My Life Story - It's Looking at You

I’m not particularly keen on looking in the mirror these days. At the age of 68 & 11/12 the reflection is not what it was 50 years ago, or even, it seems, 50 days ago. Time marches on and my face and body have no intention of being left behind. 

I’d hate to sound like some old stick-in-the-mud, but I can’t help reflecting on the number of cosmetic procedures being carried out these days. I really am a 'live and let live' kind of person. I was brought up very liberally, particularly for a girl of my generation. Hair dye and pierced ears might not have gone down too well at my 1960s grammar school but my mum was pretty laissez faire. So when I had kids I was much the same. We picked our battles - and how the kids chose to look was very low down the list.  

However, I have to say, I’m glad that my daughter was never tempted to change her appearance surgically. Naturally, I thought she didn’t need to, but having seen some of the young girls of this next generation I realise ‘need’ doesn’t come into it. Like all teenagers and young adults, these kids don’t want to be different, they want to look the same as their peers and if that means foreheads that don’t move, and lips that look as though they could unblock a sink, then so be it*. 

Just recently, I saw a call out on Facebook by a young girl. She wanted to know the best place to go for lip plumping.  She was 18, with a beautiful shapely mouth. I was shocked by the number of replies from friends with recommendations. Without exception these friends had that same swollen lipped look. In my eyes, they had all been young and pretty - and individual -before the lip procedures. I guess it’s another indication of the dissatisfaction we women feel about ourselves. In my day it was another coating of mascara or some glossy lipstick. Now it’s all about procedures. 

I have very mixed feelings about this.  I have some sympathy for anybody requesting cosmetic surgery for facial or bodily features that are causing distress, but instinctively, I’m against any surgery that is purely for cosmetic purposes, especially as there is the potential for things to go terribly wrong. I could name names but I won't.  We've all seen the grotesque results of too much surgery.  Where does it all end?  It seems as if it's addictive and that can't be a good thing.

I suppose it comes down to personal preference. Give me a woman with natural looks, over one who is overly groomed any day. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy? Don’t get me wrong, I feel more confident with a slick of make up and my hair at least brushed, but please don’t ask me to do more than that.  As somebody fast approaching her eighth decade I'm sure I could probably be transformed for a few £100K but what would be the point? You’d only have to look at the skin on the backs of my hands to realise I’m no spring chicken. There’s always a giveaway. 

Have surgery to erase my life? No thanks, I’ll stay as I am, warts - and lines - and all.  

Life Story by Jill Reidy

This mark here

See, this tiny little crater 

Right there, touch it

That was chicken pox when I was three

And these lines that appear 

As I crinkle up my eyes

See how they fan out from the corners

That’s from a life of laughter 

And a few sad tears

But mostly laughter

Two little furrows between my brows

They’ve been there quite a while,

Look

Either side of the mole

That my mum assured me was a beauty spot

Feel them, they’re deep

They’ll never go

Too much time frowning at the light

Worrying, facing problems 

Late into the night

See my lips

How they’ve thinned and cracked

The cold sore scars still red and raised

And the tiny threads that wind their way 

From lip to nose

Years of tuneless whistling  

Kissing too 

Yes, maybe a little kissing

Babies, children, adults

That's what caused those

Look, these two roads 

That now run deep 

From corners of my mouth to under chin

Like the wooden dummy on ventriloquist's lap 

They’re from singing lullabies

Reading stories as eyes slowly closed

Chatting, teaching, swapping tales

Yawning

More laughing

And telling you I love you

That’s my face, the story of my life. 

Thanks for reading......Jill

*With apologies to anybody who has been plumped and smoothed so well that I would never even know. 

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Wallpaper - Let's Keep It Dry

My impaired vision cannot cope with brightly coloured carpets or patterned wallpaper, so our house is very plain in neutral colours. The busy, lived-in look or clutter, if you like, keeps it interesting and homely. A small wall between the kitchen and the back room needed something.

 I’ve avoided putting any pictures on that particular wall since one of my cross-stitch artworks was almost ruined when the bathroom wash basin overflowed directly above. Water streamed down the wall and trickled from the light-fitting. Our daughter was the culprit, a young child at the time. We removed the plugs from every sink and basin and implemented an ‘ask if you need it’ policy which remained in place until the children had grown up. All our replaced sinks have built in plugs now. I will keep a close watch on our grandchildren.

We decided to have wallpaper, just on that small area. I liked the idea of something bright, jazzy and loud, to make a feature of it. My eyes would be fine, after all, it’s only one, very small wall. Huge, red poppies interlaced with pale green leaves on a white background looked stunning and I loved it. All visitors remarked on how nice it was and I felt very house-proud, just for that wall. No one seemed to notice that it wasn’t sticking properly just above the skirting board where I think we had been running out of paste. The enjoyment turned out to be short lived.

At the front of the house, a damp patch seemed to be getting bigger. It was between the stairs and the front door and dried out when the central heating was on but always came back. We had checked for leaks and unblocked the airbrick, but the damp area persisted. We called the guys in. It was bad news. We needed a new damp core all along the outside wall from the front door to the beginning of the kitchen extension, which was unaffected. It had to be done, so it was a sad goodbye to the lovely wallpaper but that was nothing compared to the dismantling of fitted cupboards and the walls taken back to the brickwork. It was easier for our builders to replace the downstairs loo and basin with new ones, rather than trying to salvage anything. Crumbled plaster and smashed tiles. What a mess, but soon sorted.

This is where one job leads to another. The rest of the hall and the stairs and landing had to be prepared for redecorating.  Year in and year out, we had painted the walls over the same wallpaper. It was as thick as cardboard and hard work to get off, even with a couple of steamers, but to see the various pale shades we thought were nice at the time was amusing. I don’t remember ever choosing a wishy-washy pink, but there it was and Regency Cream had quickly turned yellow. The mushroomy off-white was a mistake, magnolia would have been better.   

Eventually, everywhere was painted white on to the newly skimmed plaster and that is how it has stayed.

We papered the feature wall with another large, floral pattern, which isn’t as good as the original, but it would do. Unfortunately, we had another flood in the bathroom, nothing to do with children and nothing that could have been prevented. Once again, the only wallpapered wall is the casualty. I’m glad we have a reliable plumber. It has dried out leaving wrinkles, bubbles and a few streaky marks. For now it can stay like that. I can’t see the damage as well as everyone else can.

 

I found this poem. It reminded me of the memories we shared when we tackled the hall.

 

 

Wallpaper Torn

 

paint revealed by wallpaper torn,
layers of peeling; the
faded adorn—a story of life.

joy, of accomplishment and
new beginnings.
children born, playing,
growing up—growing old.
past scars distant
memories; misplaced, obliterated—
by time reduced to dust.

a home
buried beneath the earth,
its walls no more.
the vessel shattered, decaying
stories lost, forgotten,
the curse of mankind’s
living.

 

Shaun Meehan, Ontario 2015

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

 

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Selfies

Strange as it may seem to anyone under the age of about thirty but it's only in the last few years that the word, 'selfie,' has come into being. 

Before that, people used to set up a camera on self-timer and then run like the clappers to be in the correct place before the shutter clicked.  I have several unintentional photographs of my backside to prove that the ten seconds delay wasn't really long enough.  In fact, I have a whole series of pictures of me from the back, desperately scrambling over rocks to join the husband who was posing happily in the waves on some beach holiday.  I think I gave up in the end and just took one of him on his own.  

As he's never been the practical type (see previous blog post, 'Masonry' which details precisely how he failed in the DIY stakes) I've never trusted him to set the timer whilst I draped myself elegantly over a rock, and smiled like I'd all the time in the world.  As his usual method of photography (under extreme sufferance) is to vaguely point the camera in the right direction and click (disregarding the fact that the resulting picture might just be a headless, legless torso) I think giving him the responsibility of the self timer could be a step too far. 

And now, the ubiquitous selfie is to be seen everywhere you go.  Facebook is full of them:  groups of girls in nightclubs, couples on romantic strolls, individuals smiling at their reflections in smartphones.....there's no escape.  I must admit, I did have a hankering for a selfie stick when they first appeared.  It looked like the answer to all our problems (mine being short arms and the inability to hold the phone steady and press the button at the same time).  

Thankfully, although tempted, I never actually bought one, and now they seem to be a bit of an embarrassment.  Recently, down on the prom, I watched a couple produce a selfie stick from a rucksack and glance furtively around before attaching a phone, posing, snapping and shoving the gadget back in the bag. It was all done with the air of somebody dealing in drugs - and quite frankly, I could see why.  

My four year old granddaughter recently got hold of her mum's phone and not only expertly took about a dozen 'peace, pose and pout' (that's pouting whilst making the two finger peace sign) selfies, but also made a short video of herself miming to some pop record.  I mention all this, not as a proud grandma but as someone amazed at (a) how these poses come naturally (or have been learnt) even to four year olds (b) how quickly technology has moved on and (c) how tech savvy these young kids are.  

Recently, I worked with my fellow Whipper Snappers practitioner, Claire, to run a workshop for ten and eleven years olds, around the subject of self image. It was interesting to see their initial reactions when a camera was pointed in their direction.  They went into automatic pose mode - usually with a pout, and it seemed quite difficult for them to look natural.  Discussions around apps that altered their look were enlightening - they had all added animal ears and noses to their self portraits, but some had also used more advanced apps to smooth out wrinkles (on an eleven year old??) and make skin totally blemish free. 

I do worry that these ideas of 'perfection' are becoming the norm, and the reason so many young people (women, in particular) are turning to Botox and other methods of 'improving' their looks.  I understand that we all want to look our best but I fear for the future if facelifts and other 'enhancements' are set as a baseline at a younger and younger age.  

For the time being, I'm happy to let nature take its course and revel in the wrinkles, double chin and age spots.  After all, they've been earned, they are the result of a life lived.  I do have to admit, however, that maybe my backside, so frequently captured by the self timing camera, wasn't actually so bad in comparison to that sixty four year old face that now stares out at me from my phone....

The Anti-Selfie - showing it like it is... 

Peace, Pout, Pose by Jill Reidy

Peace, pout, pose

Head up, chin down

Lights on, lights off

Turn to the right

To the left

Eyes wide

Flutter lashes

Swap places

Link arms

Don't blink

Look over your shoulder

Squeeze in

Duck down

Stretch up

Ready? 

Smile

Pout again

Say cheese

Hold it

Click

Now where's that app

That makes us all look

Practically the same?

Perfect

Post it!

Thanks for reading    Jill

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