Friends With My Grey Hair

Well that was quite a little whirlwind there, now. I'm back, having gotten our new school season schedule down for the most part, and suffering through a few continuing work-related sagas.

I'm sorry to talk shop here, but, a bit of free advertising: if anyone knows great fundraisers who love classical music, have closed seven-figure gifts, and want to live in Sunny California, please email me at jenluvstrad@gmail.com. If I don't find someone soon, I've pledged to go out to Santa Ana and stand in the middle of The 1 to stop traffic until someone volunteers for what is essentially the best fundraising job in the orchestra business. Help.

Ok, now that I got that out of the way, I want to share a bit of learning from last week. It was heartening to see the groundswell of support for not censoring myself. I promise not to do it again. Look, this is an editorial adventure, a journalistic vehicle and creative playground. I have not broken any rules of law and don't intend to.

But I realized, in my offline life, sometimes I do still censor myself.

I, friends, color my hair.

Yes, it's true. I have the face of a young person, and a head of hair befitting someone twenty years my senior. I haven't figured out a slick way to tie it all together because I'd look ridiculous with grey hair. I think even X would attest to this. He used to carry around my baby picture and my senior college portrait side by side in his wallet. He would show people, "Look. No difference." He's right. I'm not Emmylou Harris. I'm this person with really prematurely grey hair, and I cover it up, because it looks silly.

So is that censoring myself? I think perhaps I'm worrying a little too much about this.

So let's turn to Christine Lavin, who very nearly always has the answers.

Ipsissimus, you with me?

The kids and I were on our way home from an errand Saturday night when we heard this gem on Jim Blum's folk show on WKSU radio. Let me be clear: Christine Lavin, though petite and guitar-wielding, is a force to be reckoned with if you like to laugh and enjoy a really clever song. She is smart, really smart, and just one of the best songwriters I know. She's not bluegrass, but, she often has just the perspective needed at a certain point in time.

And so it is with this tune, Gonna Make Friends With My Grey Hair. My hair is starting to call to me. Last week at an orientation session for my daughter's school, I made a comment about one of the PTO moms, who had this terrific, gracefully graying hair. She looked hip and approachable. Her grey hair suited her perfectly. Me, I'm not so sure.

So I'll take it slow, and upon the advisement of my hairstylist who I hope to see again this Friday, begin to discuss The Graceful Greying of MandoMama.

After all, I've earned the grey hairs on my head. My hair has been through a divorce, the lost of both parents, two miscarriages, a job change or two, motherhood (on Saturday I officially become the mother of a teenage boy), and home ownership as a single person. Some days I get a call from an orchestra president before I've had time to take my first sip of coffee.

Isn't it time I acted my experience?

Friends With My Grey Hair

(Note: Treat yourself to a buffet of Lavin's gracious humor and good songs here. DO NOT MISS "SENSITIVE NEW AGE GUYS." )