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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What if?

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What if your life was on autopilot? You were raising your children, going to work, watching the days fly past you? Life hadn’t turned out exactly as you hoped, but it could be worse.

A note arrives. An anonymous gift of a house needing fixing is waiting for you. Would you take it? Why or why not?

Mid-Life Crisis

It’s half-time at the aging Superbowl. In other words, I’m at the age where I could be half way through my life. This realization has freaked me out a bit. Why should it? Age is just a number, right? Wrong. 

It’s a BIG number. Still an attractive number, but with more lines creased in it and the number has skin that sags like the seat of stretch jeans worn too many times without washing. 

My next birthday is only a few months away. Being midway through my life got me thinking. What daring thing can I do to commemorate this milestone? 

I’m already married (that was very daring, but seems to have worked out), have two kids, (really daring and getting more so everyday) we own a house and a car. (Can be daring but lower on the risk scale.)

I’m not a big car person. I don’t really want a Maserati or Ferrari so the car I already have is fine. I can take the kids and three friends anywhere. I’m just glad I no longer drive the Mom Bus. 

I’m not a celebrity so the idea of owning a mansion or an island is out of the question. I can check off  daring to go for my dream job. So, what daring thing is left? 

Get a tattoo! What? I know. My husband said the same thing. I’m not a fan of the tattoo. No offense to the inked ones. It just wasn’t for me. Plus, I hate needles as we learned from the Under Pressure blog post. But I couldn’t stop thinking about gettting a tattoo. 

What would I get and where would I put it? Definitely someplace no one could see except the husband and especailly not my children. How can I tell them they can’t have one if I did? 

What symbolized me and my mid-life crisis? My books have owls, three headed alligators and talking rabbits. Should I get one of those? Nah. 

Chinese symbol? Maybe, but doesn’t everyone have one of those? The Italian flag? A yoga pose? Maybe a cupcake. Too cutesy? Perhaps. And the cupcake will become a pancake once the skin sags some more.  Looks like I talked myself right out of the tattoo. But I have time to change my mind. It’s still half-time.