Skip to main content

I went to hear music and landed on Planet Face Lift...

Honestly, I'm not against face lifts. But it starts to feel like I've landed on a weird planet when I go to a concert at Tanglewood and nine out of 10 women have had at least one if not several face lifts. It's almost like being among the "Stepford Wives" after they've turned 60. Here's the thing, they all seem to look the same. The friend I was with turned to a young man she knew and pointed out one woman with one of the hundreds of faces devoid of expression and he replied, "She's smiling." They laughed. But, I don't know, it felt sad. Wearing a smile on your face "lifts" your spirit. It "lifts" other peoples' spirits. I was among so many women who thought they'd gained youth but to me they paid an awful price by not really being able to smile.

Oh, I know, I'm exaggerating. Most, but not all, can still curve up their lips but's just not the same. Expressions can tell us so much. They're important, some times invaluable. I'd rather see a real face, no matter how many lines and wrinkles, with true expressions than be left looking at taut pulled back too far skin that leaves a face with a strange translucence and an almost scary blank look.

Look, I don't love lines and wrinkles. Wanting to look good...hey I can totally buy into that desire. But I just don't think when you get a face lift you just lose wrinkles and lines. You lose a piece of who you really are, what you can say without words.

Here's what I think...A face can speak a thousand words. I love being able to read every one of them. But hey, that's just me...


Popular posts from this blog

My friend asked me to pose nude for her...

The other day C. called. She has always been an avid photographer and she's really good. I have one of her photos on my wall. Anyway, she told me she was going off for a weekend course in how to photograph people in the nude. Older people. In particular, older women. I waited. I didn't have to wait long. I had my "no" at the ready. When she did ask me if I would pose for her I thought it would be rude to just say "no." What I did say was that the day I can get dressed facing the mirror rather than with my back to it, I would consider it. Notice, I was careful not to say anything definitive. Here's the thing. Like plenty of you out there I have a hang-up about my body. It's not a bad body, especially given that it's an older body. And I'm not going to list the various parts of my body that I particularly have a hang-up about because...well, it would be a long, boring and familiar list. But I really wanted to show my support for C.'s

Thank God you can pick your friends!

My husband and I are about to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of very special friends. We met Ted and Deanna 36 years ago and we've stayed strongly connected through a number of moves (ours not theirs), illnesses, life's many ups and downs. We've shared sad times and joyous times. We've traveled together, spent wonderful visits at each others' homes. I'm sure we must have shared thousands of meals together. Thousands of laughs. They've always, ALWAYS been there for us and we have always tried to be there for them. History. We have a deep and meaningful shared history. J. and I are  truly blessed to have a wonderful group of close friends and we value them all. But there are very few couples I've known and loved longer than this very special couple. You can't pick your blood relatives but thank God you can pick your friends. From the very first time we all met, J and I picked them. We were couples with young families. We were in the first dec

You can take the girl out of The Bronx, but...

Well, you know the rest. I have to confess for a long time I really tried to get rid of The Bronx. For a long time after that I thought I had. And for a long time I felt good about it. I'd escaped. No one could tell by my speech, my look, my style, etc. I used to love to hear, "You're from The Bronx? I'd never have guessed." And it's more than that. It's escaping a past that didn't fit in with my fantasy of who I wanted to become, who I wanted to be. It was an escape from a certain social class, an escape from parents whose customs, manners, interests felt alien to me - or maybe the truth was I wanted them to feel alien to me. I wanted to be my own creation!  But deep down I knew the truth. I knew it and it bothered me. I felt like there was really no escape. Not from The Bronx. Not from the lower income class that shaped me. Not from a mother who loved a bargain more than almost anything. And it bothered me. But lately something has changed. It&