A few months ago, I blogged that I was planning on becoming a natural beauty. This meant, that with retirement, the need for manicures and colorists had gone by the wayside. I feel strongly about that. I was resolute in my thinking that one should always look the part. I spent my whole life in the appropriate style.
Step into the way back machine with me ~
As a child, I wore school uniforms, and when I was finally allowed to go to public school, an ambition I'd long had, I segued into the the same look my peers worked so hard for. Back then,(the sixties) I had girlfriends who already attended public school groom me into a 'cool' high school coed. (BOYS ! who knew??) with that came teased hair, white lipstick and very short skirts.
Then came motherhood and marriage, and of course, the requisite uniform of the day - painters paints or jeans and a tshirt with formula stains on the shoulders. That lasted a few years and then came, (wait for it)
DISCO!
Designer jeans, silky shirts, platform shoes and dance lessons. Music I hope I never hear again.
Then as my children grew older and busier,and my marriage fell apart, I went back to school. A catholic school, but no uniforms, thankfully, or I would've gone to plan "B"
I went back and graduated as a certified surgical technician. Landing in the operating room, thrilled to be there and had no qualms whatsoever about driving to work in sweats to jump into scrubs and sterile gowns. Life was easy !
I ended up in scrubs for 25 years. Loved it. Eventually I went into private practice: cosmetic surgery and vision correction. Less anguish, more money. There was a lot of front work in that field, it was, basically, retail medicine. Thus, the need for colorists and manicures. I went full circle in my lifetime.
But, now, I get to be grandma, and my little Luca thinks I am the greatest! Grandma is fun to climb on, breaks all the rules and will give him whatever he wants, (within reason) whenever he wants it. The requisite uniform for this happy task, is, once again, jeans, Uggs, soft shirts and comfort.
So who cares if my hair is gray and I am without make-up or manicures?
Evidently, everyone!
I wish my family and friends would organize their interventions instead of painfully picking me apart on a one on one basis. I have heard from all sides that I must get to a salon and pull myself together. The holidays are coming, parties, plans and we must look our best. I guess the gray hair and the ragged nails make me look older, which is not the gold standard.
I'm very comfortable in my retirement, I like being this age ! Why can't I look it? Better yet, why can't I find the gumption to stand up to these people who love me so much?
(Oops, there it is, I've said "gumption") now, that's enough to drive me to the fountain of youth !
I've made the appointments already.
I used to keep a journal. For years, I kept a journal. I still have them, boxes of them and I wish I'd never stopped. A whole lot has happened to me and years went by undocumented. It's because I caught someone (an ex) reading them. He had been at it for hours while I was away. Our relationship was ending and I guess he was trying to understand it. I couldn't understand why he stooped so low as to affirm my decision to part company. He kind of proved my point. But he robbed me, too. I was crushed by that invasion. It felt like rape. When I asked him if he learned anything from reading my innermost thoughts, he stated that he learned I had never lied to him.
I began blogging in April of this year, after reading others blogs online. I have favorites I check in on routinely, and I could spend a whole day perusing new ones.
I find them so interesting, some are funny, while others are sad, documenting illnesses or transitions. Some have scads of followers, others don't list theirs. The cool thing about a writing a blog is that it isn't meant to be private, like a journal. But that's exactly the same reason it isn't so cool. You have to edit yourself for that very reason. I, of course, have no filter, so I try to keep my observations general, names changed to protect the not so innocent.
When I began, it was rewarding. I get emails sometimes from readers. That's nice. Sometimes, people comment after a column, not often,but it's appreciated. The thing is, when I began I had so many subjects to cover, so many ideas. I was resolute in not wanting to come off as whiner, ala Andy Rooney, who made quite a nice career for himself, complaining like the curmudgeon he'd become.
But now, I'll start to write and realize I've already covered the topic at hand. Or I'm just writing to sound off about some real or imagined slight, or some hot topic that would piss people off. I can do that everyday on my Facebook page. And I do. I can't believe any of my republican friends still keep me as their 'friend.' (Actually, I can't believe I have any friends at all, who are republican!)
The point is, I've tapered way off since the beginning. I've gone from three times a week, to a couple, to maybe twice a month. I still enjoy it, I do not find it theraputic and I get disappointed in myself during my dry spells. Luckily, there's a whole cyberworld out there and this isn't an assignment. I can, and do make entries whenever I have the time and/or the inclination. Hopefully, with the changes of the seasons I'll be inspired. It keeps me busy, this blogging, and out of the bars, so to speak.
I'm glad I don't have to make a living at it, I think I'd be really hungry, because "Easy reading is damn hard writing."
(Nathaniel Hawthorne)
Trust no one. Especially me.
I am a keeper of secrets. This is definitely not where my talents lie. I warn people not to tell me things. I can't take the pressure. I know that I am more successful as I get older, but how much longer can I be expected to keep mum ? I know stuff I don't even want to know.
In my world, if I have something even mildly interesting, I've gotta share it. As long as it's about me. When it's not about me, I try to wait patiently until the all clear has been given, or I hear the same scoop I'm guarding from someone else's lips.I have secrets with people myself, where I've confided in someone, after warning them to "keep it in the vault!" As far as I know, I choose wisely. Nothing has come back to bite me the ass (yet.)
This past week I was a counter-spy, working for my daughter and her husband regarding their fifth anniversary. I was on the phone and at the mall, arranging surprises for each of them, unbeknownst to the other. Fortunatly, I pulled it off. I babysat while they went out to celebrate and was greatly relieved when they returned, giddy with their success in subterfuge. They were giddy, I was exhausted !
As stated earlier, if it's about me, I'm going to spread the word. I never learn. Discretion is the better part of valor, but valiant, I'm not. I once greatly distressed my employer when I told someone in confidence that I had gotten an offer I couldn't refuse. Imagine my chagrin when, after submitting my resignation, and having it declined, he returned to me to say how floored he was that he was the last to find out. At least I had the grace to blush, it was the least I could do, I felt horrible. Still, he counter offered, and one of my biggest regrets, career wise, was not taking it. But that's a whole nutha topic.
The older I get, the better I've become, but rather than taking pride in that, I have to admit that I'm still not all that noble, I'm just forgetful. So, confide in me if you must, but never tell me not to tell. I'll make a mental note, but I've got a mind like a sieve, so don't hold me to it.
This column is my disclaimer, and with any luck, I'll remember I wrote it.
