Caution: No Glasses in the Shower

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I was brushing my teeth the other morning. When I went to pull my hair back to spit and rinse, I noticed a new wrinkle in my armpit. My first thought, “You’ve got to be stinking kidding me! Who the heck gets a wrinkle in their armpit?” Upon further inspection I realized it wasn’t a wrinkle. It was a hair. The size of the Mississippi River.

I don’t care what anyone says about how wonderful it is to get older. I hate the break down in my body. The reason why I have an errant hair under my armpit? Because I can NO LONGER SEE that close up in the shower without my glasses. You see the dilemma don’t you? (No pun intended.) I can’t exactly wear my glasses in the shower.

I wish my black hair didn’t turn gray. I miss my black hair, and now I have grays in places no one should have gray hair – my eyebrows! Do you know how hard it is to pluck out a hair from the middle of your eyebrow and not end up with a gaping hole? And I’ve seen women at the hair salon who have to die their eyebrows. Not pretty, but I’ll be one of them soon. The old lady with holey eyebrows, and armpit hair long enough to braid because until it touches my hip I won’t see it.

Yes, I’m a total victim to the belief women should fight aging. I mean really, why can’t I let my hair do whatever the heck it’s doing under all the hair dye I put on it? And so what if my skin is dry and wrinkled? The Coffee King doesn’t drown himself in very expensive moisturizer to keep wrinkles from appearing on his face. And he doesn’t die his hair. And he certainly doesn’t wear makeup to look prettier. So, why should I?

Because I don’t want to look old. I want to look young. My brain thinks I’m still twenty-five with more years ahead of me than behind. Because I still have so many things I want to do in this life and I’m worried I won’t have enough time to do them. If I trick myself into thinking I look the age my brain believes I am then I can fool old Father Time and the Grim Reaper. Hey, it worked for Dorian Gray.

Of course, I’m not fooling anyone. Least of all myself. I wear glasses to read now because my arms just aren’t long enough to get the writing far enough away. My body takes longer to heal when I pull a muscle working out. I have to work out harder and more often than I did twenty years ago. I can say “twenty years ago” and it feels like yesterday! My children are almost out the door. I can’t stop time. I can’t stop the aging process no matter how hard I fight her. She’s the top contender. She always wins.

So, where does that leave me?

Checking items off my bucket list and adding to it all the time. Learning something new every day. Taking time to laugh so hard you might pee your pants. (Unfortunately, at my age women also have that problem. There I go again! Sorry.) Loving the people who bring value to your life. Looking old age in the face and saying, “Come on, Bi – atch, I ain’t afraid of you.”

Don’t wait to do something you’ve been dying to do. Tomorrow may never come. You want to write that book? Write it. You want to sky dive? Then jump. Every day is a second chance to get it right. Tomorrow I’m going to wear my glasses in the shower.

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Here’s a great thing about being a writer. I can make stuff happen for my characters I can’t control in real life. I gave Grace Starr a second chance to live the life she was meant to have. A home, a family, true love at the age of forty-five when she thought her predictable life was as good as it was ever going to get.

Come celebrate Grace with me.

I’m having a book launch concert at Patrick’s Pub, Neptune, NJ, March 28th 7 pm. I’ll be signing books and doing a reading. And right along side me will be fantastic bands playing awesome music. (I won’t be singing. Don’t worry.) If you’re in the area, stop by and say hi.

Thanks to the kindness and generosity of Arell Rivers, I’ll be taking over Arell’s Angels (she’s a wonderful author. Check out her stuff.) on Facebook. April 15th, from 6 -8 pm to celebrate the release of A Second Chance House. Stop by for games and prizes, and to talk about writing, or whatever else you fancy.  We had a blast at the last Facebook party. If you missed it, here’s another chance for some fun.

 

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Every Wrinkle Tells a Story

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Google “fight the signs of aging.” Go ahead. I’ll wait. Okay, if you Googled it then you saw the 379,000 results that came up. Most of which are geared toward women. In other words, women, don’t grow old you won’t be attractive any longer.

I buy into this whole anti-aging game. I hate what’s happening to my skin. I hate the lines on my forehead. I’m paranoid my chin will drop. I spend lots of money on products that are supposed to reverse the sun damage I did as teen when the only thing between me and the UV rays was baby oil. My family has blocked all paths to Botox websites.

I want my twenty-five year old complexion back. I miss my natural hair color – black. I know I’m not supposed to care I’m getting older. We want the years to pile up because the alternative is far worse. With age comes experience and wisdom you can’t handle as a younger person. I get it. I really do. I just don’t want to look old. Old should be a four letter word.

Staying in shape is harder than it was even ten years ago. My body creaks and groans in sounds I’ve never heard before. And if listening to my mother’s generation is any indication, those sounds only get worse. I tell myself that won’t be me. My hamstrings tell me something else.

Am I victim of societal norms? Well, if the fact I remove all unwanted hair from my body says anything, then yes I am! Society tells me hairless and young is attractive. I don’t want to be excluded from the popular kids’ table. Unfortunately, old people sit by the bathrooms and there’s a space open at that table. Spaces are always open at the old people’s table.

I need to turn my head around on this one. I may have found the way. Someone said to me, “every wrinkle tells your story.” You know how I love a good story. That phrase resonated with me. Our wrinkles and gray hair are the stories of our lives.

How many times have you said, “my kids gave me gray hair?” Could you imagine your life without your children in it? Not me. If kids equal gray hair, then I guess the gray is okay. (I’m still going to cover mine up, but I’ll try not to get so freaked out about the amount of them.)

We can’t navigate through life without a road map. (Have you ever seen me when I get lost? Probably best you don’t.) Bummer the road map is on our faces, but isn’t the journey more important than the destination? All the roads I’ve traveled have led me here. Sometimes the road was bumpy, sometimes smooth.

The lines around our eyes are paths filled with laughter.  I’m glad I didn’t miss out on the times I bent over laughing so hard I cried. There are countless memories etched into those lines on my face. I’d take everyone of them all over again.

I also have frown lines. Bummer again, but with the good comes the not so good. I’ve worried over the health of a loved one. I worried about school, money, love. I worry about my children every day. Noodge 1 drives in less than two weeks. I’ll be worrying a lot more. But I would never change his growing up. That is the cycle of life.

I’m not ready to toss my anti-aging serums in the trash. Instead, I’ll look at my wrinkles with kindness and give them space to tell my story.