Thursday, July 16, 2009


It sounds awfully snobbish to casually mention the National Geographic as the only magazine I have around the house at the moment.

I love periodicals such as Family Circle, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day.


1) I am old/experienced enough to have WRITTEN most of the articles on cleaning techniques/family relationships/how to stay out of debt; and

2) all the cute fresh ideas they showcase for decorating/organizing require MONEY and a drive of 65 miles to a city large enough to have a IKEA, a real furniture store or fabric outside of what WalMart sells.

Of course I grab People, Star News and Cosmopolitan when I waiting at the dentists like everyone else - although once again there my age shows; I have absolutely no idea who half the young celebrities that are being gossiped about are.

The National Geographic keeps me tied to reality by its glorious photographs of gigantic wilderness, under-clothed and desperately hungry humans, and both the destruction of as well as the enlightened nurturing of fragile ecosystems and animals which I have never in my life heard of.

But I didn't begin this blog to be a free advertisement for the National Geographic.

I began this pulpit-pounding because MOST magazines (besides National Geographic) have ad after ad after ad depicting a lovely female face and emblazoned with New! Revitalizing! Nourishing! Restorative! Invigorating! to see their own patented -invented-discovered-in-the-Amazon-basin cream or injection or slimy gel to Reduce! Eliminate! Overcome! Conquer! any signs on aging which might show up on your face!

So for only $45 (a month for the rest of your mortal life), you too can eradicate any imprint which living a normal healthy life made have left on your complexion, such as laugh lines, crinkles around your eyes when you smile, age spots (which, as I have explained to my grandson, simply means that your freckles have become very friendly and joined forces) and/or (HEAVEN FORBID) LOOK YOUR ACTUAL BIOLOGICAL AGE.

Our American society seems obsessed with beauty as defined by youth, slenderness and facial symmetry, and allow the media to lead us in this fixation.

Now, I am one of the most crooked people in existence (wow, don't I sound like a gangster? Put a James Cagney accent right in there, and it's perfect). My right arm and right leg ares significantly longer than their partners on the left - my face was put on as random parts on the original Mr. Potato Head (which were the same plastic type pieces but to insert into an actual potato) - the only thing I can think of that isn't off is some manner is that my ears don't stick out (and heaven knows why, I kept my heavy hair behind my ears all my youth).

And I am perfectly happy with that. I am proud of the wrinkles around my eyes; maybe helped by the fact that I live in Arizona now and EVERYone has sun-squinty eyes after a few years here. I'd like to lose weight, I have an extra chin that I would be happy to lose, but I am okay with looking 54 years old.

Because I AM. I've EARNED these age symbols. I DON'T want them erased or blended or surgically removed.

And all these cosmetic creations, creams and concoctions irritate me much more than they should.

DON'T DENY YOUR AGE, American women!

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