I do not consider myself to be particularly vain, but I confess I do care about the way I look to a certain extent.  When I think of all the women who have lost their hair to chemo I am ashamed of myself for even writing this.  My hair has always changed colors.  When I was born I was a red head and my mother was so thrilled!  Then it fell out a few days later and I was bald for several years.  Everyone thought I was a boy.  When it came back in it was strawberry blonde.  It stayed that way until junior high and then it went sort of auburn.  I spent a lot of time in the sun and got perms in my twenties and it went back to the color of my childhood.  A Salish friend of my father’s, who was a darling man, gave me the name Yellow Hair.  Still self conscious, I don’t think I started altering the color of my hair until my thirties.  It has a tendency to go yellow.  So yesterday I asked my hair guy to make it darker.  He practically begged me not to but I was determined.  Now I do not even recognize myself.  I know it will fade eventually; I just did not realize how much of my identity was tied up with the hair I saw in the mirror every morning.  At least I had enough sense not to chop it as I know I do not look good with short hair.  I have never cared for “celebrities” but I have always loved Jane Seymour.  I got the chance to meet her when she was in Dallas several years ago.  She has the most beautiful hair and I love that she has not cut it all off as she has gotten older.  Women used to have long hair; it was their crowning glory.  American journalist Shana Alexander said, “Hair brings one’s self-image into focus; it is vanity’s proving ground.  Hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.”  I suppose I need to finally come to terms with my Yellow Hair … and wear it proudly.