There is a battle being waged, my friends, and it’s all in my head. Do I write something or stay silent?
You know, you can really do anything you put your mind to. I had a reminder of that through most of this year.
Today is the 8-week Injur-versary from when I fell down, go boom at the roller rink. As you may remember (bear with me — I’m telling the newbies!), I fractured my distal radius and was in a hard, yet removable-after-4-weeks cast for 6 weeks, then a soft brace when I worked and slept until this past weekend. What a strange, weird, interesting experience this has been. I know I still have weeks to go until I have full use of my left extremity again, but I think 8 weeks is a good time to look back at Bone Break 2017.
This past weekend, I found myself remembering a Thanksgiving many moons ago.
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
The Story by Brandi Carlile
I know that song is 10 years old. I heard it when it came out in 2007 and many times since. It’s really resonating now, and so it’s on repeat, for the foreseeable future.
Why? Several reasons. Today’s focus: the lines across my face…
As you may remember, I recently welcomed the white hairs.
And now, I’m embracing the wrinkles.
I’ve loved my laugh lines for years. I’ve had them forever. The corners of my eyes crinkle several times a day, and often I’m the reason they do for me and for others. Not only do I welcome laugh lines, they’re a badge of humor honor.
The wrinkle-wrinkles? They took a little longer for me to get on board with.
I’m lucky — having good genes and a hatred of being in the sun — to only have wrinkles appear in the past few years. Some younger have many more.
I knew they would come and, when I bought my first reading glasses, I prepared for the March of The Aging to progress.
Brandi’s song helped me to accept that my face will crease. The Indigo Girls also sang about that happening for a good reason: With every lesson learned, a line upon your beautiful face (that’s in Get Out the Map, y’all).
It took really difficult lessons to gain my first horizontal forehead wrinkle — I named it after my ex-husband. Some processing and healing time later, I re-christened it Wisdom. All others after will follow suit (like George Forman and all his kids named George).
My friend Bill says I earned the white hairs and I’m earning the wrinkles, too. I think he’s right. I don’t have that many Wisdoms, yet. I know I’ll get more, but I hope I’ll never look my age (people still ask me what college I attend… fun!).
If I get a lot more (or if I can’t seem to come to terms with all the Wisdoms), there’s always the option of viewing myself in mirrors from a distance and never viewing whilst wearing my reading glasses. Without the glasses’ magnification, the wrinkles simply won’t exist.
Out of sight, out of lines.
I feel like I’m waking up from a dream. Groggy, but becoming more focused by the minute.
Continue reading “The Week from Hell”
Two times in the past few months, I’ve mentioned roller skating, to two different people. Both times, the person I was talking to suggested I take up roller derby.
“What about me says roller derby that two people now have suggested it?” I asked the second person yesterday.
“Well, it would be a good way to get out the anxiety and frustration you feel,” he said.
It’s that obvious?
And I thought I hid it so well.
Of course, neither said anything about it until I mentioned roller skating. But upon mentioning that hobby from my youth, which I still love, both suggested a sport in which I’d wear knee and elbow pads, a helmet, and a grimace as I shoved past other women, perhaps pushing them into and/or over a railing.
I gave this some thought.
I’m a firm believer that when something comes up more than once there’s a reason.
I looked into roller derby in my area. There are teams. I have skates.
Then one of the women who loves it mentioned on the website about the blood. …. … … Oh, no, no, no can do. I could never be a vampire either.
So… maybe the message is to find a way to deal with anxiety and frustration that’s been coming my way, and twas not a message to lace up my skates and pounce.
Well, I could go skating, pleasantly, calmly, in circles, perhaps to the greatest hits of the 80s. That would be relaxing, and wouldn’t involve the blood-induced fainting that’s sure to ensue if I decided to whip it, whip it good.
It’s official. On Thursday, December 8, I finally conceded defeat. After years now of finding and foiling its plot, I am becoming outnumbered and simply can’t go on fighting.
Little white hairs pop out on my hairline. I see some springing to life in my part. And for a long time, I would seek and destroy, plucking them from within their auburn nest. They were short by the time I caught them white-handed. They were (and still are) extremely outnumbered by brown comrades.
But that morning, as I brushed my beyond-the-shoulder length tresses, one popped up on the side, springing to life with a curl all the white hairs apparently long to be. And it was more than half as long as the surrounding brown hairs.
How did you get by me, you little bugger, I thought. I shouldn’t have been surprised, because last year, I bought my first pair of reading glasses at the dollar store (simply because companies are making the text on products and boxes much smaller now, of course). This long white curly hair mocked me, daring me to pluck it.
I thought about it, but then decided to let it be.
Anderson Cooper is older than me and has been white-haired since his 20s, he has said. I accepted, hell, I celebrate the laugh lines around my eyes, which I’ve had for decades. I EARNED those. Well, maybe I earned the white hairs, too, if only by living as long as I have so far on planet Earth.
It’s no biggie anyway, right? I look younger than I am (coworker, bless his heart, guessed 30 and admitted he thought he was guessing too high, and I’m frequently asked what college I go to, still). Plus, the brown hairs still maintain control, for now. Go ahead, white hairs! Come in and curl ’til your heart’s content. I won’t bother you anymore (of course, I can’t see most of you, so that’s a help).
But look out, white eyebrow hair. You stood out like a sore thumb (especially in the magnifying mirrors) so you had no hope of survival. Of course you return incessantly, unlike many a brown hair I plucked by accident (WHY DOES THAT HAPPEN?). I haven’t given up on you… yet. I wonder how long it will be until that one gets a few more friends…
For now, though, white head hairs, be free! I surrender.
It’s that time of year — Thanksgiving. I write things I’m grateful for every time I write in my journal, but it’s a tradition on the ol’ blog to post a list of things I’m thankful for. Here then is the 2016 Thanksgiving Post: Gratitudinous!
A rare moment alone, so I sit in silence, not saying a word. I can do this for hours, perhaps days (have to try that). No music. No TV. Just the sound of the wind outside my window blowing through the trees (whose leaves may never change color since the temps are back in the 80s).