Rising to the Challenge

I subscribe to a blog on which the writer has posted her picture every morning for 30days, fresh from the rack, sans make-up, and without the benefit of a hairbrush. Yesterday, on day 29, she challenged all of her readers/voyeurs to contribute their photos to the final display. Several did, I among them.

In a summary of her experience, she mentioned the emotions evoked by receiving our pictures, and recognized the fact that some might not understand the importance.

But, I do.

Women, in particular, are taught, from a very early age, that their early morning faces are somehow lacking, and unattractive. The entire cosmetics industry is, in fact, dependent upon a mixture of this artificially ingrained, low self-esteem and natural human competitiveness.

I have written before of my earliest experimentations with face paint, and the clandestine, early morning visits to the girl’s restroom, where I vied alongside many other desperate pre-teens, for a place in front of the mirror. Since that time, I have worn make-up of various brands, in various colors, and in varying amounts.

For years, I went without foundation, painting only my eyes and lips. Later, I slathered on the stuff, opting for an oil-free formula that claimed to control break-outs, while covering zits. Sadly, at the time, the contradiction evaded me. Now, I find myself on the opposite end of the spectrum, as I choose a foundation with multiple moisturizers to control fine lines, while promising to cover wrinkles; and I am completely aware of the dichotomy. I pay more for it now than I did then, but that’s ok, “because I’m worth it”.

My lids have been blue, green, brown, and pink, and always lined. Just as I mastered the art of creating a single perfect line with a tiny paint-filled brush, pencil liners became all the rage. As I drew a single, artfully-smudged line behind my daughter’s lashes on prom night, her friend’s mother exclaimed, “Oh, you do that so well!”. And yet, every morning I still struggle to recreate the effect on my own, somewhat puffy, eyelids.

I am blessed with very long, very thick eyelashes. I say blessed, but, in truth, this too is a curse, because layers of sticky, black mascara tend to clump in thick eyelashes, resulting in the dreaded “spider eyes”. So, again, I pay more, but…..you know the drill.

There was a time, in my early 20’s, during which the only way you could see the “real” me involved a really good flashlight and a possible conviction for breaking and entering. By the time I reached my 30’s, I became more concerned about the quality of my skin, and, thus began to give my aging pores a break by going bare-faced on weekends, unless I had an “event”. I maintained this regime for many years…until Alice challenged me.

My first visit to her morning face evoked many of the same emotions I remember having as my parents and I walked the sideshow at a local fair. I remember thinking, “Oh, that’s interesting.”, and, “I wonder why she wants to do that?”

Before long, I was visiting everyday, and as I read the musings she posted alongside her picture, I began to feel the full weight of her exercise. In short, I became a fan. I found myself pulling for her. Mild interest had turned into rousing feelings of support, much like those I feel when watching my beloved Gators take the field. And, occasionally, I expressed those feelings in the form of a comment, in hopes that she would realize she was having an effect. After a week of starting every morning with her unfettered face, I found I no longer felt the need to paint. The image reflected back to me in my bathroom mirror was, suddenly, good enough. And, for one solid week, I truly “faced” the world.

I sat, in full make-up, as I read her challenge and responded, without hesitation. It was the least I could do….

Thinking back on it, the preparations I made are laughable. I washed, and carefully styled my hair, the night before. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer in search of something frilly, pretty, and flattering, and lay my selections at the bedside for easy access the next morning. I set my clock, while making a mental note that there could be no hitting the snooze button, come morning. I had a responsibility.

The comical noises emitted by my Fisher-Price alarm clock awoke me, as planned. And, as I rose, the chill of early autumn hit me, full force, and the frilly, pretty, flattering lingerie at my feet remained, at my feet. I stumbled, again, towards the bathroom mirror, ran one hand through hair that bore no resemblance to that I had lain upon my pillow, and grabbed the fattest, plushest, warmest robe I own. Cinching it close around me, I headed for the computer, and my camera.

Weeks ago, in hopes of receiving a photograph of a very different sort, a friend had reminded me that my camera had a timer. As I set it, and waited for the flash, I offered up silent gratitude for the tip, and my decision not to use it for his suggested purpose.

The result is an image of me that, before today, few have seen. And, it was remarkably easy, and marvelously freeing, and amazingly uneventful. It is me; just me.

And, it was the least I could do…

>Rising to the Challenge

>
I subscribe to a blog on which the writer has posted her picture every morning for 30days, fresh from the rack, sans make-up, and without the benefit of a hairbrush. Yesterday, on day 29, she challenged all of her readers/voyeurs to contribute their photos to the final display. Several did, I among them.

In a summary of her experience, she mentioned the emotions evoked by receiving our pictures, and recognized the fact that some might not understand the importance.

But, I do.

I sat, in full make-up, as I read her challenge and responded, without hesitation. It was the least I could do….

The result is an image of me that, before today, few have seen. And, it was remarkably easy, and marvelously freeing, and amazingly uneventful. It is me; just me.

And, it was the least I could do…

For Mattie…

She reads the words, but doesn’t hear them.

Years of indoctrination fail to police her actions, so that her beliefs have form in word, only.

She may seek repentance for her unmitigated attack, ignorant of the original Greek interpretation of the word; “to think differently afterwards”.

She will hope for atonement, based on a set of man-made beliefs.

And, should those beliefs be shown to have merit, she will surely find redemption,

as will we all.

Because, after all, the sacrifice has been made.

>For Mattie…

>
She reads the words, but doesn’t hear them.

Years of indoctrination fail to police her actions, so that her beliefs have form in word, only.

She may seek repentance for her unmitigated attack, ignorant of the original Greek interpretation of the word; “to think differently afterwards”.

She will hope for atonement, based on a set of man-made beliefs.

And, should those beliefs be shown to have merit, she will surely find redemption,

as will we all.

Because, after all, the sacrifice has been made.

Love Me…Please!!!!

For almost a year now, I have subscribed to an online community of baby-boomers. I was drawn, originally, by the writing groups, one of which actually held writing competitions in which a published author critiqued pieces, constructively. I got really jazzed when she pointed up something she liked about what I had written, and though I never actually won “first prize”, I always placed…

As time went on, I began to explore the site more deeply and came to enjoy many other groups, which also offered me the opportunity to spread my wings. I would browse the questions, and delve into any subject I found of interest without thought to what someone might think, or expect. I have, over time, received many “kudos” and “friend requests”, and have come to know many people on varying levels.

Today, as I entered the site and browsed the topics, I found myself hesitant to answer a question. I was intrigued, and had a ready answer, but after I typed it, I hesitated. I found myself thinking, what will “they” think? In a characteristic reaction of rebellion, I posted my answer. But the question remains…

I have tossed it around all day.

This is what I have come up with…

I am a free spirit. In my “real” life, I am a “live and let live” kind of person. What you see is what you get. If you like it, that’s great! If you don’t, and decide to keep moving, then that’s ok, too. Our time here is too short to spend great amounts of time and energy on something as simple as human relationships. If you don’t like what I have to offer, chances are, there is someone more to your liking just around the bend, and I encourage you to keep walking. I’ll even show you the way!

A forced relationship, in which you feel you have to adhere to someone else’s standard isn’t real, and, thus, a waste of valuable time.

I have a couple of handfuls of friends, to whom, I feel real obligation, and many, many acquaintances, who I enjoy, but, from whom, I entertain no particular burden.

Over the last year, I have engaged in an exchange of ideas with people with whom I have in common a market share, and I have come to value them.

What I have discovered is that, on many levels, I value them as much, or more than. people I see, and speak to, and share air with, every day. With this esteem comes obligation, as in any relationship, and what they think of me has become important. I no longer participate in an open forum with a group of herded strangers. I have uncovered personalities. I am aware of expectations. I feel a need for approval….

I am, and always have been, a big fan of online communication. I love the way it takes down barriers and leaves just what matters….puts it out on the table for our consideration.

And, as I’m wondering why, after 47 years I am suddenly craving approval from a group of people I might not even recognize should I meet them on the street, I have realized there is a drawback….

This morning, I had a ready answer, and I hesitated. I know what these people think, but as I consider their viewpoints, I cannot study their body language. I cannot look into their faces and decide if they are serious or just feeling me out. I cannot read a smile, or feel a look of disdain….

I drive for a minimum of an hour to, and from work. This afternoon, as a sat, in my new-found quiet, waiting for opposing traffic to pass, I thought of a friend; fragile, unhealthy, brave. I tried to remember the last time I had called, just to tell her I love her, and my heart double-clutched…

In the last 24 hours, I have shared opinions, and “vibes”, and stories with hundreds of people I wouldn’t even recognize in a police line-up, and I hadn’t called her once.

We talked tonight, often at the same time. And, as she talked, I didn’t have to wonder what she really meant, or what her facial expressions might have been, because I knew…..

>Love Me…Please!!!!