GOING GRAY, GOING BLUE

About ten years ago, I was heading out to California to visit my daughter and her family.


And I mentioned to two church friends this, and, jokingly, added, "Maybe I'll dye my hair blue while I'm out there."


Sudden silence.


And the one sister, looking at me extremely seriously, "But Hope, as Mormon women, we don't dye our hair!"


I could simply not take my hair off of her hair.







Streaked, blonde, coiffed .... DYED.

AGE DIFFERENCES

I love how age groups work.



You're a baby - 0 to 2.


You're a toddler - 2 to 4.



You're a child - 4 to 11.


You're a teenager - 12 to 18.



You're a young adult - 18 to 24.







You're an adult - 18 to your 30's.



But then it becomes tricky. The best definition I know of old age is "15 years older than you are at the moment", and it's true.



Most of us will agree your 40's are middle age... as long as you're not looking at it from your 20's or 60's.



People don't seem to want to be classified as senior citizens, even when it gives them a 10% discount.



Today I was mistaken for the grandmother of a couple of kids I gave a ride to church to.



And I felt highly complimented.

JUST A LITTLE BIT OF AGE CREEPING UP, SORRY

First of all, my apologies to you, Harmony.

You call or text me faithfully every single evening (even now that I have other humans living here).

You check to make certain I am okay, what's happening in my little world, play therapist with my rantings and railings.


And last night (in particular) you were exposed to WAY too much from me.

"Ah, when I cough, it's like..."

"Oh, and my sinuses are still...."

"And last night in the bathroom, you could not BELIEVE...."




Okay, well, maybe not that last one.

But this is becoming one thing and one thing alone - OLD PERSON SPEAK.

This is when elderly people begin to talk freely about bodily functions, complain about what the kids are doing nowadays, talk about what it was like in their youth....

I do NOT mind getting older - really, I do now - but I do object STRONGLY to behaving like an old person.


Yeah - I believe this.

So again, sorry, sweetie. I'll try to do better.

And you have my permission to remind me when I forget!

LEVELS OF JOY

Most of us have an inner child.

Some of us are born old souls.

However, please let me describe the ranges of age displayed by my 28 year old daughter in about six hours today:

Age 2: Sheer and complete joy when told you are going to a movie.

Age 6: The frustration of trying to get both shoes on while someone is waiting for you.

Age 9: Pride at being able to purchase a movie ticket on your very own.

Age 13:  Beginning to cry when mommy won't give you enough to buy popcorn also.

Age 15: Embarrasment by your mom picking you up outside the mall after the movie ends.

Age 18: Telling your mom the movie's entire plot to the point of being annoying.

Age 14: Trying to defend the disaster that your apartment is in, and mom has been cleaning the entire time you've been at the movie.

Age 10: Putting away, with loud and violent protest, five items mom had left for you to take care of.

Age 4: Dissolving into tears when being told what must be cleaned up before tomorrow.

I feel as though I have aged years.

LITTLE OLD LADY FROM PASADENA

It sounds awfully snobbish to casually mention the National Geographic as the only magazine I have around the house at the moment.

I love periodicals such as Family Circle, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day.

However...

1) I am old/experienced enough to have WRITTEN most of the articles on cleaning techniques/family relationships/how to stay out of debt; and

2) all the cute fresh ideas they showcase for decorating/organizing require MONEY and a drive of 65 miles to a city large enough to have a IKEA, a real furniture store or fabric outside of what WalMart sells.

Of course I grab People, Star News and Cosmopolitan when I waiting at the dentists like everyone else - although once again there my age shows; I have absolutely no idea who half the young celebrities that are being gossiped about are.

The National Geographic keeps me tied to reality by its glorious photographs of gigantic wilderness, under-clothed and desperately hungry humans, and both the destruction of as well as the enlightened nurturing of fragile ecosystems and animals which I have never in my life heard of.

But I didn't begin this blog to be a free advertisement for the National Geographic.

I began this pulpit-pounding because MOST magazines (besides National Geographic) have ad after ad after ad depicting a lovely female face and emblazoned with New! Revitalizing! Nourishing! Restorative! Invigorating! to see their own patented -invented-discovered-in-the-Amazon-basin cream or injection or slimy gel to Reduce! Eliminate! Overcome! Conquer! any signs on aging which might show up on your face!

So for only $45 (a month for the rest of your mortal life), you too can eradicate any imprint which living a normal healthy life made have left on your complexion, such as laugh lines, crinkles around your eyes when you smile, age spots (which, as I have explained to my grandson, simply means that your freckles have become very friendly and joined forces) and/or (HEAVEN FORBID) LOOK YOUR ACTUAL BIOLOGICAL AGE.

Our American society seems obsessed with beauty as defined by youth, slenderness and facial symmetry, and allow the media to lead us in this fixation.

Now, I am one of the most crooked people in existence (wow, don't I sound like a gangster? Put a James Cagney accent right in there, and it's perfect). My right arm and right leg ares significantly longer than their partners on the left - my face was put on as random parts on the original Mr. Potato Head (which were the same plastic type pieces but to insert into an actual potato) - the only thing I can think of that isn't off is some manner is that my ears don't stick out (and heaven knows why, I kept my heavy hair behind my ears all my youth).

And I am perfectly happy with that. I am proud of the wrinkles around my eyes; maybe helped by the fact that I live in Arizona now and EVERYone has sun-squinty eyes after a few years here. I'd like to lose weight, I have an extra chin that I would be happy to lose, but I am okay with looking 54 years old.

Because I AM. I've EARNED these age symbols. I DON'T want them erased or blended or surgically removed.

And all these cosmetic creations, creams and concoctions irritate me much more than they should.

DON'T DENY YOUR AGE, American women!

ADDITION - Check out http://www.dove.us/#/features/videos/default.aspx[cp-documentid=7049579]/

I got to wait HOW long?!?

There is an annoying commercial that had been driving me NUTS ever since I saw it about a month ago.


Although I am beginning to wonder if I imagined it - I can't find a video of it on YouTube, so maybe it doesn't really exist in this particular time-dimension....


This is about a guy who is all upset because of 'irregularity' - not having 'regular movements' - needing to 'improve your digestion' - you know what it's referring to.

(Completely random thought - why is it okay for the word 'penis' to be on television, but somehow 'bowel movement' is not appropriate? Anyone wanna tell me?)



So this middle-aged American white guy (yeah, let's typecast this dude, okay?) is distraught because, and I quote, he "can't wait seven days!" for the 'other' form of relief (yogurt? drinking water? regular exercise? fiber?) for his... well, his "problem."

So he HAS to have the whatever-the-immediate-relief-thing is.


But this is the phrase in the commercial that just kills me - "I can't wait seven days."

So I just gotta find this fellow and ask him, "So where are you gonna be in seven days?"


It's like when people, when talking about going back to college, say, "But man, I'll be forty by the time I graduate!"


So you aren't going to be forty if you don't go back to school?


If you are forced to take a 'shorter' remedy for your digestive tract problem, than you are restricted from taking a 'longer', perhaps better one, that may take - GASP! - SEVEN DAYS!?


We, as Americans, are such an immediate gratification freaks.


However.

I must admit something.

I had a skin biopsy two weeks ago.

And didn't find out the results until yesterday, after 17 days of waiting.


It was just a place on my shoulder that never healed up; sort of like an open scrape. And if two family members hadn't already been diagnosed with skin cancer, I probably wouldn't have done anything about it for quite a while.


But once the "c" word is out there, it's just what comes back the next time you have, say, a sore - an ache in your side - trouble breathing - etc. etc. etc.


I'm okay - I've got what is called "actinic keratosis" (which sounds like it should be some sort of adorable disorder toddlers develop from drinking kerosene, doesn't it), which is the most common precancerous growth - and only about 5% develop into actual skin cancer.


But boy, did I want that 'immediate' report. Right then.