No one ever told me that hands become gnarly after too much time in the sun.
My hands are as gnarly as the bark on an old oak tree.
But, at least they’re sun-kissed – the color of a beige antique car.
My hands soar when a story strives to alight from my funny, surprising brain, a brain that is awash with jangled memories and silly jokes, serious worries and spurts of light-filled love. Continue reading
“I luuuv your hair,” my daughter’s friend says to me. “You’re so lucky to have so much of it. And the color and natural highlights! Just luscious.”
Luscious? First of all, who calls an over-50-year-old’s hair, luscious? Only another woman, of course, and at 30-something, a rather naïve woman.
(I note, by the way, that her hair is teenage blonde, straight and long, pulled into a perky ponytail as she shuttles her kids form soccer to ballet to gymnastics.)
But I digress. Continue reading
Is it possible to have a perfect bun?
What? Oh, you think I’m talking about a bun, as in a person’s buttocks.
Nooooo.
And I’m not talking about a delicious round bread roll, despite the fact that there are several left over from the Thanksgiving meal.
Continue reading
I’m from New Jersey, no
Not really. I mean, geographically
NJ and DE and MA and CA –
Yes, but my heart, my soul?
I’m from a deep deep unseen place
That began in the bottomless sea, Continue reading
“I refuse to go! No one touches my feet!”
That was my mom’s reaction when I stopped in front of a beautiful spa to give the female members in my East Coast family a treat. I had just spent seven hours in the car with my daughter and granddaughter to reach Delaware for some “Nanny” time.
My mom is the most put-together 91-year-old you’ll ever meet. She wears light blue and pink pastel sweaters to show off her blue eyes and snow white hair. She shows off her lithe figure in Gap Kids jeans. Her earrings always match her necklace, which matches the color sweater she’s selected for the day.
She wears Converse sneakers to look cool – and to hide her feet.
What is it about us women and our feet? Continue reading
roughwighting 