How the Cookie Crumbles

Life and scribbles on the far side of SIXTY-FIVE


Birds of a Feather

There are women my age whose hair is white but who still have dark eyebrows. Alas, I have dark hair but sparse white eyebrows. Which would you rather have? Hair you could always colour if you wish; not so much your thinning eyebrows. Now every morning I must be artistic to painfully paint on twin lines, one over each eye. Some days I’m successful, artistically speaking.

Oh, the things that are changing and out of my control. Luckily, and possibly due to generous application of ‘magic’ lotions, my skin is still holding up. On the other hand, it might just be good genes. Both my grandmother and mother had good skin. I happened to mention to an acquaintance recently that she had good skin for a babe our age. She confessed it’s because she puts ‘crap’ on her face. So what’s wrong with getting a little help along the way? That’s what drugstores are for. Aren’t they also in the business of a steady supply of legal drugs? Later. Of course, later. Not just yet.

I dislike the words’ crows feet’ but  I can happily say mine are light and aren’t exactly ingrained  into my skin yet. My smile lines aren’t etched too deeply either. However, since my teenage years and all the seriousness that involved, I’ve developed deep craters in my forehead—signs of a deep thinker I’m sure. These days I try not to look so serious or get lost in thought too often—not because those etchings become so prominent—but so that I won’t get lost indeed and forget where I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposedly doing.

Since beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, it’s a good thing all my friends and I are in the same boat. It’s not that misery loves company, it’s birds of a feather. It’s not getting older that’s scarey, it’s losing good health, mobility, flexibility, your sense of humour, your memory. You can’t avoid life, can you? The best you can do is not take yourself too seriously because you’re not going to get outta here alive baby. Make the most of it. With compassionate friends. With joy and exuberance. Loved. Understood. Cared for. Your friends, who understand you, are your anchor in the storm as only birds of a feather can.