GOING GRAY
Is it circumstantial?
Sailing Vessel STEADFAST has gone gray, like many of us; in her case it’s literal, quick and dirty. In my case it’s been a long time coming.
“You’re going gray,” I told my old wooden girl directly, “Just like me.” What I didn’t say was that, in my case, she is the cause. She’s not completely the cause, but you know what I mean. I give her considerable credit.
At some point over the last few weeks I conveyed to you the palpable relief I experienced when I pulled off my stiff, filthy TYVEK PPE suit for what I thought was the last time. On Wednesday I found myself re-draped in an XL complete with crotch just barely above my insulated knees. I rolled the pantlegs up once, again, and a third time, after those damn, already-bent brass hooks on my workboots relentlessly caught the hems and tripped me up, hard. Some days here seriously lack grace.
The respirator really caught my attention as to how permanent, how powerful, how poisonous, this layer must be. I filled every pinhole, every tiny imperfection in our new bottom with the gray plastic-ish solution that requires a certain temperature for application. Sun shone through our structure and I was highly overdressed; the sweat ran down my spine as well as from breastbone over ribcage. As I rolled it carefully on, a little piece of joy took me by surprise; each new step teaches me something, each step takes me closer to living back on the sea. The barrier coat of this vessel, properly applied, under ordinary circumstances, will outlast yours truly. You may already understand this project well enough so that you can foresee, prior to launch, applying yet another barrier coat (or two or three…) just to make sure we’ve got it right. It’s all about protection. It’s all about getting it right and we’ll get there, regardless of the redundancy and transformations required.
STEADFAST is now sporting a very stately, steel gray two-part epoxy barrier coat on her smooth new bottom, another layer of protection from formidable Mother Nature, this time on top of the seafoam greenish fiberglass (it was QUITE A PROCESS) below her waterline. Her careful replanking and recaulking, the new, bright white seams, the months of hard, careful labor, are no longer in evidence. I vascillate between disappointed and elated. Are YOU sporting a color? Does it change? Does it cover up all the hard work you put in? Or emphasize your best side?
When I first met my Sailor, he deemed himself ‘platinum’ not merely silver and most certainly not gray—this society’s tell-tale indicator of inevitable, oft-dreaded aging. As a child I can remember that my mom’s premature coloration—in her very early 30s—was costumed every few weeks by a private ritual. My blondish-brown has been transforming for years now; I’m thrilled with the fairly slow rate (accelerated by circumstances) and most certainly label the new tint platinum. Does that change the dynamic? Or buoy me from aging? My grandmother Pearl’s hair was white my whole life. No coverups. No shame. No regret. Gray that was white. An indicator of age that, on her, was timeless. Stately.
Could aging be described as some other color? And could that descriptor become some other perspective? Well, yes. And yes. I pluck almost-white eyebrow hairs as soon as I notice them. Since they are usually full-size (or impossibly appear even larger than their cohorts) by the time that happens, I clearly don’t pay attention very often. Or do those individuals suddenly turn, under stress or duress or neither, from my traditional, boring brown to course white and strikingly noticeable? That seems ridiculous, (and I know this is too much information!). Sometimes I tug out a brown one with the white by mistake, wonder how many of those I have to spare, and then also contemplate whether, when they’re mostly white, will I keep pulling or…the options are limited; after all…I won’t want to go without.
STEADFAST sports her custom steely gray better than I will. I find the whole graying process a tad disheartening, but that adjective is far too strong; if that’s my biggest problem in this mad mad mad world, I’m kicking ass. No one cares. Not even me. I used to, but we’re wiser, I think, and particularly in tumultuous, unpredictable times, so many other things take precedence, don’t they? ~J
If you think my work is worthy, it takes two clicks; the heart icon & the restack arrows to share it. Or… just privately love my writing & stay aboard. That’s perfect, too.
FAITH is still with us… @ sunrise on the 17th.
In case you missed it:
NOTES:
As we’re discussing colors and concepts, I’ll offer a provocative, creative perspective on an entire year of gray from 'Stacker Amy Cowen, Illustrated Life. Color yourself, color your year. I give her credit for inspiring for some of this content.
Spelling: did you wonder gray vs. grey? I did, and found a tremendously refreshing change; everyone is correct.
See you next week! It’s a pleasure to have you here.
She looks excellent, and so do you!! I dare say you've both earned your colors (and your stripes, as they say). I noticed my first silver strands when I was just 28. At 45, I decided to give up the ritual of trying to be what I wasn't. Was it because I spent too much time fretting? 🤷♀️
I think this year is about doing what we must to protect ourselves from forces that are determined to destroy us, and to pluck the wild hairs out!
Loved Amy's year of gray. Loved this. You look ravishing in PPE.
To me, gray is the shade of infinity, and the older we get, the closer we come to that endless journey. Years ago, I attended a funeral service for an older woman named Adell, who was truly beloved by everyone who met her. Her husband was a legendary surfer/lifeguard in Malibu, so he and many others paddled out to form the traditional circle within which lay a large bouquet of flowers.
Not being a surfer, or in possession of a wetsuit or board, I watched from the cliff.
It was a gray morning, a high fog overhead coloring the gray sea, and as the ceremony unfolded, I couldn't distinguish where the gray water ended and the gray sky began: it was all one amorphous void. Not being remotely religious, I'm not a believer in the afterlife duality of heaven or hell -- it seems to me that those two realms are right here with us, each and every day -- but I couldn't help thinking how appropriate this gray void was under the circumstances, with the flowers representing Adell floating from sea to the infinite sky.
Your boat looks beautiful in the white and gray coat. Well done!
BTW -- I had dinner with our mutual friend last night. She's doing well.