Old Gray Mare: Going Gray Month One!
Is it strange that I’m excited about writing my second blog on going gray? Probably. But I’ve been thinking about the subject all month. Of course, now that I’m here I won’t be able to remember anything I’ve been thinking, but such is life (and old age). What I do remember is that for some strange reason the song Old Gray Mare (She Ain’t What She Used to Be) keeps going through my head.
Throughout this past month, I have vacillated between being super excited about transitioning to gray and being worried that it’s going to age me big time. I don’t want to look old. But then I tell myself that maybe after the initial aging effect, I’ll get the Steve Martin effect, where I’ll look the same age for the next 30 years.
Note: One advantage to aging: Your delusions are easier to maintain.
The beginning of my gray hair adventure
Yes, I have decided to take the plunge. No, not the Polar Bear one. I’m going gray. Or, more eloquently, silver. My hair started turning gray in my 20s, a strand here, a strand there. Not too scary. Then, in my 30s, I began dyeing my hair to cover those gray strands, which had started reproducing at an alarming rate. And now, at age 47, I have no idea what my hair color is, nor do my children. I told my youngest son I was going to go gray and he asked why…he didn’t see any gray. So I had him come closer, and I pulled back my bangs to reveal my white roots. His response? “Oh wow. I didn’t realize there was so much.”
Oh, the honesty of youth.
I’m not sure what made me change my mind about going gray. Last year I would have said I’m going to fight aging with every weapon at my disposal. But a week ago, I did an abrupt about face. Maybe it was seeing a picture of my younger sister, who has already transitioned. She looks good. Maybe it was coming across a photo of model, Cindy Joseph, sporting her fabulous silver mane. Maybe it was my crunchy straw hair and split ends and the realization that my roots already really showed and not even a month had passed since my last coloring. Probably it was all that stuff coming together, like a perfect storm. Continue reading
I love dark things, and I love period pieces. I love the paranormal side of life, and I love the Victorian era. I love intrigue, and I love romance. So what did I do? I incorporated all that wonderful stuff into my latest series: Tales From Hawthorn Lane, a sensual saga that takes place in the dark and magical village of Hawthorn Lane – a sanctuary for the fey.
Although it’s modern day, the villagers live as though in another time, with long dresses and twirling cloaks, crackling fires and fancy carriages. Trouble’s always brewing in this beguiling world, where light and dark are in a constant battle for control. Lorelle Gragan, the main character, struggles to find herself, to shed her mask, to believe in love in this strange and chaotic world where nothing is as it seems. Beneath the facade she wears to protect herself lurks a powerful sensual force that’s just waiting to break free, and when it does, nothing will ever be the same for her or the residents of Hawthorn Lane.
Take a look at the synopsis for Bewitching Hawthorn Lane, the first book in the series…