Posts Tagged ‘Wrinkles’

I just realized that I hadn’t posted yesterday!
I have been hard at work (avoiding) preparing a message for this weekend (on aging!!).
So, in lieu of a belated new post, here is my contribution, from over five years ago.
Now to get a handle on this message …

Although I am only thirty-nine (with four years experience) I am becoming more acquainted with aging, and it’s changes each and every day.

There are some changes that come with ‘time passing on’ (this is hubby’s way of referring to aging) that I quite like.

I love the lines that are forming just outside of the corners of my mouth, and my eyes, because they are evidence to smiles and laughs. I may not remember every individual event that caused my face to smile, but the lines will never hide that joy has filled my days.

I love that I have been plucking my eyebrows for so many years that the hairs almost never re-grow anymore.

I love that I do not have to concern myself with pimples, other than the odd one or two.

I love that, because my hair is … silvering … I have a natural excuse to become an even more blond, and I now have a number(s) to identify and define my hair color 😉

There are also some changes that have occurred that I do not favor so much.

I do not like that my knees have decided I need to pay more attention to them, and they attain my attention in the most uncomfortable of ways.

I do not like that some foods that I ingest want to burn themselves into my memory (or at least into my esophagus).

I definitely do not like the anticipation of body parts migrating in a southerly direction.

But, I especially do not like that the appearance of my hands is changing.

The famous, all-knowing ‘they’ say that the way to most accurately guess the age of woman, you need to only to glance at her neck or her hands.

As each year passes, I have noticed subtle changes happening in my hands, that I am not so happy about. The lines in them are deepening. They need constant re-hydration from rich lotions. I seem to have lost the ability to grown my fingernails to even the slightest length, without their splintering. There seems to be more skin, as it is losing it’s youthful elasticity. They sometimes even ache … but it is their appearance that is more disheartening to me.

It is a frequent occurrence that I glance at my hands, and have no idea whose hands they are. They surely cannot be mine, because mine do not look so … so … aged. Then I realize they move when and where I will them, and so they truly are my own.

Maybe the changes in them bother me, because my hands were the body part(s) that I actually liked about myself. Maybe I thought I would be immune to the normal, natural results of ‘time moving on.’

All that said, maybe the wrinkles, the lines, the shorter nails and the loosening skin are all characteristics of hands that have been held by generations before me, that have held on to the children I gave birth to, that have made meals for those I love, that have held the hands of people readying for eternity, that have written or typed words of encouragement, that have touched the shoulder of one carrying the weight of the world, that have folded in an act of pray, that have been kissed by the man of my life, that will one day be taken by my Redeemer as He welcomes me into eternity.

Maybe they are like the laugh lines I so adore on my face. Maybe they are the lines of hands that have loved, and been loved in return.

So, I’ll keep slathering rich lotions onto them, so that, although they will be marked by the lines of time, they will still be welcoming to the touch of those who need a hand.

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eyeThe game of road trips for generations of families is still the best … “I spy with my little eye something that is …”

Our eyes are said to be the gateway to our souls … that which goes into them also shows out of them … love, pain, strength, weakness, tragedy and delight.

As I look at the image of my own eye (above) I am remembering a post I wrote about a year ago, Getting a HANDle on Aging. In that post I wrote of how the aging-related changes to my hands are changes that are taking some getting used to, as they are, truly, the most accurate declarer of my true age (and today I am thirty-nine with FIVE years experience … yikes).

But my eyes …

Their aging causes a very different reaction for me.

My daughters thought I had totally lost it, when I asked one of them to take a close up of the wrinkles and lines around my eye. But I knew that it would be a photo I would appreciate far more than one of any other part of my body.

The color of my iris can still be altered by the colors I wear. The lashes still benefit from mascara to provide the illusion of more than actually exists (thanks to an inquisitive mind and a pair of scissors when I was a child). They communicate more clearly than my words. Their ability to see is still functional without specs (although that day is coming quickly). They are able to see what others do not show, do not say, do not share.

What do I spy … with my aging eye?

I spy a life of blessing.

I have seen my parents eyes reflecting pride when I graduated high school, college and got married. Their eyes of loss when hubby and I moved out of town, out of province. Their eyes of delight when I brought home each of their grandchildren.

I have seen my hubby’s eyes as I turned the corner when I walked down the aisle to vow to love, honor and obey … ’til death. His weeping when our first child (and four more later) miscarried, and when our three were born healthy and whole. His shared wonder when God would provide for us, as no human could. His eyes of confusion and frustration when I said and did things that hurt him, disappointed him, frustrated him.

I have seen the newborn faces of our three children. The first steps of each. The looks of wonder as they experienced the world around them. The first times they have been hurt. The many times that they forgave my mistakes (and forgot them immediately). The moments of great childhood successes, and the times of desperate loss.

My soul is blessed.

One day I will look into the eyes of my Savior, my Redeemer, my Lord … what a glorious day that will be!

Eye spy … still the best game of the generations.

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Archaic … my kids would say I am not getting there, but that I am there already.

Although I would only say that I recognize that I am on the road to being archaic, I have to say that I am not enjoying some of the changes that my body and mind have been encountering over the past few years, and, as I look to the future, I am even less encouraged.

My acknowledgment of ‘time moving along,’  all started on my thirtieth birthday (over a decade ago … gulp), when I went to have highlights done in my hair. I had this sweet young thing as a stylist. You know, the kind that is … perky … everywhere (finger down throat), and she was maybe twenty-two. As we were discussing what I wanted to have done, she says, “I’ll put a little extra highlights in the back where you have the most gray hair.” Well Happy Birthday to me … I never knew before that sweet young thing decided to ‘help’ that I had ANY gray hair!

Truly, since that day, it has all been downhill. I mean that literally, because ALL of my body parts seem to migrating south! If this trend continues, I will be wearing thongs on my feet that were never intended to be worn on my feet. In addition to the real effects of gravity on my physical body, is the physical growth of my children to much greater heights than dear old mom. They are looking further down on me every day!

There are also the changes to my cosmetics. I used to just wash my face at night, now I apply firming cream … I am thinking that the jar it comes in should be closer to the size of milk containers we purchase, because I need to apply it much lower than just my chin! Maybe someone could invent an apparatus that sort of airbrushes it onto your entire body?

Then there is my clock. At a time of life when my kids are ready to chat at midnight, my body and mind start on the shut down process at about eight o’clock in the evening. Just last night, while out for coffee with one daughter, she said, “Mom, you are really quiet.” To which I replied, “my dear my brain cells are so tired I cannot find two to rub together that are alert enough to create the necessary ‘synapsing’ to fire up a thought or opinion.” Added to that, sleeping in means I sleep until after seven, rather than before six.

My memory, which I have always prided myself on, seems to be slipping too. I seem to constantly be saying to hubby, “you never told me that,” to which he always replies, “yes I did.” Hum, maybe this one is not related to MY aging, but his. Afterall he is older than me … always has been, always will be … and for that, I am thankful 😉 .

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