Old Ladies And Make-up

 Old ladies are no longer sweet smiling little apple dumplings dressed in pastels. They are retired women, mostly now single and leading active social lives. Whether they have retired as homemakers or professionals makes no difference. Not all of them do Bingo twice a week, knit and sew quilts and even if they do, it's something they enjoy. How they look is quite another matter. Some say, I want to look "natural" and others say they don't want to look like painted hussies. Secretly, all of them want to look fabulous and would love to meet up with the impossible creature that will once again, turn them into someone "in love". The realists among us, know that Prince Charming of whatever form he or she is in, simply don't happen. I know because I've been there. The princes I met were old chaps who blabbed about their health problems that men are more akin to than women. They aren't the guys in the Love Mate sites who are seen sailing their boats into the wind or riding their ponies up mountainsides. They are the ones who you meet at tacky coffee shop of his choice making it clear that it's Dutch Treat. As every older woman knows, with most dates of this kind, it's "purse or nurse" the old guys are looking for. So what do you do? After a few of these hopeless ventures, you begin to truly appreciate your single life in which you make all the right decisions and do what you want to do when you want to do it. No services needing rendering. And you take a look in the mirror and say, I am doing this for myself. Part of that "myself" is to look your best because you simply want to look your best. And regardless of what your kids may think of it - never do what they tell you anyway without thinking hard first, you are not a child - go out and buy yourself a nice pile of make-up and practice with it until you look terrific. Because you're old doesn't mean you are ugly. The rest of society may write you off as over, but you know better. You know that you haven't changed a bit inside no matter what nature does to the outside of you and you aren't going to sink down into that state of mind and give up. Start with getting those eyebrows in shape and using either a razor or depilatory to get rid of the extra hair you don't need on your face. If you use a razor it's okay and no, you won't grow stubble no matter what the "beauty experts" tell you. Then buy a nice jar of moisturizer, a liquid or dry powder in the same basic shade as your face but warmer, a tone darker to contour your face and give you those cheek bones you don't have, a much lighter base for the upper brow bones and eyelids and under the eyes, some eyeshadow for the corners of your eyelids, some rouge to use sparingly and last of all, eyeliner and lipliner. Now you're ready to practice with a magnifying mirror.  Go online and find out how to use this stuff. Go strong at first and then lighten up until you feel it is just right. It takes work and never ask your friends or relatives if they like it. Your opinion is all you need.  Remember your hair. Never perm or cut your hair like a man because it's "easier to keep up". Let it grow to a nice length no matter that it's grey. Grey is good, but frizzy little curls and man cuts are bad. My ninety year old grandmother had a sign in her front hall. "This is my house and in it, I'll do as I dam please". She got tired of her daughters telling her what to do. When you get your face all perked up, go out and spend money on one good set of clothing that fits you. Never wear a size that's too tight. Cut off the labels if that bothers you and wear what hangs well. The British queen has it right and always looks fantastic. She glows, and so can you. You are a queen in your own right. You matter and make-up is your friend. Use it. 

Last Best Friend

 I had one last best friend. Shirley left us a day ago and the world is no longer quite the same. There's a certain colour, flavour and sound that is missing. Now that Shirley is gone, my life no longer has the same texture. Of late, she and I didn't keep in touch much but when we did, I knew there was someone in the world who understood me as no one else could. We were contemporaries. We met in the sixties doing the work we did and that's a long time ago but time doesn't mean much between friends. You can be away for months and even years, but when you hear that voice, you and your friend are back. This friend of mine and I had our snits and our very close times. At one point in life when things got off track, she was the one I could communicate with and we knew what we knew the only way friends do. We knew how the other felt and what to say and what not to. We weren't hugging friends, we were laughing friends. When times weren't very nice, we found a way to make fun of it and come out giggling like crazy. We shared private matters that no one else knew or would care to. When angry with each other, we didn't speak ,or if so, only used the most terse of terms. Like the time, we were taking sea canoeing lessons and she insisted that the person who guided the canoe was the one who sat in front while I had been told the opposite. It was one of those yes, no long drawn-out arguments that ended in silence. We were in the canoe, on the ocean, amongst the waves and silence is how we continued. Well, sort of. We got to a nice little cove and I said we should transfer positions from the front of the canoe to the back, passing each other as we had been instructed. She said no, definitely not. But I wanted to do it because we were near the shore in a shallow little bay in Jervis Inlet and it seemed quite safe even if we tipped the canoe. I started the move, all the time hearing her say, no, no, no. But I assured her, ah come on, it would be fine if we just did what the instructor told us to do. The other members were somewhat off, and it was late summer, therefore the water wouldn't be too cold. About half way along at the point where we were to transfer, somehow we both fell into the water. It was a surprise and fortunately the canoe didn't tip. Suddenly, I found myself looking at the sandy bottom with strands of seaweed wafting around me, Under water, I saw her swimming around not far off. When we surfaced she said, thanks a lot, my keys fell out of my pocket! I have to do another dive to find them. While she did that, I towed the canoe to the beach and waited. She found her keys and we got back into the canoe and caught up with the others. Silence ensued until we were at the place to disembark. We were both dripping wet. There is a term "mad as a wet hen". My friend fit it perfectly, and when I saw her face with her hair hanging down,it was the picture of fury. And for some inexplicable reason it  made me laugh. I couldn't stop laughing and in the car all the way home, I continued to laugh each time I looked at her. I tried to apologise but I could not stop laughing.  She didn't. And I didn't blame her. When we got back to our homes, next door to each other, she stomped inside without a word but I continued ha ha. To add further insult, I got my camera, went over and said, we should pose for a photo of this moment. She was a good sport and allowed it. But she and I didn't meet again for a week or two. Eventually, we got back together and I apologised profusely, this time not laughing. Now, all I have of us, is that picture. But I kind of think, she might be the one laughing. 

1984 er 2020

 What it's like to live in a sci-fi world, that's us. We've all seen and read the tales about pandemics hitting the earth and people having to find shelter and avoid others who are the "enemy". Well, folks, here we are in it. Being in a scary sci-fi movie isn't so bad after all. Sure it's changed us, but let's hope for the better. Let's hope they can find a way to stop it. We don't know that at this point. We hope, we think, we pray. But it isn't a sure thing. This virus has made us more aware of the enemy, the bugs, and how serious they can be. A tiny creature, smaller than we can see with the naked eye and mostly out of range for anything else we have on hand to identify it, has taken over our lives all over the whole world. It has, in an odd way, united us because the same virus has attacked all of us. It isn't some long legged creature from another planet arriving with lethal large metal airships, it came from right here on our own planet. And like the lovely creatures we are, the hopeful, never endingly wishful, we are coping with it. Well, most of us are. There are still some odd individuals who don't believe this is really happening, but isn't that one of the roles in the sci-fi movies we watch and watched? It's real and real things are happening. It's killing people. The old for now. This bug has us re-thinking our lives and what matters and what isn't all that important. It's making us choose what we do daily. Should be go out or stay home? Should we shop or order on line or by phone? Do we really need to slap on the make-up or get our hair or nails done or can we actually live without doing that? Do we need to go to work, when it can be done at home? And what about these little kids we had and what to do with them all day when they aren't going to school where there are free babysitters who educate them because that's what they are really supposed to be doing? And Gramma and Grampa, we love them so much and they mean so much and now we cannot go to see them as often and how we want to. We want to be with them, to feel their hugs and hear their stories about our parents. Now, we can't and sometimes they die and we didn't get to tell them all that we wanted to. How about our friends we cheered on games with? What happened to the fairs and festivals and big celebrations that are no more? Will they ever come back? I want to play Bridge or Canasta or Gin Rummy with my old buddies but now we do it on line. You know that run we used to do and see who came out of it with the blue ribbon? It's not on now but we can still run only not close enough to smell the sweat and know that's what we smell like or hear the groans and pants and know that's what it is like to run. Do you remember the clubs and how we all hopped and danced and caroused and laughed and got a bit out-of-it together? No more. It's an unworldly world and we are in it just like the old movies where people got sick and didn't survive and became enemies to each other. Even the biggest leaders in the world get this bug because it doesn't care how important you are, or how old you are, or what you have done or how famous you are. It just wants to get you. Be careful. You live in a sci-fi world now. 

Goodbye Stuff

Getting rid of "stuff" if you're an amateur collector as I was all my life, is almost traumatic. In the process of getting-rid-of, you feel as though you are grieving. When it was time to re-enter the storage I had for many years to see things that were more than mere objects being removed to throw out, was like opening a crypt. There were the pictures, sports items, old toys of  family, lamps and other pieces of furniture that were put there when they became unused or outdated. Now, this day of reckoning, all of what I was looking at seemed to be waiting, having expected me to bring them all back to life. Each time I went to storage and deposited something else, secretly I promised it was only temporary. Made me feel better to lie. I tried to ignore the memories that came rushing back this day of removal.  So many people associated with my stuff had died and all that seemed to remain of them, were things they had given me or shared with me or left to me and now they would be taken away by strangers to the dumpster or a thrift store and I felt unfaithful. There were the small door carpets that lived in my hallways and greeted all the feet that stepped on them into my many homes. Here was the violin that an old man played for other old men and women and delighted them. It  lay inside the  worn leather case, now silent. And there on that table, was a large carton filled with the letters that my former high school pals sent to enter their biographies in our reunion magazine fifty years later. How could I send this precious box of once real lives to the garbage? Here was the little table and chair set where  my child and that of his children sat  for snacking and painting and playing games. The marks on it were made by little hands and toys. Now it would be broken up and gone. Over in the corner, was an antique chair and lamp, both over one hundred years old and ugly and worn. No one wants old things any more. Everyone young, wants something white and turquoise and brand new. "We don't want your old junk" is evidently the reason. The young don't have space for "junk" in a functional world. Understandably. My "old junk"  is, however, full of memories: the tea sets that were put out proudly during wedding, baby showers and birthday parties. No one cares about fine china or elegant tea pots or floral trays or cut crystal. Today, everything is served in pottery that has to be en tone with the decor of the room or what is currently in fashion. And if it doesn't match it doesn't go. And not too much of it, please. And that's okay. Times change. Out are the lovely little statues of ladies holding flowers in big skirts and little dogs and birds in colourful glazes. Using silver tea services for special occasions went out with having to polish them. These days everyone is too "busy" to bother hand cleaning. It must be instant or not at all. But I love to remember how cleaning the tarnish while doing it together with relatives and friends, made it an occasion and we delighted in planning the party while we polished. Other "stuff" such as skis that no one uses any more or can't, the fishing gear for dammed or dried up streams, or the small carpets that are still good but don't "go" with anything: all  have to leave. Boxes of papers: estate material, manuscripts that weren't sent, piles of letters in the days when we used stamps and the writers were alive then, boxes of baby shoes and clothes that still smell of baby, a husband's favorite shirt and a memory shoe, one he had re-soled over and over because he said it fit him too well to get rid of. It  all has to go. When all the "stuff" that has to go is stacked up against the storage room wall ready for  pick up and discard, you know you can't be there to watch. You'll wait in the car as it's put into the truck and tell yourself that nothing can take away your memories. They are so important in this one life, that they don't need to be present to keep always.