In the overall scheme of things, the annual bathing suit hunt is pretty low on the priority to-do list. But a brief holiday, planned to celebrate my sister's upcoming birthday, is quickly coming up and my old brown and green bathing suit from last year has gotten pilly and the colours are fading.
Thanks to thin models in magazine ads and the impossible standards set by Hollywood we have come to believe that everyone should have a goddess-like body until the day we die. Heck, even Susan Lucci, aged 60 plus, has recently been photographed walking along a beach wearing a bikini, long hair cascading down her lean back, looking fabulous.
Well, I am no Susan Lucci.
I am, instead, what my husband, prone to romanticizing things, likes to call 'his little quail'. I myself would describe my image as being that of a pleasantly plump mother of two, and I would add, a woman in desperate need of a holiday after a winter of work, a serious family medical crisis and a full kitchen reno. So a plan has been hatched for all the 'girls' of the family to get away for a week of sun, a bit of shopping, and a lot of celebrating. We all have much to be grateful for.
I therefore set out last weekend on a grey and rainy day to my favourite department store. I got there early to avoid the crowds. The only saleslady at that time was manning the cash so had no time to help me wade through the many choices in front of me. I dove in.
To begin with, there are many, many different brands, all offering different options, tightly wedged together in one little space. As I walked around I saw bathing suits with skirts, bathing suits with beaded jewlery, bathing suits with matching cover-ups, bathing suits on sale, bathing suits for those who've had mastectomies, tops and bottoms for people who love to mix and match, bikinis, tankinis and the plain two-piece which seems to have fallen somewhat out of favour. Black, white, floral, geometric, animal print.
Then you have all the different sizes. Regular sizes, (w)ide for the broader woman, L for the long torso, D for the larger cup size....bust enhancing, tummy tucking, hip minimizers...and those that give "the illusion of a long leg."
My biggest problem was trying to get samples off the tightly packed racks which meant doing battle with annoying plastic hangers, some of which then spilled their contents onto the floor and which I would then have to bend down to retrieve and re-hang while balancing the suits I had already selected to try on while also hanging on to my purse, umbrella and raincoat! Would a coat check on every department store floor really be such a difficult service to offer shoppers?
Hot and already somewhat frustrated, I walked up and down the narrow aisles, selecting one bathing suit from every group in my size until I could carry no more. I headed towards the changing rooms but of course, there was a chain indicating it was not in use.
"No, you have to go to the other side," said the cashier, pointing to the far side of the store. By this time I was actually breaking into a light sweat and wondering why I hadn't just ordered something from my Land's End catalogue.
Once in a cabin I lined up my suits according to preference and began the process of trying them on in my sweaty state, under harsh lighting, so flattering to the middle-aged body, without removing my underwear.
Like a robot I tried on suit after suit, concluding each time that it was either too long, too short, exposed too much flesh, the straps were too tight, too much cleavage, not enough cleavage, uncofortable, how long have I had THAT vein there, too plain, too fancy, possibly, maybe, and what was I thinking??
I poked my head out of the cabin door and asked the lady in charge of the dressing rooms if I could have said bathing suit in a larger size. She said she would check. Seeing as she had to cross the length of the Gobi desert to get to the other side, it took a very long time for her to come back, alas, empty-handed. The lull at least allowed me to review my choices, none of which excited me, while cooling down.
Discouraged, I got dressed, gathered my coat, umbrella and purse and went back to the far side of the store where I went around one last time. There, in a far corner, my eye suddenly caught sight of a lovely turquoise and blue one- piece floral number with a slightly gathered bodice. Just looking at those vibrant colours lifted my spirits and made me see myself, not white and flabby after a long Canadian winter, but tanned and lying by a swimming pool, a Diana Gabaldon novel in one hand, a cool drink in the other.
I didn't even try it on. I just knew I had found my inner Susan Lucci.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
What Is Happiness?
None of us are spared sorrow. It comes to all of us, especially if we love. Sometimes it's difficult to remember happy times when sorrow strikes. A reminder has fallen across my desk in the form of an anonymous note I once found and have kept for years in a box that once belonged to my great grandmother, a woman who likely never had time to worry about how she was feeling. The wisdom in the note is that happiness is fleeting and a balance must be kept between what we strive for and what we have in front of us at this very moment, good or bad.
"What is happiness?
The facing of reality.
The reality of life includes trying to achieve a closeness with someone you love, acceepting the sorrow if closeness ends, accepting the pleasure if closeness lasts.
Knowing you are in for both pleasure and sorrow, you try not to exult too highly or despair too deeply.
Reality is sometimes joyous but always inescapable. And to live in reality is less painful, more pleasurable in the long run, than to live in the fantasy of eternal happiness."
Happiness might only be a fleeting moment, but if savoured and truly appreciated, it lasts beyond the immediate and gets you through whatever your reality happens to be.
"What is happiness?
The facing of reality.
The reality of life includes trying to achieve a closeness with someone you love, acceepting the sorrow if closeness ends, accepting the pleasure if closeness lasts.
Knowing you are in for both pleasure and sorrow, you try not to exult too highly or despair too deeply.
Reality is sometimes joyous but always inescapable. And to live in reality is less painful, more pleasurable in the long run, than to live in the fantasy of eternal happiness."
Happiness might only be a fleeting moment, but if savoured and truly appreciated, it lasts beyond the immediate and gets you through whatever your reality happens to be.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
It's All Relaltive
Other than a mildly unpleasant disagreement between the contractor and the electrician over building codes, our kitchen reno is going quite well, thank you. With the ceramic tile laid, we are now ready to take delivery of the cabinets. Unfortunately, we just found out that they won't be ready for another ten days!
This would normally be upsetting news to us but in light of what has been happening in Haiti and more recently in Chile, we see it as a mere hiccup. I think about all those poor people out there as my husband and I camp out in the safety and relative comfort of our own home and I am so very moved by their plight. We may not have a kitchen for the moment but we do have a roof over our heads and for that we are most grateful. Lives change on a dime.
I can certainly attest to the fact that being without a kitchen, without a sink, without a stove, is terribly inconvenient. I can only imagine what it must be like not to have anything left other than the clothes on your back. It has been a challenge to serve meals and to clean up afterwards by taking the dishes to the bathtub and I am reminded by the recent tragedies that many, many people all over the world live like this day in and day out.
When I try to imagine what it must be like for those people out there, reduced to sleeping in parks or by the rubble of their destroyed homes, desperately dipping containers into swimming pools and puddles for lack of access to potable water, I feel humbled.
I am thinking a lot about my paternal grandmother these days as I attempt to work around our reno. For as long as I can remember she and my grandfather, post war immigrants with very limited means, lived in a three room cold-water flat. The bathroom and kitchen were in the same room with only a thin curtain for a bit of privacy. I remember that my grandparents kept a piece of plywood over the old claw tub when it wasn't being used for bathing, as a makeshift counter. My grandmother would have to stoop uncomfortably over it whenever she had to peel potatoes or carrots yet she never complained because to her, those three depressing little rooms were palatial. Once you have lost everything you own, either through war or a natural disaster, anything you can acquire afterwards, even a dingy three-room flat, seems like a great and luxurious gift.
My thoughts, as we await delivery of our kitchen cabinets, are about the many who have no kitchens at all.
This would normally be upsetting news to us but in light of what has been happening in Haiti and more recently in Chile, we see it as a mere hiccup. I think about all those poor people out there as my husband and I camp out in the safety and relative comfort of our own home and I am so very moved by their plight. We may not have a kitchen for the moment but we do have a roof over our heads and for that we are most grateful. Lives change on a dime.
I can certainly attest to the fact that being without a kitchen, without a sink, without a stove, is terribly inconvenient. I can only imagine what it must be like not to have anything left other than the clothes on your back. It has been a challenge to serve meals and to clean up afterwards by taking the dishes to the bathtub and I am reminded by the recent tragedies that many, many people all over the world live like this day in and day out.
When I try to imagine what it must be like for those people out there, reduced to sleeping in parks or by the rubble of their destroyed homes, desperately dipping containers into swimming pools and puddles for lack of access to potable water, I feel humbled.
I am thinking a lot about my paternal grandmother these days as I attempt to work around our reno. For as long as I can remember she and my grandfather, post war immigrants with very limited means, lived in a three room cold-water flat. The bathroom and kitchen were in the same room with only a thin curtain for a bit of privacy. I remember that my grandparents kept a piece of plywood over the old claw tub when it wasn't being used for bathing, as a makeshift counter. My grandmother would have to stoop uncomfortably over it whenever she had to peel potatoes or carrots yet she never complained because to her, those three depressing little rooms were palatial. Once you have lost everything you own, either through war or a natural disaster, anything you can acquire afterwards, even a dingy three-room flat, seems like a great and luxurious gift.
My thoughts, as we await delivery of our kitchen cabinets, are about the many who have no kitchens at all.
Monday, February 15, 2010
How To Spice Up February
It's around this time of the year that I start to get antsy about winter. The snow outside is dirty, days are longer but still cold, friends are either nursing colds or away on holidays and likely a good six more weeks of this lies ahead. Time to liven things up.
No, I don't mean a vacation. We have opted to renovate our kitchen instead of escaping south. Two years ago we renovated our bathrooms, an experience not to ever be forgotten. The less said about that project, the better. I still cringe whenever I remember the look on hubby's face when our newly-tiled shower wall popped after only a couple of uses. We swore then that we would never again use an independent contractor, not even one recommended by friends. Since then, we have learned a thing or two by watching Mike Holmes, the 'make it right' guy, so we now feel we're as ready as we will ever be to tackle one last mega project. February seems like a good time to turn our lives upside down and yes, we've checked all three references.
To prepare for next week when the demolition starts, we are trying to empty the freezer. Who knew we had three whole pork loins in there?! I also have thirteen very shrivelled and rotten bananas for the cake I never get around to making and two containers with ice cream that is more cyrstals than cream. Shall I ditch them or shall I hang on to the optimism that makes me believe that I will make a banana cake soon? After more than twenty years of always having black fruit in the freezer I would have to give up the idea that I am still a nurturing (baking!) mother, ready to provide comfort for all sorts of ailments with a slice of delicious cake. The kids are long gone and neither my husband nor I want/need the extra pounds so why do I still cling to these frozen bananas??!
I will also have to empty out the cupboard where we put all those things that don't have a natural home of their own. Like the rubber bands that are wrapped around the newspaper every morning, or the plastic clips from loaves of bread that my husband can't seem to help but place in the right hand corner of the cutlery drawer. Ditto the collection of chop sticks and the wine corks. Mind you, the latter may soon be a collector's item.
There are so many things in our kitchen that never get used anymore, from sushi rolling mats to cookie cutters. We have a different view of how to spend time in the kitchen now than we did back when we were raising our kids. Back then the kitchen was the hub of the house, a place from where I ran the entire family operation while supervising homework, folding laundry and dispensing advice while also preparing dinner. Nowadays, I am more likely to be sitting at the counter writing on my laptop while hubby quickly tosses up a stir-fry.
So next week end, in preparation for what is likely going to be our last big reno job, I will throw out all the remnants of my former role as an active mother and embrace, instead, the idea that this new kitchen will be an oasis just for my husband and I. The kids know they can come for a meal any time. Maybe I should hang on to a couple of bananas just in case I need to quickly bake them a cake.
No, I don't mean a vacation. We have opted to renovate our kitchen instead of escaping south. Two years ago we renovated our bathrooms, an experience not to ever be forgotten. The less said about that project, the better. I still cringe whenever I remember the look on hubby's face when our newly-tiled shower wall popped after only a couple of uses. We swore then that we would never again use an independent contractor, not even one recommended by friends. Since then, we have learned a thing or two by watching Mike Holmes, the 'make it right' guy, so we now feel we're as ready as we will ever be to tackle one last mega project. February seems like a good time to turn our lives upside down and yes, we've checked all three references.
To prepare for next week when the demolition starts, we are trying to empty the freezer. Who knew we had three whole pork loins in there?! I also have thirteen very shrivelled and rotten bananas for the cake I never get around to making and two containers with ice cream that is more cyrstals than cream. Shall I ditch them or shall I hang on to the optimism that makes me believe that I will make a banana cake soon? After more than twenty years of always having black fruit in the freezer I would have to give up the idea that I am still a nurturing (baking!) mother, ready to provide comfort for all sorts of ailments with a slice of delicious cake. The kids are long gone and neither my husband nor I want/need the extra pounds so why do I still cling to these frozen bananas??!
I will also have to empty out the cupboard where we put all those things that don't have a natural home of their own. Like the rubber bands that are wrapped around the newspaper every morning, or the plastic clips from loaves of bread that my husband can't seem to help but place in the right hand corner of the cutlery drawer. Ditto the collection of chop sticks and the wine corks. Mind you, the latter may soon be a collector's item.
There are so many things in our kitchen that never get used anymore, from sushi rolling mats to cookie cutters. We have a different view of how to spend time in the kitchen now than we did back when we were raising our kids. Back then the kitchen was the hub of the house, a place from where I ran the entire family operation while supervising homework, folding laundry and dispensing advice while also preparing dinner. Nowadays, I am more likely to be sitting at the counter writing on my laptop while hubby quickly tosses up a stir-fry.
So next week end, in preparation for what is likely going to be our last big reno job, I will throw out all the remnants of my former role as an active mother and embrace, instead, the idea that this new kitchen will be an oasis just for my husband and I. The kids know they can come for a meal any time. Maybe I should hang on to a couple of bananas just in case I need to quickly bake them a cake.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Calling All Receptionists
Where is it written that a medical receptionist cannot, under any circumstances, be friendly, helpful and approachable? It seems to me that every receptionist I meet lately is cross with the world and determined to make my day even harder than it already is. Whatever happened to becoming a receptionist because you're a 'people person'?
Case in point: the other day, the kind of icy January day that most of us would like to just skip, I found myself towing an 85-year old with a bad back and buckling legs, to a medical clinic. The clinic is located at a busy intersection where an elderly person taking the time to slowly and carefully unfold herself out of a car, is apparently cause for getting honked at. Same to you, buddy!!
From the car to the front door of the building was slow going because of the icy sidewalks. We managed to reach the three steps leading to the first set of heavy glass doors and then discovered that there are five more steps to climb followed by another heavy door, but no ramp or automatic door opener to make entry easier. Healthy people rushed by as we shuffled slowly down a long corridor leading to....a third heavy glass door!
Once inside the clinic we were greeted by a huge sign saying WAIT YOUR TURN and a receptionist who looked as though she might bark if anyone spoke to her. My heart sank at the sight. She eventually deigned to look up at us and mechanically take the information necessary to open a file. This was perhaps done efficiently, but without any warmth or compassion. Her interest in the person she was processing, was zero.
We were eventually sent by a doctor to have a CAT scan in another part of the building. The receptionist there was somewhat more pleasant. She actually greeted us as we entered her department but her smile soon turned sour when told that she had inverted the name of my unwell lady on her file folder. "Well what is her correct name?" she demanded of me, shooting daggers over her half moon glasses. When I repeated that the name was inverted she slammed the folder on the desk and said something that rhymes with fit. Thus I was made to understand that she was displeased at having to print out a new name label. Whatever happened to giving service with a smile, walking an extra mile for an elderly person, or just plain caring about doing your job to the best of your ability?
Back upstairs to the first receptionist so we could get the scan results from the waiting doctor. The morning receptionist had by then been replaced by another. Again, no smile, no greeting, not even a direct gaze into my eyes. Just a bad perm with an attitude to match. "I will call you when I am ready for you," she said to the person in front of us who had dared approach her desk rather than wait by the sign. After hours of waiting and being patient I would have enjoyed a friendly face. Luckily, the doctor peered out from behind the receptionist and waved us in so I was able to skip the whole explanation of who we were and why we were there. The guy in front of us wasn't as lucky. When I last looked, he was still standing at attention, hoping for a miracle.
This is no way to treat elderly people. With reduced mobility it is often very difficult for them to travel from point A to point B. A friendly face at the end of such gargantuan efforts makes a huge difference to their morale. They are often nervous about the possible outcome of medical intervention. A caring smile would go such a long way to easing such anxiety.
Case in point: the other day, the kind of icy January day that most of us would like to just skip, I found myself towing an 85-year old with a bad back and buckling legs, to a medical clinic. The clinic is located at a busy intersection where an elderly person taking the time to slowly and carefully unfold herself out of a car, is apparently cause for getting honked at. Same to you, buddy!!
From the car to the front door of the building was slow going because of the icy sidewalks. We managed to reach the three steps leading to the first set of heavy glass doors and then discovered that there are five more steps to climb followed by another heavy door, but no ramp or automatic door opener to make entry easier. Healthy people rushed by as we shuffled slowly down a long corridor leading to....a third heavy glass door!
Once inside the clinic we were greeted by a huge sign saying WAIT YOUR TURN and a receptionist who looked as though she might bark if anyone spoke to her. My heart sank at the sight. She eventually deigned to look up at us and mechanically take the information necessary to open a file. This was perhaps done efficiently, but without any warmth or compassion. Her interest in the person she was processing, was zero.
We were eventually sent by a doctor to have a CAT scan in another part of the building. The receptionist there was somewhat more pleasant. She actually greeted us as we entered her department but her smile soon turned sour when told that she had inverted the name of my unwell lady on her file folder. "Well what is her correct name?" she demanded of me, shooting daggers over her half moon glasses. When I repeated that the name was inverted she slammed the folder on the desk and said something that rhymes with fit. Thus I was made to understand that she was displeased at having to print out a new name label. Whatever happened to giving service with a smile, walking an extra mile for an elderly person, or just plain caring about doing your job to the best of your ability?
Back upstairs to the first receptionist so we could get the scan results from the waiting doctor. The morning receptionist had by then been replaced by another. Again, no smile, no greeting, not even a direct gaze into my eyes. Just a bad perm with an attitude to match. "I will call you when I am ready for you," she said to the person in front of us who had dared approach her desk rather than wait by the sign. After hours of waiting and being patient I would have enjoyed a friendly face. Luckily, the doctor peered out from behind the receptionist and waved us in so I was able to skip the whole explanation of who we were and why we were there. The guy in front of us wasn't as lucky. When I last looked, he was still standing at attention, hoping for a miracle.
This is no way to treat elderly people. With reduced mobility it is often very difficult for them to travel from point A to point B. A friendly face at the end of such gargantuan efforts makes a huge difference to their morale. They are often nervous about the possible outcome of medical intervention. A caring smile would go such a long way to easing such anxiety.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Holiday Blessings
Being of German origins, my family and I like to follow the old tradtions and celebrate Christmas on the eve of the 24th. I stayed up late yesterday wrapping the last of the gifts, polishing the silver and ensuring that everything would be ready by today. It is now nearly four o'clock. The tree is up, the table is set and delicous food smells are wafting out of the kitchen. Time to take a moment to be with myself and reflect. I have, therefore, poured a glass of wine, made a toast with peanut butter and taken that unlikely combination to the living room to just sit still and listen to the things inside my head and heart.
I am grateful for so many things, not the least of which is my family's continued good health, especially that of my 80-something mother. I am grateful for my husband who, although exhausted after a particularly hard year at work, never complains and always smiles lovingly when I ask something of him. Truly an angel among us, even if he does shrink things when he attempts to do laundry. I am especially grateful, more so with every passing year, for loyal friends both old and new who enrich my existence beyond measure as we face life's hurdles together.
And this year I am savouring another blessing, which is that feuding families can be reunited, even after three decades.
Sipping my wine I give myself a virtual pat on the shoulder because I was instrumental in the reunion of my own family. It likely never would have happened if I had not swallowed my pride and sent out an invitation which was accepted and thus started the ball rolling back in September.
How many families are not talking to one another at this very moment because of petty differences, because of false pride or because of pure stubborness?
Fundamentally, we all want the same thing. To be respected, to have our voice heard, our feelings validated. We can't change history or create world peace but we can ensure that our families practices a little goodwill.
That is my holiday wish today as I munch the last of my toast. That everyone makes an effort to begin the process of making sure their families are in the best working order possible. It just takes one gesture to open your heart. And if there are left-over bad feelings, I pray they can be put aside just long enough for goodwill to make forgiveness possible.
Merry Christmas.
I am grateful for so many things, not the least of which is my family's continued good health, especially that of my 80-something mother. I am grateful for my husband who, although exhausted after a particularly hard year at work, never complains and always smiles lovingly when I ask something of him. Truly an angel among us, even if he does shrink things when he attempts to do laundry. I am especially grateful, more so with every passing year, for loyal friends both old and new who enrich my existence beyond measure as we face life's hurdles together.
And this year I am savouring another blessing, which is that feuding families can be reunited, even after three decades.
Sipping my wine I give myself a virtual pat on the shoulder because I was instrumental in the reunion of my own family. It likely never would have happened if I had not swallowed my pride and sent out an invitation which was accepted and thus started the ball rolling back in September.
How many families are not talking to one another at this very moment because of petty differences, because of false pride or because of pure stubborness?
Fundamentally, we all want the same thing. To be respected, to have our voice heard, our feelings validated. We can't change history or create world peace but we can ensure that our families practices a little goodwill.
That is my holiday wish today as I munch the last of my toast. That everyone makes an effort to begin the process of making sure their families are in the best working order possible. It just takes one gesture to open your heart. And if there are left-over bad feelings, I pray they can be put aside just long enough for goodwill to make forgiveness possible.
Merry Christmas.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
No, Thanks! 2
The beauty of a blog is that it can create dialogue on issues not normally discussed among people who don't usually connect.
A few days after my latest entry I attended an all-female luncheon and the topic of my blog came up. Aging gracefully is a subject women of a certain age grapple with every time they look in the mirror so I was not at all surprised that we landed with a thud on my last blog entry. I was, however, taken aback by the general reaction to it. Nobody commented on the story about the doctor peddling Botox but everyone present wanted a say on plastic surgery. One woman in our group took me to task (in a very nice way) mentioning that she had had to have plastic surgery a few years ago after having melanoma. Another confessed that she has had varicose veins surgically removed after seeing a photo of herself in a bathing suit. Blue had never been her best colour, she joked. One talked of having had all her teeth veneered, so natural looking, by the way, that nobody would ever had guessed had she not told us. Only one woman in that entire group stated flat-out that she would not alter any part of herself, including bleaching her teeth, partly on principle but aslo out of fear and cost concerns.
It fascinated and humbled me that I was completely outnumbered and that nobody was particularly outraged at the way the medical spa I had written about, operated.
A week later, at yet another all female pre-Christmas luncheon, one friend, making an entrance after arriving late and sporting a still slightly swollen face, announced without the slightest hesitation that she had just had her eyes and chin "done". Everyone was very impressed with the results and I had to admit that, in spite of her swelling, she looked fresher and more vibrant than when I had last seen her. More to the point, she felt mentally rejuvinated by looking younger and I cannot deny that this is a huge bonus in our exhausting, fast-paced world.
As I said in my previous entry, who among us doesn't want to look younger or stop time temporarily? And yes, I get that plastic surgery is a wonderful thing after an illness, burns or a disfiguring accident. In the case of the friend who was still recovering, it was clearly important for her mental well-being to look her very best.
I do realize that it is very difficult for some women in certain fields, especially if they work exclusively with younger people, to not feel excluded by their age. Whether we admit it or not, a bias against aging people is alive and well in our society.
But that is precisely my point. How do we rectify that? Is it by giving in or by standing tough? What message are we, the older generation, sending to our sons and daughters if we don't accept our limitations? That we are sorry to be aging? That it's not a big deal to alter the ravages of time artificially? That's it ok not to own who we are at any given time? That the history you have acquired on your face through the act of being alive....does not count when pitted against the norms dictated by the fashion and cosmetics industries?
Don't get me wrong. I am as vain as the next person and I grapple with these issues also. But my personal choice so far has been to compromise rather than give in because I believe that as a mother I must teach my children not to be afraid of aging. I believe it is my duty to set a good example so that they do not grow up to be afraid of what nature will ultimately do to all of us. It's a losing battle. With or without me, the comsmetics industry, which I support every time I buy a moisturizer, will win out. Perhaps by the time my daughter is my age, removing wrinkles with a laser will have become as routine and painless and cost effective as teeth bleaching is today. My future grandkids will look at old photos of me and say....grandma, why do you look so old?? If I'm still around, maybe I will have the courage to say...because I am!
A few days after my latest entry I attended an all-female luncheon and the topic of my blog came up. Aging gracefully is a subject women of a certain age grapple with every time they look in the mirror so I was not at all surprised that we landed with a thud on my last blog entry. I was, however, taken aback by the general reaction to it. Nobody commented on the story about the doctor peddling Botox but everyone present wanted a say on plastic surgery. One woman in our group took me to task (in a very nice way) mentioning that she had had to have plastic surgery a few years ago after having melanoma. Another confessed that she has had varicose veins surgically removed after seeing a photo of herself in a bathing suit. Blue had never been her best colour, she joked. One talked of having had all her teeth veneered, so natural looking, by the way, that nobody would ever had guessed had she not told us. Only one woman in that entire group stated flat-out that she would not alter any part of herself, including bleaching her teeth, partly on principle but aslo out of fear and cost concerns.
It fascinated and humbled me that I was completely outnumbered and that nobody was particularly outraged at the way the medical spa I had written about, operated.
A week later, at yet another all female pre-Christmas luncheon, one friend, making an entrance after arriving late and sporting a still slightly swollen face, announced without the slightest hesitation that she had just had her eyes and chin "done". Everyone was very impressed with the results and I had to admit that, in spite of her swelling, she looked fresher and more vibrant than when I had last seen her. More to the point, she felt mentally rejuvinated by looking younger and I cannot deny that this is a huge bonus in our exhausting, fast-paced world.
As I said in my previous entry, who among us doesn't want to look younger or stop time temporarily? And yes, I get that plastic surgery is a wonderful thing after an illness, burns or a disfiguring accident. In the case of the friend who was still recovering, it was clearly important for her mental well-being to look her very best.
I do realize that it is very difficult for some women in certain fields, especially if they work exclusively with younger people, to not feel excluded by their age. Whether we admit it or not, a bias against aging people is alive and well in our society.
But that is precisely my point. How do we rectify that? Is it by giving in or by standing tough? What message are we, the older generation, sending to our sons and daughters if we don't accept our limitations? That we are sorry to be aging? That it's not a big deal to alter the ravages of time artificially? That's it ok not to own who we are at any given time? That the history you have acquired on your face through the act of being alive....does not count when pitted against the norms dictated by the fashion and cosmetics industries?
Don't get me wrong. I am as vain as the next person and I grapple with these issues also. But my personal choice so far has been to compromise rather than give in because I believe that as a mother I must teach my children not to be afraid of aging. I believe it is my duty to set a good example so that they do not grow up to be afraid of what nature will ultimately do to all of us. It's a losing battle. With or without me, the comsmetics industry, which I support every time I buy a moisturizer, will win out. Perhaps by the time my daughter is my age, removing wrinkles with a laser will have become as routine and painless and cost effective as teeth bleaching is today. My future grandkids will look at old photos of me and say....grandma, why do you look so old?? If I'm still around, maybe I will have the courage to say...because I am!
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