Getting older every day:
why does that continue to surprise me?
I am often startled by the morning reflection in the mirror, somehow not expecting so much white and gray hair each morning, though I have been graying since my mid-30s, even though I watched and assessed my father, brown to gray, gray to white. I must be -- another surprise -- resistant, a slow learner.
I know how old I am; yet why do the visible signs surprise me so often? My dad more or less told me I live in my head too much, and I guess this is all proof of that.
My dad lived to age 70, and every visit from age 62 on contained a bit of surprise for me when I would be faced with the brute fact that my father in the flesh didn't match the vision in my mind. I think Dad-at-59, for some reason, held position mentally as the reigning image, even as he aged, moved into his 60s, became 70.
I am now 59 . . . so maybe that's why the needle is stuck on some record in this head of mine.
Not so sure about the latest solo scissors-cut (nicked my own ear this time around), but it has always grown out before . . . .
