The Ghost of ....

I saw her again today.

In the mirror. I don't know if it was a trick of the early morning light, or lack of  light, but there she was.

Oh, I've seen her before. Used to, I saw her every time I looked in the mirror.

But now, it's less and less.

And I know someday soon, I won't see her at all.

It's the old me.

And by old me, I mean the young me.

The way you take for granted you look, because you've looked that way, more or less, since you were in your twenties.

The change is so gradual, or at least it has been for me, that you hardly notice.

I had that young baby face - had to show my I.D. even when I was in my thirties - and I kept on keeping on. Good skin, baby face, whatever.

But then I fell and suffered a lot of pain. And a lot of the pain has never gone.  I see that on my face, it didn't take long.

And of course turning sixty isn't exactly a way to stay youthful looking, is it?

But this morning, for some strange reason, when I looked in the mirror, for just a moment, I saw the me of yesterday. Maybe it was the expression on my face, I don't know.

But it made me smile.

I miss her, you know.

As Tiime Goes By

I had lunch with a friend today. We do this about three times a year because she works. Maybe when she retires we can see each other more often. Although, if her retirement is like mine, she can be even busier if only she allows it.

Anyway, she brought a picture with her, which she gave me. (Thank you again, if you are reading!).

The photograph was taken in 1974. There is a big snowfall going on, so snow flakes dot the picture. I am standing under a tree with lots of clothes on. I have my cat in my arms. He looks terrified. He was a house cat and never outside, but I had wanted a picture taken of us in the snow, so out he went, but only for a few minutes and he never left my arms.

I remember this photo being taken like it was three years ago instead of thirty-nine years ago. I am twenty years old. My hair is long and straight. Time or the development of the photo has discolored my hair some, it looks like it has a red tint to it, which it never has.

My face is so young! I look sweet. I am obviously in love with the cat. He is about two years old, at the most, not quite full grown.

When this cat was twelve years old he was taken from me, and I won't speak more of that because I like laughter in my life, not old nightmare memories.

But Husband knows the story, and he has searched for some time to find a cat whose temperament, size and color would be as near as he could get to replace my cat of yesteryear. Husband was successful, this cat looks amazingly (or maybe not so amazingly) like the cat I had then.

I think Husband wanted to help heal a wound, and it has. I don't dwell on this "wound" much, for it is unhealthy. But I did love that cat, and I had him for a long time. All the way through my twenties. You can imagine the hole that was left in my heart.

And my cat now? He is a lot like cat number one. They resemble each other in a remarkable way. He is very protective and territorial of me, as my other cat was. But my present cat is a little wilder, my other cat let me bathe him ( although he hated it). I think he would have let me do anything to him.

Not so with the cat I have now. He doesn't like to be brushed, he cries out like  you are beating him, and he will use claws to get away if you don't let him down after just a few strokes of the brush.

Ah well, he isn't a reincarnation. He's just a cat.

But a wonderful, lovely cat, at that.

Thank you Husband.

I love you, too.

How Love Handles Love Handles and Other Add - Ons of Aging

It seems America gets more and more youth oriented every year. People are going to any and all measures to look younger, if at all possible.

Some of them have tried so hard they look like youthful aliens.

The only middle age thing men had cornered the market on was love handles. And now that women buy low slung pants, they too have the gobby inner tube look.

Not me, sister. I tuck all my fat into my pants and zip em up all the way to the waist. That's one fashion statement I ain't a slave to.

For we women, it seems there are more things that sag and bag and wrinkle than on men.

I blame most of this on having and raising children.

My belly was already rather, um, round when I had back surgery. Cutting the major muscles slap in two did not help this situation in the least.

No wonder women's stomachs aren't the same after having a baby. After all, that part of the body is stretched out until it looks as though one has swallowed a beach ball.

Daughter weighed in a little over nine pounds. When I am receiving sympathetic nods as I lament about this to someone while in her presence, she always says, "But I'm adopted."

I hate how smart-mouthed the younger generation has become.

Anywho, we have bosoms that droop, where men do not (well, most men don't). We don't have beards to hide the sagging, crepey skin of the neck. (well, most women don't).

Even skinny women, while still in their twenties, begin the wave of the underarm. Men don't have sagging underarms until they are ninety. If then.

You try raising a kid from infancy to age seventy-five or so, worry about why they are crying, what the fever is about, will they learn to talk/walk/read/do math/leave home/sign up for social security, and see if you don't get a wrinkle or two.

And while we are on the subject, old age spots make lovely additions to any rings. I don't have these yet, but Husband does. I know that's the next thing coming my way.

Youth really is fleeting. Faster than a speeding bullet.

But then we never believe it when we are in the throes of youth. It may  have happened to every other generation. But not this one!  And then one day ya look in the mirror and youth has actually fled.

For a long time, though, we can look around, and someone, somewhere, is older and worse looking than we are. And by the time that is no longer true, one of two things is true.

1. Senility has set in and it no longer matters.

2. We are so tickled to still be up and about we don't give a gnat's rear end what we look like anymore.

Right?

Right??

Sigh.

I was afraid of that.