The last relationships I was in, before falling broom over heels for my Piano Man, were with models. I married one, was engaged to another, and ran for the hills before the third gave me enough reasons to strangle him. They were good men, and they loved me dearly. But looking back, I feel I didn’t love them enough to notice certain things. Or maybe I didn’t know what to look for.
That last sentence was the bit that made me feel terrible about my ex and many others who hold their “glorious past” as the best thing they will ever have. When that ‘best thing’ is a face, a voice, a body, youth… years become a curse, rarely a blessing. Life must be a terrible thing to endure when one is not proud of the lines in the silver glass.
You are probably wondering what I’m talking about, huh? I know, my Luvs, I get loquacious when I think about uncomfortable pasts… but I have a point. It has to do with the behavior of one of my ex’s. I haven’t seen him in years, so some of these might no longer be true—I hope it isn’t. He loved his face, his body, his hair, and the way women and men went crazy at the sight of him. One summer, during an award ceremony, we had our first and last fight. I thought he had gotten upset after my red faerie dress, hair and sparkly tattoos got more attention than he did. But I think I was wrong…
My Piano Man and I went to see “Follies”, last week. And in the gloominess of a decaying stage, littered with the sad present-lives of its fallen stars, I understood that the man who I was with all those years ago was not upset because my dress, hair and tattoos had mesmerized everyone. He hurt because earlier that night, I discovered my first gray hair.
I was so happy about finally getting some sage that I failed to notice his desperation. My gray hair horrified him. I smacked his shaky hand when it approached my head with a pair of tweezers. I had been glaring at my ex, when he said, “You are right, pulling it out will only encourage more to come out. We’ll dye it tomorrow.”
I ignored the comment and went to the party with a smile that kept me in a glorious blaze. In my witchy soul, age, experience, lines on a happy face, gray hair… are proofs that one has lived; evidence that a heart has danced at the beat of the Earth’s rhythm for a while. Gray hairs are sage badges. A Witch finds pride in becoming a Crone.
“Follies” presents stars that have lost their glow, but that is not the show’s main theme. The musical is about how “dreams and reality collide for one triumphant, haunting and unforgettable night when former members of the “Weismann’s Follies” reunite on the eve of their theater’s demolition. Two couples remember their glorious past and face the harsher realities of the present…”
|Look at this hair and this smile, stunning has no age.|
Isn't my friend, Lee Rockwell, a beautiful being?
|Now I understand the forlorn expression under the mirthful makeup...|