is peppered with spontaneity.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor