Soapbox

March of Time

   You know that moment when you get something from a bin at the grocery store with your mind somewhere else, and when you step back to your cart, for a second or two you just look at it, trying to process what is wrong with this picture…
    ...Balsamic vinegar… avacado..huh?…. broccoli… wait- I don't even eat frozen shrimp…
    And then your brain catches up-   Oh! this isn't my cart!
   Whew. And you step to the other side of the aisle, where your own cart of processed, preserved crap waits, throw in a bunch of bananas so it doesn't look so nutritionally bankrupt in comparison- and move on.

   That's kind of how it feels sometimes when I see myself. I'm putting on my face lotion and I see all those white hairs growing next to my widow's peak and for just an instand I am confused.
I think     ….? What is that doing there? 
I notice the slight creping of the skin on my forearms as I'm buckling on my watch and something says-
     What the hell- this isn't my arm. I don't have old lady skin!!
    And then I remember, Oh, yeah, I do. Now.

   I think it's the hands that bother me the most, probably because I see them every day, watch them work the mat cutter, the computer keyboard.  I never had a lot, but I had nice hands: well proportioned, rather graceful, neat, if unadorned.
    Now railroad trestle-tendons bridge slightly sunken valleys of flesh, and veins, like restless blue worms writhe and hump across the landscape of what I once considered my best feature.
   Ah, my slender, clever hands. They wrote love letters, composed music, signed my marriage license and soothed the sweaty brows of my children. Planted and harvested so much of what my life has grown to be. Now the occasionally twingeing joints and two weird brown spots remind me that while I may have felt the same for the last 25 years…. I am not.
    And I feel…. a bit used. Like thrift store goods: still functional, but worn, faded, my newness and much of my value gone. OK, vintage, maybe, but more than a little worse for the wear. Today only: all orange tag items only $2! 
    Well OK then. That's how it is.

   So I try to walk the vanity tight-rope: fuss just enough to not be 'letting myself go" but not so much that I look desperate and pathetic. I pamper my skin with nice lotions- but I refuse to spend over $20 for a bottle. I put a colored rinse on my hair from time to time- but only just a touch, and use hand weights to keep from getting those old lady flappy arms any sooner than I must. Try to dress in clothes that are reasonably bright and attractive but don't make me look like I think I"m still 22.

     Because no matter how much I wish it wasn't, this IS my shopping cart now: varicose veins, crows feet and all. Best to just throw in a bag of salad greens and move on.