Beauty Is

Thank all that is good for the eye of the beholder

Sometimes I write to share my point of view. Others, I post to share lessons learned. Still, others are to explore a struggle.
I’m not totally sure which reason fits this post, probably a bit of all three.

Tonight unfolded like most Fridays. I walk in the door and my husband has 80% of dinner finished. We kiss, I put away my lunch bag, purse, jacket.
Off come the shoes, off comes the work clothes.
I put on something comfy-cozy (tonight that ensemble included fluffy purple socks), then back to the kitchen to see how I could help.

I said, as I usually do, something disparaging. Tonight it was “If I knew that would be my assignment, I’d have kept my work clothes on.” Sometimes I tell him “two out of three isn’t bad.” Other times I ask him for an easy assignment. Rarely do I believe that what he asks is a possible task. Bless the man; he keeps trying.

I am keenly aware of the approaching milestone birthday, even if it is a few years away. Part of my mind circles back to it every so many days, prodding it like a tongue searching for a bad tooth: it hurts but I can’t just leave it alone.
Although my inner person feels at least 30 years younger than the calendar tells me I am, I know the change is coming.

As I get ready each day, I steal glances at myself in the mirror. I am careful to stand just close enough to see me, and yet still far enough for my wobbly nearsighted-farsightedness to make up its mind and bring me into focus. I check for the lines around my eyes: are they there?

My neck! (A moment: My poor neck. The only advantage I had by being overweight was that the skin on my chin was taut. True, it was filled with fat. But it WAS taut. OK. It was swollen and big. OK? But neck minus fat equals crepey skin, and I carefully step too close to the mirror, so it blurs just a little. Less weight is worth it, I repeat to…

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