Gray Matter

When I speak of gray matter, I'm not talking about what's between my ears rather what's starting to appear on the top of my head. That's right, little strands of course, curly gray hairs are starting to emerge! When I discovered the latest one, the chorus of Tennessee Ernie Ford's Sixteen Tons raced through my mind.

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

I remembered back in 7th grade choir class when we'd sing this song and I'd think to myself, "Wow, whoever we're singing about must be ancient." I now see myself in the chorus of that dreaded song. With each day, I get older and in this troubling economy, who isn't getting deeper in debt? Maybe replacing Saint Peter with "Old Devil" suits me better.

I am mildly encouraged by a few minor details though. One is the gray nuisances are far and few between. In other words, they're still within "plucking" standards. I have some time to decide whether I will take the bottle of color or not. And the second most saving grace is to remember my Grams. Up until the day she passed, she had a full head of black hair with a little patch of gray in front. Maybe I'll enjoy the same luck she had. If any of you are about to tell me that gray hair depends on my father's mother's sister's niece's daughter, please spare me. When it comes to gray matter on my noggin, I remind myself, the geneticist's studies do not pertain to me. I must clinch to any hope out there.