It’s amazing to see what people will do for a little prize; a trinket, a string of beads, a piece of candy all in the name of play.  Thursday night our ESL group had a volunteer appreciation dinner for all the students, tutors, and board members.  We had ordered in sandwiches and soft drinks and encouraged the students and board members to mingle and eat together.  Attendance has been low lately.  Some theorize it is because one or more of the students was picked up by immigration.  When this happens, the students do not come out to the library for English lessons for quite a while.   We are not really sure  this is the reason,  but the students are slowly starting to come back for lessons. 

The games were played in three rooms; Pictionary, Taboo and one I made up with a ball and “name that word” with me saying it in English and the students repeating it in Spanish .  After awhile, the three groups would change and we would start all over again. Each time someone got a right word, the student would get a piece of chocolate or a prize of some kind.  This went on for a while until another game was introduced.  It was the equivalent of musical chairs only without the music.  The group were divided up into three colors and with one less chair than participants.  One player would stand in the middle and call out a color and that color would have to change chairs.  Some times two colors were called out and   some times it was called out “Fruitbasket turnover” and everyone had to grab a new chair.  It was a frenzy of laughing and diving for a chair.  As the evening wore on, “Fruitbasket turnover” eventually became  called “Basketball!”

 My Spanish-speaking friends and my daughter who had come up to help me for the night and teachers  were all playing.  One Spanish older man, so polite would never try to force his way into a chair, was always left standing.  Small and diminutive, the harsh lines of the sun  and work  were written on his face but he smiled  as he played.  Polite, shy Mr. Cortez, not five feet, seven inches with greying hair but here he was playing with us young and old and we loved him for it.

 There is an ecstasy in paying attention.  As we played and laughed and jostled each other for a chair, I didn’t see brown or white or middle class or have’s or have-nots.  We were just God’s children playing.  The momentary problems of the day fell away and the things that separate so often broke down. 

In my search to find what was next on the horizon after a couple of career changes, I embarked upon the career path of “alternative teacher”.  There are many programs out there and I embraced one with all the gusto I give any project, 110%.  After completing all the required courses, I found  the schools in the  area I live  are flooded with recent  eager graduates  filled with all the wisdom of the  four universities that already have their teaching degrees and their student teaching under their belt.  In order to be “certified”, a school would have to hire me “uncertified” and allow me to teach a year, then I would be “certified”.  Needless to say, I am deemed “highly qualified”, but unemployable.  I have no problem getting lots of substitute teaching jobs and I rarely see the same young teachers in their heels and pencil skirts  that are hired straight out of college from one year to the next.  After interviewing and applying for over two years, I found the alternative teaching school had dropped me from the program citing that I have failed to complete the program by not finding a teaching  job in 2 years!  The only option offered to me was to start their program all over again!  I said, “No thanks.”

Since that time, I have substitute taught in the public schools and pretty much given up on my “dream” of becoming a teacher.  But in my heart, I know I am a teacher, whether I have the piece of paper that says I am or not.  When I am able to explain something to a child in a classroom regarding fractions and see the light come on in her face for the first time or how decimals work and equate it to money and make that connection to a middle schooler, I know that I can teach. When a I listen to a child explain to me in an essay how the word “sacrifice” means taking the rap so your little brother won’t go to juvenile detention, I know I am making a difference.

About two months ago, I volunteered to teach English to Spanish speakers in my hometown.  This is a stretch for me, because I don’t speak Spanish.  I was told I didn’t have to, it would help, but wasn’t necessary.  Since that time, I have learned how to see just how difficult English really is and how much I have to learn.  I am learning Spanish from a web site, but it is formal Spanish, so my students often give me the Tex-Mex version of their Spanish and very curious looks when I try to say something for the first time.  It is a learning experience for both of us!    I am learning how hard they work and I am ashamed to say how  invisible  they were to me.  I am falling in love with the language and with my students.  They come after working all day to learn English.  They come with their children or their spouses who do speak English so they can attend parent conferences, get better jobs, and move up into a different socio-econonmic class. 

Some of my students love the computer, some have very little computer skills.  I have made flash cards for them, and we have work books, work sheets, and the Rosetta stone.  However, the best learning skill for beginning speakers is to bring objects and let the students pick something that looks interesting out of the pile and then “talk” about it. By that I mean, I say simple sentences about the object and pass it to the next student who then repeats it and passes it to the next student and passes it on back to me.  We do this over and over.  The theory is that a language is learned by hearing before you see it written. 

In my quest to become a teacher I attended a Sally Ride conference at NASA about 2 years ago.  My sweet husband even went with me and attended the classes I couldn’t.    One of the goodies I got from the conference was an earth pillow with a little moon that was tucked inside.  I took that last week along with other objects.  Of course, that is what the students wanted to use, so we talked about the earth, the colors on the earth, where the United States is, where Mexico is, etc.   As we passed the earth pillow around with its blues, greens, reds and yellows it was as if we were realizing how small this little world really is.  And how we are all one part of it. 

One of the statements was “I like to look at the moon” and the last was “the moon is round”.  Sounds simple.  It should be.  These are students that don’t speak English.  My instructor says “You need to give them one thing they can leave with, that they can own and say and practice”. 

It was getting close to closing time and I had left them with some work sheets and was checking on some other students and then they were packed up and ready to go.  I said goodnight and looked over to Juanna and Lorenzo and he smiled at me as he said “the moon is round”.

No more reminders

Yesterday I had a yard sale.  It was a lot of hard work, but satisfying in that I was able to unload a lot of unnecessary stuff that I had been hanging on to for years.  It felt good to pass it on to others who will use it or sell it.  What we didn’t sell, we quickly loaded up and took to the local community thrift store that uses the monies for various social needs.  We met some interesting people and in the end it felt like we had shed about fifty unwanted pounds metaphysically.

One of the items in the yard sale that I sold was a tea cart.  I wanted to get rid of it.  It was a tea cart that my mother bought for me after giving to my sister her antique tea cart that had been given to her by her mother in law.  This was my mother’s way of saying “See, I haven’t forgotten you”.  But I will always feel that it said, “You are second best”.  My sister, being the first born received the best of everything. My mother’s crystal, her jewelry, her house, the rocker she rocked both of us in, it just goes on and on and on.  When she gave my sister her cedar chest, she bought me a replica…just like the tea cart. So why don’t I feel better?

Here I am, a grown woman with my own home, my own furniture and someday I know someone will be having a yard sale of my stuff.  It’s all stuff.  Why do we attach such meaning to stuff?  Or is it the stuff? 

When God put us here on Earth he created us for relationship.  We are the ones that broke that fellowship.  Since that time we have looked to others to find our value, our self worth, our meaning.  As crazy as it sounds, that’s what it boils down to.  What you wear, how much you make, where you live, what kind of grades you make, who you hang out with in school, and on and on.  Sadly, it starts at home.  The first place we look for our worth is from our parents.  They are the first imprint on the mold of the child.  If the parent is loving, kind, values the child for who she is and not how she performs, she will grow to know that she is worthy of love.  If the parent loves her only when she performs a certain way, or is compared constantly to another sibling, she will grow uncertain of who she is; constantly trying on different personalities to see if any will please the parent/god.

Passing on a piece of jewelry, a tea cart or rocking chair is not that big of a deal really.  It is the memories of the person behind the stuff;  of who it belonged to and what it is saying by “I want you to have this”.  I got none of that.  For whatever reason, it is what it is.  In their own way, my parents felt I was “okay” and didn’t need anything.  But that’s not the point.  I didn’t need any stuff.  I needed their “okay”, and I never got that. 

I have looked for approval all my life.  Through the eyes of the church, the PTA, even random “they’s”.  Such as “they say, you should always keep your house tidy and clean”, “they say you should always be sexy and appealing when your husband arrives home from work”, “they say you should be involved with every activity your children are in at school and know all their friends”, “they say you should have a job outside the home that is professional and brings home at least 2/3’s your husband’s salary,” they say, they say, they say.  After years of listening and following the they says, I am exhausted.

 Perhaps you may think it a bit too simplistic but I am trying to listen to different voices.  One that I am clinging to is: And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.
Ephesians 3:17-19 (in Context) Ephesians 3 (Whole Chapter)Ephesians 3:19
May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.  

As I listen to this voice more and the other “they” voices less, I will re-affirm that I really am “okay”. 

As a woman who is a follower of Jesus Christ, I have struggled with who and what my true identity is for most of my life.  I became a follower of Christ about thirty years ago and immediately the indoctrination began of what was acceptable and what was most definitely not.  I had a pretty good idea about the basics, because I was raised in a “Christian home” and knew right from wrong.  I also chose to go my own way once I got out of the house and led a life that was a little on the wild side.  Nothing salacious, just the regular stuff that every young person experiences once they get out from under their parents influence…and heh, this was the ’70’s folks, if you get my drift.

But then I “saw the Light” and knew that my “ways” had to change.  I was a good moral person, I wasn’t wasted all the time and I even took care of the land lady’s trash and trimmed her hair in exchange for a reduction in the rent.  No, I just knew things need to be different, that something was missing in my life.  That something, was a love that could never leave me.  A Love that would never give up on me no matter how much I screwed up.  A Love that was bigger than even my sweet husband that I had fallen deep in love with.  We began the journey together of learning about this “Love” and becoming Christ followers. 

We have met some lovely people in thirty years and some wacky ones.  When we were first married my husband got military orders to go to Thailand.  We were still newlyweds and could not believe that this was “God’s will”.  When my husband went for counseling to  the base chaplain, the chaplain’s advice was that “the women of Thailand are very lovely!”  Needless to say, I saved my money and paid my way over and  we experienced more spiritual growth than I would have realized. 

When we returned we joined a tradition based denomination and became fully entrenched in “the system”.  Church on Sunday, Sunday school, Wednesday night dinners, vacation bible schools, royal ambassadors, and more.  We led youth groups on retreats and went to seminars. I made my own dresses because we were on a tight budget and dresses were the only accepted mode of dress at the evening seminar worship services.   I never quite fit into the “church lady” role, but I aspired to be considered “accepted and as holy” as those that I thought were befitting of the title in our place of worship.  They were the ones that were always chosen to lead a Bible study, start a new couples class, etc. 

I never did feel like I quite measured up.  We moved to a new church that was supposed to be more loving and accepting of everyone.  People came and worshiped in flip-flops and shorts.  Some came bare foot and with dred locks.  There were even Black  and Hispanic people in this church!  I learned you could actually feel free to worship by feeling joyful and that music was more than hymns sung to organ music.  Dance was incorporated into worship with  flags and people were free to clap their hands and raise them and shout “Amen” and Praise the Lord”. 

I felt joy and knew that this was a place where God felt welcomed and that there were no expectations on who or what I should be. 

But……………just when you are feeling that God is moving and welcomed in a place of worship, there will always be those that want to put a LID on what is happening.  To control and judge and tell you who and what you are and what you should and should not be doing.  This now includes the length of your skirt, how loud you say “Amen” and how often, whether you wear a sleeveless top, lest you revel your arm pits (God forbid!) and the list goes on.  I might as well wear a Burqa. 

I know who I am in Christ.  I am loved and fully pleasing to God. Ephesians 3:18
And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 

That’s what is wrong with American churches today.  People are searching for their identity; an identity that can be only truly found in Jesus Christ who never fails.  But churches are afraid to let Jesus out of the box.  If they do, they might have some explaining to do.

I have given serious thought to blogging and putting thoughts down for others to see.  I know that it’s not a good idea to rant about something/idea/experience when your hormones are raging and it’s over a hundred degrees outside.  Yes, I did say 100 degrees.  I realize my last post was over the top and that is why I have removed it.  I may not approve of the politics of the hour, but my ranting will not change it anymore than ranting about the weather.  A steady diet of negativity is bad for the soul, and the body.  There is too much to be thankful for. 

And I have a lot to be thankful for.  I am thankful for my beautiful family, a talented daughter (a writer in her own right) and  talented son in law.  A son that knows what makes people tick and manages them well and his beautiful wife with her gentle spirit.  I have a great partner and friend that I am walking through life with and discover new things about each day and we have our health and so much more. 

Friends, family, good food, good wine.  Yes, it’s hot.  Yes, it’s a different way of doing things than I would like. 

If I was in charge, things would be much different.  Boy, am I glad I’m not!   

Pass me the lemonade.

There is nothing like waking up in the middle of the night with a piecing pain in your chest, a dull aching feeling pain in your arm, nausea and the unsettling feeling that you may be having a heart attack to get your attention.  Such was my experience three weeks ago in a city away from home while on “vacation”.  I put the vacation in quotes because what I had planned to be a time away from phones, obligations,  and the like turned out to be disappointing in many aspects because of rain for a solid week and my overblown expectations.  I had also planned a much too much road trip for one week requiring eight to nine hours in the car each day on the interstate.  Need I say more? What was I thinking? 

I did see some beautiful country in retrospect and if I could have just let go of  the tight grip on my agenda and accept the rain as the gift from God for the people of Kentucky and Tennessee that had been in a drought for the past year, perhaps I would have enjoyed it more.  Perhaps.   My husband is much more phlegmatic than I am and just seemed to let it roll off of him like a duck, literally.  We purchased rain ponchos and hiked in the rain until even I could not slog through the mud anymore.  He was happy to be home in the state of his birth and be able to look up at real mountains.  All I saw were mountains enshrouded in rain.  Bah! 

As we began our trip home we encountered the nightmarish traffic on I-40 and about two million 18 wheelers determined to kill us.  Between that and having to dodge cars going 80 miles an hour, I was a wreck by the time we got to our destination that night.  That’s when I woke up with back and chest pains and nausea that had started earlier in the evening.  I woke my husband who was more that willing to take me to the hospital, but I declined, took an aspirin and eventually went back to sleep. I felt extremely tired the next day and my husband drove the rest of the way home (another 8 hours).  I had another incident a few days later after spending time in the garden, again, chest pain, nausea and tingling in my left arm.  This time, we call the local EMS.  They came, ruled out anything serious but advised I see my local doctor.  He referred me to a cardiologist who set me up for a stress test and nuclear stress test. 

Just the idea of a stress test and the nuclear stress test, sent me into orbit;  so much so that I had a full blown migraine the day before!  My massage therapist jokingly said “it’s a good thing you didn’t have to study for it!”

I am so ridiculously intense that I just knew I would fail!  One the day the I  took the test I kept asking the technicians as they injected me with the nuclear material and watching  my heart on a screen, ” That’s good, right?”  To which they would answer to my frustration impassively, “oh, yeah”.

Two weeks passed while I waited for the results with instructions to not exercise until I heard for the doctor.  I am a goer and doer.  I don’t like being told not to do.  I really don’t like being told that I am MORTAL.  But during this two weeks, I have received a rare gift.  I have piddled.  I have read.  I have dallied in my garden, not toiled.  I have baked bread, but it has not been work, but a joy.  I have sat on my back deck and listened to the birds.  I have made love more.  I have prayed more and been still.  I have done things I wanted to do  because I wanted to do them.   I have hurried less. 

I have thought about blogs I could rant about.  About how it grieves me what it happening to our country, President Obama, the health care system, taxes and so on. But in the end, I thought, why?  I will save my energy and my life for positive thoughts and people. 

Yesterday, I went to receive my report from the cardiologist.  All tests came back normal.  I have a good heart.  I can return to exercising.  I have no need to return to the cardiologist.  I hope the lessons I have learned in the last  three weeks stay with me for a lifetime.  I want to savor the life I have been given.  I want to shed the old life of being the tightly wound clock of a human like a snake sheds it’s old skin  and move to the rhythms of a new life. 

 I have been given a gift of being reminded I am mortal, and it’s okay.

Yesterday evening I had the pleasure of having dinner with my daughter and her new husband.  This is nothing new.  What was new, was the evening’s entertainment.  Before and after dinner we sat out in the backyard and watched her chickens.  Now before you take a big yawn, and leave this post, hear me out.  I don’t know if I have crossed over into what is officially a “redneck” or just joined what two thirds of rest of the world already is doing, but I found it interesting, amusing, scary at times, peaceful, insightful and refreshing.

My daughter in her quest to eat more healthily has acquired some chickens for eggs.  They have quickly become pets and could never in a million years be considered for anything else but egg producing friends.  She recently lost two of her hens to a predator and she describes that day as “one of the worst five days of her life”.  We love what she loves and recently took care of them while she was out of town.  Now one of them has a hurt leg and we were speculating what was wrong and how to treat it while dinner cooked.

To watch these fowl scratch for bugs, run at full speed because they got spooked and then have the whole flock join in, jump in my lap and hear me scream like a ninny was a hoot.  Chickens are funny.  They bully each other, don’t seem to have a lick of sense and try to keep all the goods to themselves.  Kind of like humans.  Hmmmmm….

There were times when we would just watch the chickens peck and scratch, working as natural pesticides, eating bugs, fertilizing the soil and there were quiet comfortable silences.  Just the wind in the trees and the sound of the birds.  No need for music or to fill it up with ” so what do you think about…?” 

It was a good evening of good food, good wine, good company and a good show.

Way too much!

On a recent venture to the store to buy toothpaste for my husband, I was staggered by the choices at my disposal.  I counted sixteen different kinds of toothpaste in the brand he had requested.  Everything from Cinnamon, Mint, Tarter control, sensitive protection, whitening pro-health, enamel strengthening, and so on.  Now I am glad that I have all my teeth at the age of 55, but I seriously doubt that it is because of cinnamon being added to toothpaste.  Besides, my husband just wanted plain Crest.  Not mint Crest, not cinnamon Crest, not tarter control Crest, just plain Crest.  It took me ten minutes to find what I wanted.

While in the “toothpaste aisle, I became trapped by a man and his partner and their super sized cart looking for “just the right deodorant”.  I counted no less than twenty two times the man open the cap of a deodorant, sniffed and replaced the cap until he found the “right” fragrance.  “Mmmmmm, I just love this Ocean Breeze Mist”, he said to his wife/girlfriend.  “Mmmmmm, your’e right, it is nice, she cooed”.  At that point Iwas ready to scream, “It’s freaking deodorant! It’s not French perfume!”  I cound’t get by and I coundn’t stop listening and watching; sort of like not wanting to be involved in watching a food eating contest- you’re grossed out, but can’t turn away at the same time.  All I could think of was 1: all the empty plastic containers from deodorants in land fills, 2: that Ocean Breeze Mist probably doesn’t smell anything like what I think of when I think of Ocean breeze mist and 3: if the man wanted to smell Ocean Breeze mist, he should MOVE!

How did we get to this point?  We have more choices for soap, shampoo, makeup, pet food, than we can count.  We are a nation of consumers.  I admit it.  I love my nail polish.  I love to wash my hair.  But do I need wheat protein or peppermint in my shampoo?  I think not.  Just something to get my hair clean, thank you.  Same thing with soap.  Wash your pits everyday and you won’t need deodant. 

I was reminded of the scene from an old Robin Williams movie, “Moscow on the Hudson”  of an Russian musician that defects to America and in one scene faints in a grocery store when overwhelmed by the choices he presented with.  I was just about to do the same. 

There is a movement to simplify, to use less.  I hope that more will people will catch on.  I don’t want the makers of toothpaste and other products  to lose work, but perhaps with their ingenuity, they can  work on things we really need,  like less expensive solar panels, reclaiming water and more.  Please don’t take me as a high and mighty sack cloth wheat grass drinking chick.  I’m not.  But the madness has to stop.  When we have 16 kinds of toothpaste in one brand alone, that’s too much.  When we have disposable “heads” on toilet brushes that “flush away”, because it’s too icky to keep a toilet brush in your bathroom, that’s too much.  Although for years, disposable diapers have been touted as easier on the environment, ie, less water used, phosphates , etc, recent research has come to light that it is estimated that roughly 5 million tons of untreated waste and a total of 2 billion tons of urine, feces, plastic and paper are added to landfills annually. It takes around 80,000 pounds of plastic and over 200,000 trees a year to manufacture the disposable diapers for American babies alone.  Although some disposables are said to be biodegradable; in order for these diapers to decompose, they must be exposed to air (oxygen) and sun.  Since this is highly unlikely, it can take several hundred years for the decomposition of disposables to take place, with some of the plastic material never decomposing. 

Americans needs to get a grip!  We have lost touch with what it is to be human.  We eat, we breath, we have bad breath, we poop and we can deal with it.  We can use soap and water and survive.  Other countries have been doing it for centuries and seem to be okay.  Let’s give it a try.

Step Away and try a bath!

It is refreshing to know that in spite of the overwhelming bad news that we are barraged with by the media regarding the state of the world’s economy, global warming, the heightened threat of terrorists in Afghanistan and now even on the high seas,  Spring will have it’s way.  If you were to take a “fast” from the media, and I highly encourage you to if you never have, you would find you have not missed much.  Nations still threaten nations, the stock market goes up and down.  Large companies lay off workers and executives continue to get million dollar bonuses. 

But step outside and you will see what you have been missing.  This morning I awoke to a sunrise that can only be described as breathtaking.  The sky was painted the color of smashed raspberries, yellow chiffon and blue topaz.  I thought to myself, wow, only a cutting edge designer would  use such bold colors in that way!  Hmmm…Cutting edge designer indeed! 

I was tickled to know that I would have to dress in layers, because Spring in Texas means having a forty degree swing in temperatures in one day.  I must cover my veggies in the garden to protect against frost and wear leggings and a sweater to work, and in the afternoon uncover the veggies and myself by wearing  flip flops and shorts. 

Driving out my  driveway my favorite Elm trees, newly dressed in their green lace dresses bowed and waved in  the wind as if to wave me goodbye.  Later as I drove to work,  I was tickled to see a straw hat nailed to a fence post.  It just made me laugh; but not nearly as much as the two dogs that were playing in a field.  One was chasing his tail and you could  just imagine him trying to get the other to do the same.  It was if he was saying “come on, this is the greatest thing, you just go round and round and round”.  The other dog was just grinning at him like “what a goober!”

I have recently planted a garden and in spite of everything I do, I can not keep the seeds from coming up out of the soil.  They insist on breaking free, and growing into beans, radishes, cantaloupes, okra and pumpkins.  They yearn for sunlight, rain, the sky.  Straining forward they reach upward to the heavens pulled by something greater than themselves.  Small things, but great wonders.   Whether it is wildflowers growing by the side of the road or a dandelion pushing itself up through a crack in the sidewalk, I urge you to look up and see life around you!  There is more to this ol’ world than what the talking heads would tell you.

It has long been said that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”.  When I first heard that expression I asked my mother what it meant and she told me that what was beautiful to one person, might not be to another.  Everyone defined their own beauty.  I always thought my mother one of the most beautiful women in the world.   As a young girl I would watch  the ritual of her brushing her thick dark hair, or applying her ruby red lipstick  and believe it was truly like watching an art form blossom.  I would tell her how pretty she was, and she would  shake her head and tsk, tsk me as if I was being so silly while  at the same time she slyly stole glances in the mirror as if to say, “yes, it’s true”.

I grew up and discovered the joys of makeup, the art of hairdressing and  the power women can have over men when we choose to dress alluringly.  I enjoyed the compliments I received from both men and women  and knew that I was pretty.  I loved having my picture taken and didn’t mind being the life of the party.  I still love fashion and love a good shopping trip with my daughter topped off with a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant.

But something happened  a few years ago that was unexpected.  I began to feel ugly.  Not just an off day, mind you, but deep down, hideous ,  who would ever want to speak to her ugly!!–
Our culture is so enamored with youth and beauty that every age spot became a blot on my soul.  Every cellulite ripple became a tsunami.  Every crinkle around my eye when I smiled, showed every record of every emotion.  Gone was the smooth skin of the girl, gone was the clear vision of the young woman.  Now I needed readers or a corrective contact to see anything close up.  The age spots that my mother grew to despise so much on her hands, now blotted mine!   How did this happen?

I knew that the emotions I were feeling were not healthy, but they were very real. I recalled how my mother bemoaned growing older and the age spots on her hands.  She purchased many creams that promised their removal and her dresser was littered with wrinkle creams galore.  She was not going to go down without a fight!  Even when she passed away at 83, her skin was as smooth as a young girl, and she was lovely.  Yes, she sagged in places that  she would rather not, but carried it off well.  However, when my husband would tell me that I was pretty, I knew he was only saying it because he loved me.  After all, isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do?  It was as if I was an anorexic looking into the mirror and seeing myself fat.  No matter what makeup I applied or haircut I got, I was hideous.  Each photo I saw exposed more of the same; an aging shell of what I used to be.  I avoided my picture being taken whenever possible and became the picture taker instead.  I really had a bad case of I hate me.

 I  knew that I could continue to believe I was ugly and wallow in it or embrace the new me.  Not smooth skinned as a seventeen year old, but looking at my wrinkles  and age spots as life given experiences.  I will continue to seek fashion advice  from my daughter and how to’s for beauty and make sure that I what I am wearing is trendy, but age appropriate. I admit, I am a fashionholic.  I love it, I am a woman. 

I admire actresses like Jamie Lee Curtis that have embraced their age and the camera and are showing their gray hair,  wrinkles and all.  If more women would do so, perhaps as women age we would not feel the pressure to botox, lift, and cut to not show the impressions of time on our faces.

I found a scripture in the Bible, where God calls us his masterpiece.  If that is true, and I believe it is, then, who am I to say otherwise?