Let's Talk About Pattie Boyd

So... I'm here in Nashville, TN visiting none other than the famous Snell of "Snell Said I had To" blog fame. (Her place is super cute, BTW, for those of you who know our beloved Snellycat. -ed.)

On the drive here to Nashville, Snell and I were chatting on the phone, in preparation for three days of non-stop chatting in person, about the book she's reading about Pattie Boyd. Now, Pattie Boyd, for you non-Beatles lovers (re: foolish people) was first the wife of Beatles' George Harrison (alava shalom) and then, later, the wife of Eric Clapton.

I was excited to hear Snell was reading that book, since I just finished Clapton's autobiography. I was anxious to compare notes and find out if Pattie reveals any more in her book that would give some hint as to how this woman, undoubtedly beautiful and probably quite poised and sexy, but still just a woman, managed to inspire some of the most beautiful, passionate and intensely longing songs ever written.

Sadly, Snell came up as empty as I did. She agreed as well that Pattie is a beautiful woman, no doubt. But if you think about some of the lyrics written about this woman, you would think she was some kind of Olivia-Newton-John-in-Xanadu-esque muse. Let's review some of these, shall we?

"If I could choose a place to die
It would be in your arms."
-Bell Bottom Blues, Derek & the Dominoes (aka one of Clapton's bands)

"Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain."
-Layla, Derek and the Dominoes

"Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me"
-Something, The Beatles

"I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don't realize how much I love you."
- Wonderful Tonight, Eric Clapton

The interesting thing about Pattie, it seems to me, is that every song she inspired became a rock anthem. Well, Bell Bottom Blues might be a bit of an underappreciated tune, but it is an anthem to me. I can't imagine what it would be like to inspire that kind of unapologetically (yup, I newly worded that word) passionate plea from a lover. He literally offers to crawl across the room to her and beg!

"Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away."


(This YouTube video is just music, no pictures. So you can come back and finish reading! I know, I'm a giver.)


He'd gladly do it! He won't just, you know, do it. He'll GLADLY do it. That's crazy. I can barely get myself to lean too far out of my way to pet Richie, whom I love tremendously. (By the way, Snell clearly feels the same on that one, because Richie is just outside her reach and she desperately wants to pet him, but doesn't want to get off the couch to do it. Now, granted, she doesn't have the same emotional attachment to him that I do, but you get my point.)

Is it a musician thing to feel things so passionately? Or juat to express them so passionately? Most of the men I have met in my life have felt that passionately about their favorite sports team, but not their women. In fact, now that I think about it, there are probably quite a few guys I have known who would maybe have offered to crawl across the floor for the Boston Red Sox or the Cleveland Indians.

Clearly, when these songs were written in the 70's, they didn't yet understand the dating rules set forth so eloquently by Swingers, where you never show actual interest lest you scare off the object of your obsession. If they had, Eric probably would have waited three days before he wrote a song about his baby. That would have been a different kind of song.

Did they just feel things more passionately then? But if you think back on some of the other love songs from that era, there are so few that are as emotional as the ones Pattie inspired. Or from any era.

I guess there really was something about the way she moved... I wonder if she can teach me.

The Matter of Gray

So... I went to get a cut and color today. Sorely needed. I was excited to get there and get my stringy mess cleaned up. But I was unprepared for the emotional mess that I would turn into while in the chair.

My hairdresser, the ever-fantastic Brandi, and I had our whole discussion about what we were going to do with color and she mixed it up right there in a bowl. And then she began to work. Normally, she starts with foils at the top of my head and works her way around. So I became curious when, instead of starting with foils, she started using her brush to dab at my roots.

"Are you doing it differently this time?" I inquired.

"No."

"But normally you don't do it like this," I persisted.

"I'm doing the same thing I always do, " she replied.

And that's when the world as I knew it turned upside down. Cause that's when she added, "I can't put the foils in until I finish COVERING THE GRAY!"

Ok... um... WHAT? The GRAY? What gray? I am a mere child. How can I have gray? I believe at that point, in my shock, I said something to the effect of "That's not gray! It's dirty blonde!" Brandi, to her credit, kept a straight face as she met my stricken eyes in the mirror and responded firmly, "No. It's gray."

And now, let me take you on a journey of my mental voyage upon completion of this devastating conversation. The part of the woman in denial will be played by Italics. The part of the realistic/sado-masochist will be played by bold, since it's voice is so very, very much louder!

She's so wrong. There is no way I am gray. She just can't see it close enough to realize that it's blonde.

Actually, dumbass, she's able to see it a lot closer up than you are! She's staring down on it, under bright, heavy lights, right now.

Well, there is no way it is gray. She must have me confused with another customer in her mind.


I doubt it. She's looking at your face, calling your name and there is the little sheet with your name on it sitting on her counter with all the details about your hair. See it? It's right there.

She's got the wrong card.

Um no. Your name is at the top.


But I'm only about to be 35 years old! How can I be gray?

35 is not as young as you always imagine it to be. You're getting older.

But... I mean... but... she's mistaken.

Ok, I'm sure it would be kinder to let you live in denial, but join me here in realistic land for a while, won't you? You have gray hair.

But my Grandmother had gray hair.

Yes. And once upon a time, I'm sure SHE thought it was dirty blonde.

My mother didn't go gray until her 40s.

Well, how special for her. You are gray at 35.


And so it went. On and on. For an hour and fifteen minute hair cut. I tried every rationalization I could, trying to convince myself that I have not, in fact, made this transition into old. But the realistic/mean/persistent/relentless side of me finally won. I have gray hair.

I've not had any problems in the past with benchmarks of aging. I accepted 30, even welcomed it, with great aplomb. I had heard from so many friends over the years that 30s are so much better than 20s. I have one month left to be on the right said of 35 and I'm ok with that too.

I'm ok with an already slow metabolism slowing down even further. I'm ok with little crows feet and hands that aren't as smooth as they used to be. I'm ok with more aches and pains after a workout, complete inability to recover from a hangover in less than 24 hours, less interest in going out at night and more interest in my couch. All of these things, I embrace.

Nothing, in fact, has ever made me feel old. Until the "g" word.

I'm so unsettled, in fact, that I am going to continue to convince myself that I am still just a dirty blonde and that she was just looking at me in the wrong light. The second I turn 40, I will be ready to accept gray and embrace it as friend. (Well, friend that needs to be covered up every 6-8 weeks, that is.) Until that point, I remain a bottle blonde covering up a darker, dirtier, slightly washed out yet pure brunette.

With highlights.