One thing I have to admit, however, is that I am not nearly as smart, open or courageous as Sarah. I just have all these crazy random thoughts about what I see and experience in life and find pleasure in writing them down. My personal journal may be a better choice for writing them down, but that would fit my personality type. (Someday I will ramble on a bit about my therapist and my love for him.)
Earlier this year, I decided to quit coloring my hair. I am pretty sure my first "frost" was in Jr. High, to highlight my blonde locks. Keeping with the style of the 80s, 90s, 2000s, I kept going with color, weaves, highlights, etc. (oh, if I had only invested all the money I spent on my hair back in the day.) So, when I decided to quit coloring, I was very surprised to learn my hair isn't blonde at all. It isn't even dishwater blonde.
(I need to pause a moment to comment on my hatred of the dishwater-blonde description. When you tell a girl of 13 or 14 that her hair is dishwater blonde, this does not build her self esteem. It brings about memories spent after dinner washing dishes while your little sister has to "use the bathroom", and the chunky brown water you have to reach into to let the water drain. This isn't a pretty color, nor a pleasant memory. Dishwater is not something girls want to look like. As that girl, I beseech you to strike this description from your vocabulary. Being called a dishwater-blonde makes you feel about as pretty as when your mother says, "too bad you weren't born a boy, you would make a great football player with those shoulders". True story.)
It turns out, after 10 months of growth, I have auburn-ish hair. That is the same as saying RED, though I am not really red, just reddish. It has this red undertone that took me quite by surprise!. My mother was a natural brunette, as is my non-dishwashing sister. My maternal grandmother was blonde *wink*, as far as I knew. This new look has taken me a while to get comfortable with, but it is growing on me.
(this is what I look like in my own mind.)Fast forward a few months and I am at the dermatologist. He is giving me a full body skin exam (yeah, that is about as much fun as the yearly gyno visit) and he exclaims, more than once....."you are Irish!". HUH?? He points out these cute little bright red freckly things I have and tells me that this is only found on Irish skin. I remember my mother used to say she thought she was English/Irish, but then always fell back to we are Heinz 57's.
(Again, I want to point out, this does not give a young girl a strong sense of self worth and beauty.....have you seen Heinz 57? or tasted it? Is this what you want to BE?)
And come to think of it, I am pretty confident that my blonde grandmother's hair was more of an auburn in those first color photos from the 60s, before she met Miss Clairol.
Consider this your forewarning; I now OWN St. Patrick's Day. As my daughter recently said, "of course, it is now a family holiday". I shall party like the true Irish girl I am. I will wear a shirt that says "Kiss me, I am Irish". I will drink Irish Car Bombs and cook Corned Beef. I will call my house "my castle" and proclaim I am from The Emerald 'Isle. I will sing Oh Danny Boy as loudly as possible, and swear my undying love and allegiance to the Patron St of Ireland! I will become Lori O'Hallihan. Someday I may even make my pilgrimage to Dublin for the celebration
All of you are invited to join me.
