when we were young and beautiful

buried deep in a corner of my ex mother-in-laws basement lay a box of photos. they had been
sitting there for over 20 years. i knew they were there and from time to time i thought about having
her ship them out to me, but something always came up and i'd forget to do it. then i figured that they
had been thrown out after the divorce and i gave them up for lost. imagine my surprise when just yesterday
the ex himself handed them over to me. he had been back east visiting his mother, found them and gave them back to me!
these photos were largely of my early 20's, before we started dating.
a part of my wild and crazy youth. i look at them now and can't believe how young i was and yes, i was beautiful. we all were. we had the glow of youth, our faces weren't careworn with responsibility, our bodies weren't dragged down by gravity and babies. the only thing we had to worry about was what to wear to the next party. it was an exciting time of concerts and parties and talking long into the night, solving the worlds problems over a bottle of cheap chianti.
i look at some of the pictures and just laugh, the memory is still so sharp, not like it was yesterday, but certainly not like it was 30 years ago either.
would i go back if i could?
depends on what day you ask me :)

it's always a good day to feed the ducks

my 5 year old grand daughter and 3 year old grandson came to stay for a few days.
they reminded me of things i had forgotten.
  it's always a good day to feed the ducks.
  the world looks better when you are hanging upside down.
  the crust from your toast is yucky!
  bathtime is more fun with bubbles.
  fairies are real and rocks are beautiful.
  just use your magic wand.
  never walk when you can dance.
  never talk when you can sing.
 always eat your dessert first, cause you might be too full if you eat your dinner.
 jump in every puddle you see

and the most important thing.........
put on your cutest face, and grandma never says no.

a manifesto for everyone

found this browsing through the web. (yes i need a life).
this pretty much says it all. i'm going to adopt this as my own manifesto.

raise your glass!

today is a very special anniversary for me. 4 years ago today i had surgery to remove the lump in my breast. 4 years ago today, i chose life.
as it so happens, today i get to go and be picked at and probed and have half my lifeblood removed to check and see if i am still winning this war. i think i am.
i always meet this day with trepidation. my usual confidence takes a bit of a nose dive. the what-ifs start to circle in my brain. i want to know but i don't want to know, unless of course i can be guaranteed the right answer. there are no guarantees in life. learned that lesson 4 years ago.
everyday i live with a double edged sword above my head, but the key word is that i "live"
so no matter what the outcome of today's tests will be, i still have reason to celebrate and i am confident that in 4 more years time i will be celebrating again.
as i have told you all on one or more occasions - "only the good die young" so i will be here for quite some time to come!
cheers!

bag lady blues

i'm in deep trouble.
there was a time when i never left the house without make-up, heels and a properly put together outfit. over the years i relaxed that rule a bit, but now that i'm "retired" i seem to have relaxed it too much.
i gave away alot of my shoes and any outfit that smacked of office. what that has left me with is my casual clothes and what i fondly refer to as my bag lady outfits and my homeless coats. i find myself reaching for the comfort of baggy layers, scarves for both my head and my neck, shapeless wool sweater coats and anything in sweatsuit material. some call it boho chic, some call it schelpping.
went shopping the other day and found i had filled my cart with all of the above. i put them back and started over. but what to buy? what to wear?
i talked to a friend about this the other day and she said " welcome to my world!" i've noticed other people as well who have retired, just throwing on any old thing. i'm not going to do housework or gardening or painting in a dress and pearls ala june cleaver, but surely to god when i do leave the house i should be able to put together an outfit that says yes i still have self esteem yes i care how i look and yes i'm worth the effort!

in light of all that is happening in the world right now, my wardrobe problem seems pretty trite, but if the world is going to fall off it's axis, i would like to go out in style!

maiden, mother, crone

in pagan times and not so pagan times, woman have been assigned 3 stages of life. maiden, mother, crone. all self explanatory. each stage marked by the moon and the cycles of womanly functions. theoretically, all the woman of the tribe would menstruate at the same time.(imagine the bitch sessions if you will). i believe there is some truth to this, having lived with several women over the years and finding out that after time we did sync our cycles. enough history and biology lessons, i have digressed.
my point is, is that i am now a crone!. it's an ugly word. conjuring up pictures of old withered, witch like hags.
i don't mind being a crone, for with it comes experience, wisdom (hopefully) and peace with ones self. i just don't like the word (label). many aboriginal tribes around the world and some religious groups call them the elders.(they also include men in this category). i'm not big on this one either as it's just a euphemism for old.
i'm not old!        any suggestions as to what we should change the life stage name to? i'm open to anything more upbeat, more life affirming, less derogatory.
and well it's true that i am no longer a maiden, i am still a mother and i'm not ready to sit by the fireside just yet. unless it is with a glass of wine and the husband.

a terrible beauty

this is part of a rock formation off the coast of the sea of cortez. note the deep crevices,wrinkling and pitting.
this was formed from hundreds perhaps thousands of years of being battered by the wind and sand and salt. it has stood up to the test of time. what was once a smooth surface has now taken on a character of it's own, a terrible beauty.
i liken this image to my face. it to has been battered by the elements, worries, joy and grief. i can name every wrinkle. those smile lines?- my children caused them, my grandchildren deepened them. the furrows across my forehead?- worry from when my son ran away, when another was very ill, when they said yes it's cancer. the discolorations? too much time in the sun, too many cigarettes, too many glasses of wine. the crows feet?- they also are lines of happiness- from years of laughter and smiles of contentment. the bags under my eyes?-partially an inherited feature and also from many sleepless nights worrying about loved ones and about myself.
every line, wrinkle, crevice tells a story. my life is written upon my face. no cream will erase it, surgery would just cause different scars and injectables would just mask it for a while.
i like my face. and as the years go by, more stories will be written upon it, more laughter more joy and yes even more sorrow. but that's okay. for an unlined face hasn't lived, hasn't experienced, hasn't succeeded, hasn't failed. i have done all those things and in the years to come, i will do more. and more wrinkles will tell more stories and one day, i to hope to be a terrible beauty.