Snow White as in Santa's Beard, but real

I don't like having people "do things to me". I'd never go to a hair salon if I could cut my own hair. I've never had a manicure or pedicure. The only massages I've had were in Turkish hamams -- believe me, that's a very different matter than the gentle "petting" that most American massages are. My ideal trip to the hair salon is to stop at a "no appointment needed" place, be able to sit right down, get a trim without a shampoo, and be out of there in about twenty minutes having spent no more than $20, counting tip.
Well, I had a very different experience yesterday. I think it was worth it although it was very expensive and I was in the salon from 12;00 TO 4:00. Before I post the rather unsatisfactory before/after photos, here's some background. Many years ago when I moved to NYC I became aware of many fantastic looking gray and/or white haired women, some apparently only in their 40s. After years of covering gray with do-it-myself applications I decided to join the ranks of the "natural grays. My hair gradually became nearly entirely white. I liked it. No fuss, no coloring. This was me - liberated. Upon occasion a woman in the street or subway or a store would compliment my hair color.
Then when I was seeing A. he began saying I should color my hair -- we had known each other many years before. His picture of me was as a 35 year old brunette. I resisted, for months. Although he's a fair amount older than I and white haired, his ego needed a woman who was not white haired -- no G.H. Bush he! [politically good, emotionally another matter] My ego and feminist standards were no match for his need and I finally gave in. So for some time I've been brown haired again. But since that episode in our lives is over, I've thought more and more about going back to my natural white. To undo a bad decision is very difficult. ... Finally, with the natural hair growing in - a lot - during my 'invalidization" period, I said to myself, the time has come. Precisely, the time was yesterday. So here are the sad before and after pictures -- believe me this is not my most flattering picture. [It's small and it doesn't enlarge if you click on it - ha!]





A young woman who uses the nom de dyepot, Havana, who is the salon's color director, took up my challenge and, indeed, worked very hard at the job. After the first part of the process I had a rusty orange cast throughout my hair. So another process was applied and after that yet one more. The result -- after four hours -- my hair is as snow white as any Santa's beard. Better yet, it is so close to my own natural color that when my hair continues to grow, the difference will {I think] be imperceptible. And I'll never purchase another box of hair color from any of those multiple cosmetic firms again. What you see is what I am. And, happily, I remembered immediately how I emphasized my blue eyes and naturally very light complexion with make up. I cannot say I was ever anybody's "arm candy" but I can say I certainly never will be. My politics are very different indeed, but I'm in the Barbara Bush camp - hair-wise, here and forever.