Who are My 60? Let Me Don a Plastic Tiara and Tell You

The decade birthdays

 make me reflective.

As I approach my 60^th birthday, I have had more than a few friends ask whether I will celebrate another “Year of Judy” as I did when I turned 50. In case you missed that marvelous (at least to me!) 12-month celebration, my 50^th year started off with the creation of business cards announcing that I was “Celebrating the Year of Judy”—I didn’t leave any doubt that 2014 was all about moi.

Business cards were only the beginning. I took a plastic 50^th Birthday tiara with me everywhere—no exaggeration—and would pop that plastic monument to my age on my head and snap selfies with all who would tolerate my drama. I did not do this for one day. I did this ALL YEAR. I dubbed those who allowed me to take a selfie with them “Tiara Victims.”

Most people humored me. If I am honest with myself, I was often met with good-natured (I hope!) eye rolling. My husband tried to shame me for accepting free movies, meals, and desserts in honor of my birthday long after my birth date passed. I just shrugged it off and reminded him that “I am 50 all year!”

I was honored to be celebrated by a fabulous group of girlfriends who arranged a weekend at the The Omni Homestead Resort in Hot Springs, VA. What fun! We all wore plastic tiaras and feather boas which molted all over the historic hotel. We danced and got spa treatments and just enjoyed each other’s company.

Women know how to celebrate other women. We sometimes get a bad rap for allegedly being bitchy and competitive—and that does happen—but most of the women I know are lovely and supportive.

I turned 40 while living at Fort Campbell, KY (Tony was deployed to Iraq) and another group of terrific women (there was some overlap in these two groups!) “kidnapped” me for a weekend of fun in Nashville. There was a boa and tiara involved for that celebration too.

So, now that 60 is mere weeks away, I want to celebrate (God willing) my sixth decade by honoring the women who have lifted, inspired, and mentored me on my life’s journey. I choose to celebrate my 60^th birthday by honoring the women who loved and cheered me into the person I am now—the 60 great women who helped me to 60!

Me & my guy 10 years ago.

Me & my dad, who knew
 how to celebrate birthdays!

This in no way should detract from the wonderful men in my life, starting with my guy of nearly 40 years, who always has my back (although he prefers my front 😉). I won the lottery when I married Tony at just 20 years old (he was 22, although he often fibs that he is younger).  Then there is our son, four grandsons, my brother, father, and other fabulous men who have made an impact on my life, but this is about the ladies.

I thank each of these strong, wonderful women. I plan to blog about some of their stories throughout my 60^th year. It was important for me to declare and celebrate the Year of Judy when I turned 50. I was a recent empty nester just finding my footing when our children no longer required my complete focus—our adult children might argue that they still have too much of my “momming” attention!

I have turned another of life’s corners in the last decade. I am a retired woman of leisure living life on the road with my guy. Each day is all about Judy! Now, it feels like the right time to celebrate others…so…this year is the “Year of the Chicas!”

Some of the Chicas who helped me celebrate 50.

I could have chosen “Amigas” or “Ladies,” but the term Chicas is more authentic to who I am. If I count you among my good friends, odds are I have referred to you as “Chica” or called and left a voicemail that starts (ok, screams) “Chica, Chica, Chica!” 

Watch out, 2024 is the 

Year of the Chicas!

But Wait, There’s More…

Those who know me can probably guess that I have already ordered a plastic 60^th Birthday tiara. I do love taking selfies with Tiara Victims. Why plastic? —you might wonder. A fancier tiara might imply that I take the whole crown thing seriously. I love to laugh at myself and wearing a plastic tiara (frankly wearing almost any headwear) cracks me up.😉 I hope to laugh my way through my sixties or as long as I am blessed to grace the planet.

Just a few of my Tiara Victims...

Jumping into the Silver Pond

Against the advice of at least one friend, I am plugging my nose, holding my breath, and jumping into the pool of going natural. Yep! I have decided to embrace my gray hair. For such a small thing—in the big scheme of life—that decision was a difficult one for me.

As with almost everything I do, going gray started with a quick Google search. The results were frightening. Looking up synonyms for gray hair, I found “showing characteristics of age, especially having gray or white hair.” The rest of the list was more disturbing: “gray-haired, gray-headed, grizzly, hoar, hoary, white-haired and old.”

Hoary?? Apparently, hoary means grayish white, but the slang meaning is “no longer humorous, interesting or meaningful.” What???

One study shows that 72 percent of women find men with gray hair “hot.” I could find no such study for men who find women with gray hair attractive. Not that I need to be attractive to random men—that clearly hasn’t been my life’s goal! But I don’t want to look or feel OLD. Not to myself or my guy—who by the way, rocks silver hair and is HOT.

My friend, Trish the Dish, has warned me that I should reconsider going gray. “About the gray hair,” she recently said. “Always remember that really young-looking handsome man you are married to. Just saying! The streaking looks great, but total gray??? Just saying. Love you!” With a well-earned nickname like Trish the Dish, I would be wise to heed her advice, yet…here I go!

As with every major decision in my life, I did some soul searching and research. I am tongue-in-cheek when I call this a decision major, but transitioning to gray hair after decades of coloring my hair is not a minor decision! We have all seen the sad results of bad hair grow out.

Let’s just talk about the word “transition” for a moment. My husband has asked me to stop sharing that I am “transitioning”—especially in my usual loud voice. “They didn’t hear you in the kitchen,” he will tease me at restaurants when I am oversharing—who me? One sweet stylist suggested I substitute the word “blending” for “transitioning.”

Tony and I have travelled to 23 states in our first year of living in our Airstream and I have had my hair colored in 12 of those states. I am usually at a salon for at least one or two hours and have paid between $70 to $250 before the tip. As I met each new stylist, I would inquire about transitioning (or blending!) to gray. The stylists’ opinions and strategies varied as much as the states where they lived and worked.

 “Don’t do it!”

“Go blond first.”

“Highlights.”

“Lowlights.”

I have talked about whether to go gray so often that my husband refuses to listen to anything involving hair color. Tony’s running joke anytime he doesn’t listen to me (and let’s be honest, after 40 years of marriage, that’s often!) is, “I am sorry. I thought you said, ‘hair color’ and I tuned out.” Tony’s apparent lack of interest or opinion seems in line with one study I found that showed that men do not seem to care about women’s gray hair as much as women assume they would. I am sure there is a good joke in there…

Before I decided to pull the silver trigger, I sought the counsel of a few of the women I think rock their natural hair color. My silver sisters were kind enough to share their journeys to the gray side.

Silver Sister Wisdom:

 Ø  “I started turning gray at 50 and dyed it for years. My hair grows so fast that within a week I had gray roots and a mini skunk line. My hairdresser did highlights and lowlights for months, that way the lines were hardly visible. It was an easy transition with a good hairdresser. Once you are gray, be sure to use the purple shampoos to keep it from being brassy. The newer purple shampoos don’t make the old lady blue hair like they did in our parents’ generation. You go girl! It really will give you a sense of freedom!”

 Ø  “My original color was super dark, and I dyed it brown for many years. I was not going to be an old lady! I retired at close to 58 and was still dying it. I was in the sun so much that I often looked dark blonde. It was cut fairly short and the white blended in with the blonde, so it didn’t bother me. I eventually had the blonde cut off and it was very short and spiky. I do remember my mother telling me I was much too young, and I should dye it. I was recently at a party and noticed a few people letting the white take over.”

 Ø  “I dyed my hair for so many years. I stopped when I began having allergy issues to dyes. No makeup and no hair dye—no color in shampoo, etc. I had my hair cut VERY short and I had my gal try to strip the hair color in an effort to make it one color—which failed miserably. I looked like Rod Stewart! Think calico cat meets Rod Stewart! I kept it cut really short until it grew out. I've tried some longer cuts with the new gray hair but find that it is easiest and looks best a bit short. I'm super lucky as my guy likes me best 'aw natural'! No makeup, no hair dye. What takes forever is to realize you now have gray hair. I still look at other women with brown hair and think that it looks like mine.”

 Ø  “I went gray early, so at first, I put a Nice and Easy rinse on it every month (dark). My hair was naturally dark, but as the gray started coming in, I did what my mom did and starting using a Nice and Easy blonde rinse. After a couple years of that I realized that the gray coming in behind the blonde was close to the same color and didn't show that much. So, I would let it go for months and could hardly tell. Finally, I said enough and just didn't use the rinse anymore. I never had it professionally done. It has now been about 10 years since I went natural. My sister has the same color now too.”

 Ø  “I dyed my hair for YEARs—since my 30s. I started with highlights then full head. Did it myself. My mom and oldest sister grayed very early. In fact, I never remember my mom not being gray. I decided during the pandemic to stop dyeing it. I got it cut really short. About four months later got it cut short again and by then it was all grown out. My mom and her dad had beautiful white hair. When I was coloring my hair, it got to the point where often it wouldn't take the color around my temples where it was really gray. I just got tired of it not covering and I knew I had a good chance of my hair being white like my mom and grandpa's. I also knew I wasn't fooling anyone or hiding my real age. So, I figured, WTF? Since I stopped coloring it, I've had more compliments on my hair than ever. Who knew?”

Not all my friends are embracing gray hair—at least not yet. One friend said she decided to try letting her hair grow out naturally with COVID helping her make the move to gray. “I stopped cutting it at the same time,” she told me. “I liked the idea of going natural, but I remember looking at myself some days and feeling old—more because of what I saw than how I actually felt.” That friend returned to hair color and haircuts. “I am not ready to go back to natural,” she said. “I have played around with lots of colors over the years and found one that I love.”  

One friend offered this advice, “I think if you’re tired of dying your hair you might try going lighter and lighter. You don’t need to go short and spikey. You have a beautiful face which glows from inside and super hair that adds even more beauty…so, you’ll never know unless…”

So, I have started my journey to gray. I have used so much purple shampoo that my roots are often light purple. I feel lighter and freer already, but should I ever look in the mirror and feel old because of my hair color, I can always color it again! I just won’t talk to Tony about it first!

 But Wait, There’s More…

I have three friends currently battling breast cancer. Each of them has lost her hair. That puts this entire hair color debate into perspective for me. I am grateful to be breathing. Please join me in praying for our sisters everywhere as they fight their individual battles.

Searching for Ms. Rachel

 

Searching for Ms. Rachel

Nice Work if you Can Get it.

There are many things I enjoy about this video. The first are the obvious answers any Mimi would give:

• ·        I love our grandson’s adorable man-bun because his longer hair makes his resemblance to our daughter (his Ima) undeniable. His parents are honoring the Jewish tradition of delaying Azariah’s first haircut until he is three and old enough to wear a kippah.
• ·        I love Azariah’s sweet little voice and innocent answers.

As I think about this brief glimpse at our daughter as a mama (Ima) I am impressed by the way she talks to her son with softness and respect. It might seem like a no-brainer that a mom would speak kindly to her child but let me add some context. Kelsey and her sons (2 ½ and 8 months) just flew back to Israel from New Jersey earlier this week. Her infant, Elior, is still jet lagged and not allowing Kelsey to get much sleep. Kelsey is working full-time, and this video was shot at the end of a long week of work while traveling with her boys. And then there is the matter of the historically stressful situation in Israel.

As if that weren’t enough, this video was shot within an hour of Shabbat—a Jewish Day of rest each week from sunset Friday to sunset on Saturday. While Shabbat is a time of rest, preparing for Shabbat is a lot of work for the Ima of the house. Kelsey often bakes fresh Challah and prepares food for the Friday evening meal, as well as for all the meals on Saturday—no cooking or work of any kind is allowed after sunset on Friday. That means any housekeeping or laundry must be done prior to Shabbat. Every member of the family also bathes. By the time the Shabbat candles are lit, most Jewish mamas are pooped! In this context, I appreciate Kelsey’s patience and warmth toward her son even more.

Maybe I am extra impressed because I am looking at this video through the lens of my own years as a mama of young children. I can hear myself telling my children not to play with the computer (even though when they were two years old, we didn’t yet have one!). I can hear myself sounding impatient and tired. I don’t hear any of that when Kelsey talks to Azariah in this clip.

I know she must have moments of exhaustion that make her act impatiently, but it warms my heart to see that she is doing better than I did. Isn’t that what we want for our children? To do even better than we did.

For those who haven’t yet encountered the phenomenon of Ms. Rachel, ask anyone under the age of 5. She’s a rock star. I sure hope Azariah is successful in his mission to find her.

But Wait, There's More...

Life can be strange. Wars rage on and yet, the small moments are the big moments. We are grateful we got to enjoy a couple of precious weeks with Azariah and his family (and even Ms. Rachel). Keeping Israel and our family in our prayers. Please pray for peace.

Sometimes Saying Goodbye is Sadly Complicated

Tony’s dad died this week, and I am heartbroken. That may seem like an obvious statement, but I am sad at more than his passing. I am sad because I loved him and he is gone from the planet, but I am also sad because his relationship with my favorite human was complicated. 

Charles Frank Fish was 85 years old when he died on Sept. 20. While Chuck’s death was not a shock (he had been battling Alzheimer’s disease), I had hoped there would be more time. Is there ever enough time? There is never a good time to lose a parent. 

Tony bears a strong resemblance to his father and not just in appearance, although there is no denying the physical similarities. Tony, like his dad, is tall and slender. He even wears a goatee, just as his dad did for many years. (Note: I am going to talk about Chuck in the present tense here because he is still very much alive in my mind). They have the same hands. Tony teases me that I judge people as if they are horses, looking at their feet, hands, and teeth. He teases, but I do notice hands and both Tony and his dad’s hands are beautiful—strong, capable, manly. Tony and Chuck each hold their hands the same way—rubbing one hand over the other when they talk. Both men are handy with tools and can fix most things. I think Tony got his love of all things carpentry and mechanical from his father. Both kept impeccable garages—every tool had its place. Tony’s current traveling garage in the back of his truck is just as organized.

But the resemblance is even more than that. I sometimes hear Chuck's voice when my husband uses certain expressions. They have the same (sometimes naughty!) sense of humor. They move in a similar way. Even Tony admitted to me recently that he sees his father in himself. 

Father-son relationships can be complicated in the best of circumstances, but when Tony was about 7 years old, his parents divorced, and his hero father remarried and eventually created a new family. Tony and his younger brother, Bob, were raised by their mom just miles away from their father, his wife, Wendy, and their two children. This is not going to be about blame. I share this history by way of explaining that Tony’s relationship with his dad was complicated. 

There was emotional hurt and wounded pride on both sides, but there was also love. That’s why I wished for more time. I am a fix-it person, but sometimes relationships are what they are. Despite the complications, I have many good memories of Chuck. I know Tony does too. I am grateful that I saw Chuck and Wendy last September when I traveled through Redding on the way to my niece’s wedding. My sweet friend, Kathleen Tresser, waited for more than an hour in her car while I visited with my in-laws in their home. Chuck walked out to greet me and gave me a big hug (he was a good hugger!). We chatted and caught up and told each other “I love you.” I cherish that memory and the photos of that visit. I thank Wendy for that visit. It was a difficult day for her, and she graciously accommodated me.

The last two times Tony saw his dad were similarly sweet visits. One was at his brother, Mike, and Amy’s wedding. Chuck spent much of the three-day event just being near Tony. We had another brief, but sweet visit at a Round Table Pizza Parlor when we came to Redding for my brother Jake’s Surprise 50th Birthday party. I am going to focus on the sweetness of those visits and some of the great memories over the years, instead of fretting about what might have been. If you know me well, you know that the decision to let go and be at peace does not come easy for me. I am only going to speak about our relationship with Chuck since I married Tony in 1984. The rest is not my story to tell. 

Chuck, Wendy and their two children shared our wedding celebration (as did Chuck’s mom, Esther, and his brother, Phil). Chuck and Wendy shared many celebrations and special life moments with us over the years. They traveled (across the country!) to attend both Kelsey and Cory’s high school and college graduations. They were there for Tony’s Battalion Change of Command and promotion to Lieutenant Colonel and later to Colonel, as well as many other milestones. They also attended all of Tony’s military retirement ceremonies—there seemed to be a week of them marking his 32+ years of service.

Those are such sweet memories, and we appreciate the lengths they went to share those special times with us. I especially love the memory of Tony’s dad and his brother Bob, standing in military receiving lines next to him at some of those events. For Tony's Pentagon retirement ceremony, the receiving line was longer and even more special with our children, their grandfathers, grandmas and Tony's brothers Bob and Mike Fish standing with him. Such a cherished memory.

There were other shared events too. Family weddings and even a sweet vow renewal for Chuck and Wendy (married 52 years this year). Chuck and Wendy eloped, so their daughter, Erynn, surprised them with a vow renewal for their 40th Anniversary. Tony and I traveled to California from Kentucky so that Tony could “marry” them by officiating at the ceremony like only Tony could. He made them laugh and smile (and even shed a few tears). It is one of my favorite memories. Chuck and Wendy both looked radiantly happy. We all were. 

We also shared a crazy adventure to a West Point football game. I may have forgotten the tickets (safely on our fridge!), which required turning around more than two hours into our journey to retrieve them. That resulted in only a couple of hours of sleep at a hotel, so that we could finish our journey to see Cory in the small window he had as a cadet to visit with us. Thank goodness we raced to West Point for that quick visit because the football game the next day was a blizzard! We left the game early, but never made it back to our hotel and ended up sleeping at the home of someone Tony knew YEARS before. Of course, we drove around having misadventures for hours before showing up wet and tired at that officer’s door late that night! Ah, good times! 

There were lots of actual good times (as opposed to snowed-out football games!). Father’s Days, 4th of July at the Lake, California Hug Tours, boat rides and winery visits. Many of those times my dad and his wife, Cathy, shared in the fun. When I think of “the dads”—as I called my dad (John Jones) and Chuck—I smile. They (and their wives—both seem too young to call “stepmoms!”) enjoyed each other. They would work tirelessly in our kitchen at family celebrations to whip up delicious food. They would share jokes and drinks. I remember my dad teasing Chuck when Chuck asked whether the bacon dad was serving was turkey bacon. “Chuck, I want to live a long time,” my dad said, adding with a devilish grin, “But, I don’t want it to feel like a F—king long time. It’s real bacon!” 

My dad died three years ago this month. I like to think “the dads” are sharing cocktails and laughs again. Rest in Peace, Chuck (AKA Grandpa Fish). 

We love you…and that’s not complicated.

But Wait!! There’s More! 

I am THAT obnoxious photo taker! You know the one. Most families have that person that everyone groans at for photographing constantly. “Say, Cheese!” But as I reminisced and looked through 100’s of photos this week (it wasn't 1000’s because I didn't start posting on Facebook until 2008 and we aren't toting family photos in our Airstream!), it made me think that it is sad that we get hung up on the not-so-good parts of life instead of focusing on all the good. There were many happy moments. I am so glad I can look back at the photos and remember them. As THAT obnoxious photographer, I am enjoying a moment (or 10!) of vindication. Dear family, you are all welcome!