With the vanity only another woman can appreciate, I map every crease and line in my face. I catalog them and remain on high alert for changes and additions. I am intimate with every imperfection. Years ago I made the commitment to try to control the ravages of time. At a time when I could afford such luxuries, I spent weekly sessions having the latest cutting edge facial treatments. I was a VIB customer at Sephora and fell for every product that claimed to reverse the effects of aging and reduce visible lines.
I do believe you can make a difference with attention and a routine. When I was working I would never go to bed without first removing my make-up, cleansing and moisturizing. Nowadays, I don’t wear make-up but still adhere to my ritual. I’ve tried to impress upon my daughters that starting early in life will make a difference in how they will look when they reach my age. Of course, they didn’t spend their youth mixing baby oil and iodine for that sunburn, skin cancer producing summer cocktail. No one today would ever consider that potion nor would they mix-up a homemade version of “Sun In” to get those perfect blonde highlights – pure lemon juice and water.
Have we learned anything along the way? Do we really want to deny the badge of age and wisdom our skin portrays to the world? As my finances compressed I looked at the cabinet of potions, oils and creams I had amassed. I started to winnow down the steps I took twice a day to slow the clock. Unfortunately, I won’t know what really was working until I stop using something and the results show up. Then it will be too late, right? Was I roped into this fear by astute marketing? With no crystal ball to show me the alternative, I keep up the arsenal of products and the routine.
I am at peace with my laugh-lines and less than firm countenance. How can I not be when I live with a being who embodies the beauty of loose skin and heavenly rolls?