This selection was written several years ago. I plan to revive this blog–so, this story seemed like a good reintroduction to old and new readers of this blog.
Young Again
The car races
We are headed to a party; some friends are celebrating forty years of marriage. What an amazing milestone!
I try to remember my husband and me all those years ago—young, and attractive. I open the vanity mirror on the back of the visor, flipping the light on, as my husband zips along, cursing the other drivers who, according to him, are all idiots. I pull a pinch of skin on my jaw line, smoothing out the fine lines and wrinkles that have made their home along my mouth. “What do ya’ think? Would I look better with a face lift?” I ask, knowing fully well I would never subject myself to that invasion.
I had resolved a few years back when I stopped coloring my hair to its more youthful deep sable color, to age gracefully. Age gracefully, h-m-m, I wonder, does that mean looking old? I look again in the small mirror. Not too bad—yet!
I remember when I was in my early twenties, when my generation, the renowned Baby Boomers, first began to flex their muscles, at Woodstock, at peace rallies, pushing our free love, anything goes philosophy to the forefront. For better or for worse, we have changed society.
The rain has let up as we pull up to the multi- storied hotel. I dread stepping down onto the pavement, knowing that my knee is so unpredictable. Will it hold out this time, I wonder, as I gingerly emerge from the car. My knee has decided to act normal today. Hooray!
We enter the fairy land that this hotel has created for the convention guests it caters to. Ahead of us is a marble lobby, decorated with Oriental carpets, chairs upholstered in mauve and pink, with asymmetrically curved backs. To the right of the smoky black mirrored piano bar is a large tropical themed pool. I have no desire to stay here, like I might have when I was younger, for a romantic weekend. After all, now I live in a resort! One without kids, where I can go to a quiet restaurant, and swim in pools sans babies and splashing ten year olds. I guiltily acknowledge that I enjoy my adult oriented life.
We find our friends, and exchanging hugs and quick kisses on the cheek, congratulate them on forty years of marriage. Jokes are made about how difficult marriage is— but how wonderful it is to have a shared history, companionship, and support as we age.
Age! Yikes!
A young couple is in the restaurant, trying to convince their squirmy two- year old to sit and enjoy her food. Each parent takes a turn, trying to find something to amuse their young child, to no avail. I look at the parents, their smooth unlined faces beautiful the way young people are… and I feel a pang of jealousy. The image of a handsome fully -accredited plastic surgeon wielding his scalpel above me as I drift off to sleep pops into my head.
I turn to my husband. “How do I look?” I ask.
“Very nice, is that a new outfit?” he replies. Well, I’ll have to be content with that; it’s the most I’ll get out of him.
Eventually the thirty -something mom picks up her fussy baby, and struggles to leave the restaurant gracefully. The dad packs up the food they couldn’t eat, pays the bill, and hurries to the door.
Yeah, youth. Looks like fun on TV, but the reality can be very different.
Later as we leave the hotel, I turn to look at my husband. We have shared a lifetime together, all the anger, pain, hurt, joy, happiness, and success that are the hallmarks of a marriage. He pulls the car out into the traffic, just as the sunset blazes across the sky, filling the horizon with lavender, pink and gold.
A song drifts out of the radio, a familiar tune, “love is lovelier….love-like youth is wasted on the young.” I hum along, as I smile a little crinkled smile.
I do that sometimes, pull my facial skin taut and ask Dennis if I should get a facelift. Since that pulls my eyes slightly too, he always says, “why do you want to look Chinese?” Like you, fear of surgery deters me from voluntarily going under the knife.
Enjoyed your story!
Thanks! I thought I was the only one who did that!
Glad you are back blogging! Lovely piece! I remember being chased down by a young man outside one of those expensive cosmetic stores offering me a free sample of eye cream. “It will take years off your face!” he said, smoothing the white stuff on the bags under my right eye.. “How much is this?” I asked. “Usually $800, but today it’s on special for $399!” “Are you kidding?” I reply. “Do you know how many hungry children one can feed for this tiny bottle of stuff? No thanks!” He walked away. “Hey! What about the other eye?” I asked. “Not unless you buy it,” he said. No, I will never spend money on a facelift or fancy creams!! I would rather give the money to a charity!
A good reminder that experience and memories are better than youth. And if you lie in your back and look at your face in a mirror, well, less wrinkles. Or different wrinkles. It’s a gravity thing.
I, too, have had these experiences–and, I’m sorry to say, I bought that stuff once–needless to say, it didn’t work!