I know I've been absent yet again, but every time I want to post, another shooting happens or some political b.s. happens and I feel too sad to post, or what I have to say seems  trivial in comparison.  I don't want to dwell on those things. I don't want to ignore those things, either. I have to let those things go and allow those thing to inform my world view as I move forward with my own stories.

I'm going to my 35th high school reunion tonight.  I'm going with one of my dear friends who I've been able to reconnect with since my folks moved back to Jefferson City.  We're going to get together ahead of time to primp and talk and reminisce about things.  We'll probably gossip a little and dish about things, but ultimately we're just looking forward to seeing familiar faces and catching up about were life has brought us.

I've read and re-read the list of classmates attending and read statements of regret from those who can't make it.  But I think I've been most affected by the  list of fellow classmates who have passed away.  It's a long list for a mid to small size class.  I counted 29 names and that doesn't include people who can't be located.

I knew of a few of these deaths. Facebook has allowed us to know more about each other and even allow us to share in the journey through illness and death. But a couple of name through me into some serious soul-searching.  One roof these was a girl named Nancy H.  I remember her mostly from grade school.  She was in my class when we moved to J.C. from St. Louis.  She was a skinny redhead with a short choppy hair cut and freckles, and most notably, a pair of glasses  magnifying her eyes and obscuring her face and encompassing the definition of Coke bottle lenses.

She was the kid at the bottom of the heap. Chosen last in games on the playground, mocked for attempt to be accepted and probably alone at the lunch table in the cafeteria.  I say probably because in my normal egocentric way, I was w a y to busy worrying about my own place on the popularity scale and never really noticed.

Whenever she was the brunt of the collective derisive grade school cruelty, I didn't feel for her.  I was just happy it wasn't me.
I lost track of her in junior high and high school.  My guess is that she stayed on the bottom rung of the social ladder, flying under the radar, trying to stay invisible rather than allowing herself to be hurt by rejection.  Maybe she's had a job or went to church or found her social life outside of the school.  I'll probably never find out much about her.  The one obituary I found revealed that she was survived by her brothers and was an avid reader.  My guess is that she would have had no reason or desire to come to this reunion.  And if she wasn't on the list of people who have died, I seriously doubt that her absence would have been noticed by me or anyone, really.

But seeing her name made me think about how ridiculous my own high school angst was.  I was a blue eyed blonde in a world that values blue eyed blondes.  I have a loving, intact two parent family.  I had enough intelligence and support to know I would be able to move on in life.  I was one of the lucky ones.  I remain one of the lucky ones.

Nancy's grade school crime was being born in the wrong body.  I don't blame myself or any of us for how things played out in those days.  We were kids being kids. But I wish Nancy was around  so I could apologize for not seeing her humanity.  For allowing her to be seen as less worthy.  For not being able to let her know that she deserved respect and positive attention.  She deserved love

So to anyone from my class (or really any class anywhere) who feels undeserving of the love and power and protection that comes with those things, I'm sorry for my part in creating those feeling.  You were always beautiful.  You were always worthy.  You were always loved.

Happy 35th reunion!

Grad school...not yet

I know yesterday I left off leaving for Michigan, but I had a couple of more thought about the hospital.  I pooh-pooh that job a little, but I actually learned a lot about being a therapist, boundaries and client/therapist relationships.
The adolescent and adults shared a floor but an opposite sides.  It was only a problem when we would have the rare 18/10 year old who had designs on the cute adolescent girls.  Otherwise, it was good for me since I had exposure to all ages.
The kids,and sometimes the adult,could ask to have "one on one" with any of the line staff (Psych techs or nurses).  It was always interesting and I definitely learned how anything you say can be seen in both positive or negative ways.  Plus, you can't take anything personally.
People will react to you as what you represent to them or how they see you, which very often has nothing to do with the reality of who you are.  These are pics of me from that time so you can see how really young I looked

My mom used to say I looked like Alice in wonderland and thought like Barbara Walters

I was obviously not going to work, but even cleaned up I looked pretty young and fairy cute (oh to be that skinny again)  Here is why this was relevant.  The adults didn't take me or what I said seriously and the kids saw me as an equal at best and a rival as worst.  The young girls didn't look at me and see angst or self-doubt or feelings of inferiority.  I was someone who would take their boyfriends or who would snub them or not include them or put them down.  The boys saw the girl who was out of reach or who they could put the moves on

In the world of psychology this projection- seeing what you want to see or what you believe rather than the reality.  The relationship that develops can take that projection farther and create transference.  So you project your own ideas onto the object (in this case, me) and then transfer your way of relating to that type of object into the relationship with the object.

Sp if the girls saw me as a potential rival ,they would treat me angrily or call me names or just ignore me.  Some (okay, a lot) saw me as a dumb blonde and treated me with contempt.  a few saw me as a rolemodel- a young women finished with college, living on her own with a room mate and a boyfriend and cool clothes (I also worked at a store for extra money and those clothing discounts!)

Although I didn't 100% realize it at the time, finding alternative ways of relating to these kids provided them with an opportunity to change their ideas about the object they created with their projections.  As they changed their perceptions of me, they could also change their behaviors and their relationships.  At least that was supposed to happen!

So the big deal lesson here is to never assume that people will respond to you as you present yourself, no matter how transparent you think you are,  People will always filter you through their own experiences.

There were other lessons, too.  People will cling stubbornly to beliefs no matter how you say things and you have to be willing to allow this. You can't take lack of progress personally.  Having boundaries is not only therapeutic, it is vital for survival.  The first rule of therapy is, the therapist survives.

Here I leave off again and next time, I'm definatly going to Michigan!

Back as promised!

I have been reviewing life, in part, to remember where I've been and how I got to be who I am.  Sometimes I marvel at all that I've done in 53 years, and other times I marvel at how little I've accomplished!  If  spent as much time on writing as on watching tv or playing word games, I would have been able to write enough for an encyclopedia.  (If you're old enough you probably hear Jiminy Cricket singing right now).  I would probably have  been a published author many times over!

I always thought that someday I would write a book.  When I was in college, I said something about writing a book to a group of friends.  Someone said, "You and everybody else".  I was a little taken aback and insulted by that comment, but it made me think about how commonplace the thought of publishing was in that circle.  It made me wonder if that book was just a silly idea, or if I ever would have anything to say.  You'd think t would have made me feel emboldened to think things like "I'll show you!"  But motivation doesn't usually come from the need for revenge for me. Being belittled just make me feel...little  and I think thing like "who do you think you are to think you can write a book?"

So, while this isn't a book, it's an opportunity to write and find a voice and say what I need to say.

I had been reviewing past employment experiences. I've touched on the bad and the ugly, so now I want to focus on the good, the really good and the best work experiences I have had.

Almost all jobs are terrifying at first.  You have to get to know a new environment, new people including a new boss, new procedures, and new office politics.  (Oh yeah.  Office politics are everywhere. )

After the initial shock and subsequent settling in period, the first couple of years are pretty good as long as the place is fairly functional.  My first job as an undergraduate was a a hospital psychiatric technician.  This job was one step above babysitter in terms of using clinical skills.  We spent a lot of time sitting in the day room or in "constant observation " or CO.  CO was sitting outside the door of a patient who was a suicide or runaway risk.  If you were lucky, the patient would actually talk to you, but mostly they either slept or just generally ignored you.  The kids on CO were usually hostile and the adults were either actively psychotic, embarrassed or annoyed.  It didn't help that I was all of 22 and looked about 14.  Some of the teenaged boys would ask me out because I didn't seem like an authority figure ti them!  The adult just didn't take me seriously.

The psychotic patients were the most interesting. I suspect that some of the older people were actually showing symptoms of alzheimer's or some other form of dementia.  Once a very nice refined older lady politely asked me to write a letter for her.  She began her dictating with a formal salutation of "Dear Hosptal Administration".  From there is got pretty angry and a little personal.  She asked my name than went to dictate, "Amy is the stupidest meanest Fucking Ass Bitch nurse in the whole hospital".  then added a "sincerely yours" to her signature.  She then called be dear, patted my hand and politely asked me to mail it for her.  After such a glowing recommendation what could I say except "Of course!"...when monkeys  fly out of my butt, I'll get right on that.

Another older man asked to kiss my cheek and then wanted me to show him what was between my legs.  Didn't wear too many dresses to work while he was a patient there.

But for every lunatic moment, there were opportunities to talk with kids about the cruddy home lives or past abuses.  There were group therapy sessions to observe, and the nurses and other techs became good friends.  Sometimes there were "out trips" for the kids who were having some success in the program.  Most of the nurses hated these trips because they were outside of normal scheduled hour,s but I loved them!  They were usually trips to the movies or the theater and, even though I was working by supervising, it was just fun to me.

After two years, and no prospect of moving into any more money from here, I decided to head to graduate school in Michigan.  I think too years is just the right amount of time to be in a job before chinks in the facade start to be more obvious.  As it was, I left feeling sad to leave behind my friends and colleagues to pursue bigger and better things+

This was the last time I would ever live in Missouri.

But this another chapter in life so it'll be for another blog

Here again

Yesterday was a good jumping off point to get back to the blogesphere


Before I begin, though, I want to thank Julianna Schoeder  who let me know about the article I shared yesterday.  Here is her response and a link to her blog about old Munichsburg

The article was first posted by the Old Munichburg Association and was subsequently shared by Historic City of Jefferson. It was written by Walter A. Schroeder, recent past president of the Old Munichburg Association, who grew up a member of Central Church.

The article is excerpted from Schroeder's forthcoming book, "Southside Sketches: Essays on Jefferson City's Old Munichburg." It will be available in a few months from the Old Munichburg Association. 

Here is a link to her blog  http://munichburgmemories.blogspot.com/

I am looking forward to the reading the book!

The point of this blog was originally a way to let people know about life with Multiple sclerosis and to give me some sense of purpose since my working life has wound down.  Instead, yod blog has been all over the place, and, frequently its purpose is merely to let my Facebook peepsknow I'm still alive!

I've written about my family, my emotions, my understanding of God; thrown in a little politics, and done tons of life review.  Oh!  And a little about life with MS thrown into the mix. 

Now I actually think I  see a direction and an endgame for my aimless ramblings.  One reason to write more frequently is to try to actually be able to call myself a true writer with a body of work.  I know I can do it.  I wrote a poem about my dog every day for a year, don't forget.  That was stupidly difficult, but I did it.  So why cant't I make a habit to blog everyday?  T
I have to let myself think it's okay if they not so deep all the time (As if the ones I do now are !)  

So for today I will leave you with the PROMISE that I will be back tomorrow!  See you then!

Perfect day to blog 

Actually, everyday would be a good day to make myself write something.  I have no problems making a habit of playing Words with Friends, or working a virtual jigsaw puzzle every morning.  I've even managed to make a habit to go yo Yoga 4 times a week.  But writing still feels like a chore.  The actual typing is a killer, but it also requires using good grammar and correct punctuation not to mention coming up with interesting (sorta) things to say and entertaining (sorta) ways to say them).

But today the official word came out. It was a rumor, or a an unconfirmed possibility,.  But now it's fact and apparently final.  They are tearing down the old parsonage in Jefferson city!


 The news is just another layer in my need to become aware of the ethereal quality of life and mortality..  The sweet little home where I experience coming-of-age has been declared unworthy of renovations.  It is being relegated to the heap of :used to be" building; beloved by those who had the opportunity to experience her, but not enough to warrant a full overhaul for those who are financially responsible.  It has too many problems, some of which were probably there when we were!

For now,  I am remembering the list of firsts in my life that occurred at 713 Washington. First crush, first date, first kiss (none are the same person).  Remembering the laughter and the arguments.  The pain of unrequited love;  Practicing the cello in the living room and switching over to the piano to pound out melodies of all the song from the Reader's Digest song book.  I would sit there and sing for hours!  I learned old standards; songs from movies and Broadway, and everything else I could find. It must have made my parents and sibling nuts!  But no one ever stopped me.  Love, love, love in that house.
We had sleepovers -or bunking parties.  JC was just far enough south for that name.  Boyfriends, best friends, frien-emies,  all made appearances there.

It was a sad day in 1981 when I watched my parents leave for their new house in St. Charles. I stayed behind with  the stuff I was taking to college in Kansas City on the opposite side of the state.  It made no sense for me to drag everything to St. Charles only to drag it back a week late.  So I stayed by myself in the dining room using the beautiful pocket doors to give me a sense of cosiness and safety.  I said goodbye to old friends.  Went on a date with my long-time off and on crush one day, and went on another date the  next with the guy who seemed out of reach for so long.  He's still in the top two of ones who got away!

When you're 18 years old, embarking on a who new journey in life, it is hard to comprehend the significance of small things.  It's hard to see the conveyer belt of life moving you a little closer to mortality and finality.

But as a firmly middle-aged grown -up, I am able to see losses and goodbyes and send offs through the lense of longing and wisdom and, ultimately, the beauty and magnificence that is life.

This is the article and some pictures from the Jefferson City Historical society  I hope I am not breaking any laws by putting on my blog!  I am bolding the whole thing so you know it is not mine!!
I'm sad I didn't know half the things it says about the house in that article!

Here's one more story about that house.  Birds used to stay in the chimney on the migratory pattern in the fall (maybe spring...I forget). They would roost in a tree in the day time, but then,one by one, the would circle up to the sky before diving into the chimney. the would star slow, but after a while there would be dozens of birds diving in. It was avery good idea to keep your mouth closed if you were standing close to the house to watch!  More than one person was baptised by bird poop!

One more thing.  I sincerely hope they salvage all the beautiful wood and architectural details.  If they do, I hope they let me buy the
rose window!
Enjoy the article!

Disheartening Breaking News! Central United Church of Christ has just voted to DEMOLISH ITS HISTORIC 1898 PARSONAGE. The vote was made at a congregational meeting after the 10 a.m. service, May 1, 2016.The cost of rehabilitating the structure was estimated as roughly twice the cost of tearing it down. Architect for the Queen Anne-style building was Charles Opel, who designed many of Jeff City's notable buildings. Read the below for its history--an essay written in 2015 by Walter A. Schroeder:

Central United Church of Christ in Jefferson City in 2015 announced its intention to demolish its vacant parsonage at 713 Washington Street. Should this happen, we all will miss this wonderful, historic residence in the very heart of Munichburg. A brief history and a taste of the lore of the 117-year old parsonage is appropriate to inform us of its importance to Southside.

It is not the congregation’s first parsonage. Shortly after the immigrant German Protestant congregation was organized in 1858 and built its church in 1859 on the hill on the corner of Washington and Ashley, it hired Reverend Joseph Rieger for its first pastor. On the day he arrived, the congregation decided to build a parsonage next to the church and directed the new pastor to design it. It was constructed of brick on a limestone foundation and built directly on the front property line, which was the custom in the old country. It was similar to other simple German-style cottages being built throughout German-speaking Muenchberg at that time, like the Hess house across Washington Street and the Buehrle house across the alley on the north. It was finished in 1860. Reverend Rieger cared for Civil War wounded in that parsonage, while at the same time it was home to his family of five daughters and two sons. During the war, “Southern” ladies of Jefferson City entrusted jewelry and other valuables to the pastor for safekeeping in the parsonage. Reverend Rieger also married former slaves in the parsonage (identified as Farbige, or “colored,” in the marriage register). Reverend Rieger died in 1869. All of his next six successors and their families also lived in that parsonage.

In 1891, the congregation, having outgrown its original church building, built a new one, the present Gothic church with the tall steeple. That was during the time when many of the original small German cottages built by immigrants in the surrounding Munichburg neighborhood were becoming obsolete. Their prospering children replaced them with more modern, larger, American-style residences. Joining in that trend, Central’s congregation voted May 1, 1898, to replace its 1860 parsonage with a new one in the same general Queen Anne style as other Munichburg residences then being built in the neighborhood. This is the present parsonage now being considered for removal. Charles Opel was the architect. It was completed before the end of 1898 at a cost $3,109.33. The congregation had instructed Pastor Theophil Mueller to collect funds for its construction—for his own residence—and he raised money well in excess of the final cost. Just a few months earlier, Charles Opel also had been architect for congregational member and city councilman Henry Asel’s residence at 210 Lafayette Street, which was nearly identical to the parsonage. Could Asel’s residence have influenced the choice of style for the parsonage? Asel’s very similar 1898 house still stands and is in excellent condition.

The new parsonage for Central Evangelical Church (the congregational name at the time) was built on the same land the old parsonage sat on, but this time set back twenty feet from the property line, conformable with the American style for front yards. The parsonage measures approximately thirty feet wide by fifty feet deep, with two-story bay windows on both the north and south sides. The main floor has a large front hall with open stairway and beautiful banister, a large living room facing the street, large dining room, kitchen with pantry, and a spacious pastor’s study with bay window facing the church. Abundant woodwork shows high-quality craftsmanship. The second floor has four large bedrooms and bath (a “porcelain bath tub” was specified in the contract). The ceilings are high! A full basement extends underneath the entire house. Except for the limestone foundation, the residence is built completely of brick. Fred Buehrle, a member of the congregation, was responsible for the brickwork. The congregation paid members Ernst Braun and a Mr. Schwartz for construction work. Foundation stones and bricks from the original 1860 parsonage were probably recycled into the new parsonage.

The original small, ornamented, wooden porch at the front door (Germans were known for decorative entranceways) was replaced in 1914 by the present, much larger, brick-pillared porch that wraps around the south side. Also in 1914, water usage was put onto a meter, because the frugal congregation wished to save on the flat-rate monthly fee then charged for residences. The coal furnace was converted to a gas furnace in 1954.

In 1915 the congregation put in a driveway along the north side of the parsonage and built a garage (at a cost of $131) for the newly arrived pastor, Reverend Paul Stoerker, who was the first pastor to have a car. The concrete driveway and garage served as the ceiling for the church’s bowling alley, dug out and built 1920. The bowling alley was entered through the adjacent Sunday School Building. The remnants of this structure, demolished in 1981, butt against the parsonage’s basement wall and are causing structural problems with the parsonage today.

Over the years the parsonage gained many stories to tell. During Reverend Berlekamp’s pastorate (1923–1939), 151 of the 191 weddings he performed took place in the parsonage. On one busy day, four couples were married there! During World War II, Reverend Henry Damm’s wife, Esther, and their two daughters often served as witnesses for marriages hastily arranged for servicemen home on short furloughs. While the war was being fought, the discovery of an abundance of four-leaf clovers in the backyard of the parsonage led to sending one of the lucky charms to several dozen members in military service.

In his memoirs, Reverend Damm recounts an incident during the days of racial tension in Jefferson City, around 1950, while the city was still strictly segregated. The nationally famous mezzo-soprano gospel and classical singer, Rosa Page Welch, came to Jefferson City for a musical performance. Arriving by railroad late with an entourage of six or eight people, the African Americans could not find any place that would serve them food. They needed someplace to eat and relax after their long travel, and Reverend Damm invited them to the parsonage. “So,” in the pastor’s own words, “if anybody knows my Esther, you will know that within 30 minutes she had quickly gotten together everything we had in our kitchen and had a marvelous meal for about a dozen of our black friends and there probably never has been and never will be again such a beautiful evening of classical and church music as was held in that parsonage that evening.”

The Damms’ younger daughter, Nalora, had the bedroom facing the church. As a teenager, she longed to “sleep in” on Saturday mornings. However, Carl Burkel, the musical prodigy well-known to all in Jefferson City, would begin practicing on the church’s powerful Moller organ at 6 a.m. With the facing windows of both parsonage and church wide open to let in cool morning air, Burkel’s booming chords and octaves of Bach’s D-minor Toccata shook teenager Nalora out of bed. (Nalora went on to sing on the Metropolitan Opera stage and for presidents in the White House. She is now professor emerita at the renowned Berklee College of Music in Boston.)

Every pastor’s family complained about the “roar and rumbling of the bowling alley” underneath the driveway just below the parsonage bedroom windows. Bowling could go on well into the night. And several teenage PK’s (“preacher’s kids”) later admitted leaving some marks on ceilings, walls, and woodwork.

Naturally many updates were made to the parsonage since 1898. Knob-and-tube electric wiring had to be improved and the electrical system expanded. Since the original parsonage was built without closets, they had to be constructed in the large bedrooms. Until 1948 the women of the church were responsible for redecorating and cleaning the parsonage from attic to basement twice a year. The women also raised funds for repairs and painting, interior and exterior.

When Reverend Stephen Buchholz and his wife, Becky, moved into the parsonage in 1982, the aging parsonage could no longer be considered suitable as a residence for a young family of the late twentieth century. The neighborhood had transformed into one of rental properties with attendant safety issues. And, like other ministerial families, the Buchholzes wanted to own their own home and thereby have the ability to gain equity in it for time of retirement. Fortunately, Reverend Buchholz was on the board of the Evangelical Emmaus Home for developmentally disabled people at Marthasville and saw the opportunity to convert the parsonage into an Emmaus group home. Central Emmaus Home opened in the former parsonage in 1991. It became the home for five or six developmentally disabled men and was a mission of the church. The residents participated in congregational life.

Central Emmaus Home closed around 2010, and a short while later the congregation leased the parsonage to Calvary’s Gifts, a resale shop for the benefit of Calvary Lutheran High School. But Calvary’s Gifts outgrew the parsonage’s space and moved a block away to 722 Jefferson Street in 2014. The venerable parsonage building has been vacant since, awaiting its new fate.

Sister

Before I begin my real blog post, I want to give the reasons for being absent so long

1.  I started this blog in an attempt to justify my existence when I thought my private practice was tanking.  Every time I figure its a forgone conclusion, I get a referral so I get busy

2.  I hate typing and Dragon is not as fabulous as I thought.  I'll dictate "under no circumstance"  but I will get "udder know surgum stasis" and I'll just have to fix it anyway

3.  I always think of something else (usually play a game or go shopping) that I would rather do

There are more reasons, but they sound whiney and irritating when I think of them, so I'll spare you

Here's the reason I'm back today

I missed sister day on Facebook and I wanted to make up for it.  I actually think my sister deserves better than a blurb in my status.  The relationship I have with my sister is glorious and complex and complicated and wonderful.  It, too, deserves more than a FB post.

I know I have written about my sister before so you are probably aware that she is an actor and an acting teacher.  She is also one of the most beautiful people you will ever meet in real life. She is intelligent, funny, kind, and did I say beautiful?  Sheknows how to challenge and motivate students in classes at her private studio and with her high school students. She creates and produces shows with limited budgets and resources.  In other words, she is the whole package..pretty close to perfect.

she was pretty gorgeous even as a as a baby

My very first memory ever was of my sister. I thought we were playing hide and seek, but apparently she had taken a potty break.  When I found her "hiding" on the toilet, she let me know we were no longer playing by reaching out with her foot and slamming my finger in the door, severing the tip of my middle finger and prompting a trip to the emergency room where my finger tip was sewn back on just a little crooked.  Any future dreams of becoming a hand model were thwarted. 

  

Most of my earliest memories revolve around my sister. 

I remember an Easter egg hunt when I followed her around looking exactly where she looked for hidden eggs.  She missed one or two, but needless to say her egg count was much higher than mine.  That was a pretty good harbinger of things to come.

Being in Beth's shadow was just inevitable.  Once were were going to Six Flags or some place like that and the person in the ticket booth told Beth she was the prettiest little girl she'd seen all day.  I'm sure my parents said something about both of their girls being beautiful, but the message was clear.  Beth was the pretty one.

I didn't have any animosity about her  beautifulness then  It was just so obvious to me that she deserved that title.  She had a heart-shaped pixie face, and her eyes were huge.  My hair was stick straight and my head was shaped like Charlie Brown  I had curly hair only after sitting through being given a torturous, stinky permenant by my grandma. Thankfully, I don't have any pics of that particular frizzy hair don't that probably just pointed out my perceived homeliness.   

But, being beautiful was only one thing that made Beth so intimidating and wonderful as the same time.  She was the best playmate, coming up with the most creative and imaginative games, mostly involving acting and putting on shows.  She was also my biggest defender.  Don't get me wrong, she could be as cutting and cruel as any other big sister in the world, but when someone was picking on me she would put a stop to it.  She even defended my when I was just being a brat.

We had a backyard swing set.  One day when we were playing, some neighbor kids came over and tried to use the swing.  I don't know what was bugging me but somehow, it just didn't sit well with me and a had a screaming crying tantrum to get those bewildered kids of my damn swings.  I was sitting on the swing pouting as I listened to my sister tell those kids a very made-up story of those swings being given to me by some dead aunt or something.  I don't remember the exact story, but I do remember being very impressed with her ability to come up with and deliver such a convincing lie in order to save my reputation from being the neighborhood brat.

I could go on and on ad nauseum about grade school, high school and present day squabbles and rivalries and ultimately loving and fabulous memories.  I may write more of those stories later, vut for now, I want to just tell you this about my sister.

She is better than me in every way and I begrudge her none of it.  She is more beautiful, smarted, thinner, more talented and accomplished.  But I have one thing on her.  My hair color is still natural, and she has to dye hers to cover the gray!  Thanks for being my best friend!