We all find our bliss in different ways. Mine is sitting on the back deck, the sun dancing on my face while overlooking the gardens I’ve nurtured since moving to this property in 1999. I’ve created rock walks and flower beds and among my favourites, a full array of aromatic peony bushes and lilies of every colour, shape and size. You haven’t seen real beauty until you look into heart of a Star Gazer Lily or a large Goliath red poppy. It’s perfection.....shear perfection!
This year my gardens seem even more beautiful. Maybe being older I can appreciate their essence more as my own beauty begins to crumble and fade. Like all my kin that have gone before me, I'm next in line to wither on the vine. I don’t mind this new stage, I’m comfortable with my outer shell not matching the still youthful core. I’m content in so many ways because again allows freedom. In fact I become better as each year passes. Why, by the time I reach 80 I’ll be darn near perfect.
The older I get the more maintenance free I become and I celebrate not having to work so hard on my exterior. Someone said the other day, "So-in-so’s fingernails look so lovely, why don’t I ever make time to go to salons to have it done". I spoke up, "Because you run a business and have a hectic life, it’s far too much work to maintain and too time consuming". There are so many other things worth your time than painting fingernails and toenails. An unnatural, artificial beauty that only lasts a short time, I don’t get the point, never have, maybe it's the higher levels of testosterone in me, I don't get the girlie desires to look pretty. I admire it on my friends, just don't see it on me. My French Tips are the flowers in my garden, seeing the fresh clip of my poodles and the polished silver teapot.
Maybe if I was on the prowl for man or a Hollywood bell I’d partake in the beauty regime, but I’m a spoken for, content gal in a small town, no pressure there to perform miracles with my appearance. I've tired of worrying about fading lips and spots that appear out of nowhere to take up permanent residence on my skin. Tired of thinking about the wrinkles around my eyes and the wattle under my chin. I've excepted it, embraced it, I'm comfortable wearing purple; life is far too short to fret and place effort on things I cannot change.
In the circle of life, I’m past the middle point. I’m hoping for a 360 finish but I know the end is inevitable somewhere along the curve and I won't fight a battle I can’t win. I’ll go gracefully into the dark night as naturally as the day I was born although missing tonsils and ovaries, but there won't be any nips and tucks and I’ll wear the spots as badges of honour. Truthfully I’m more at peace than I have ever been and welcome this new freedom. Don’t worry, I’ll still look presentable and clean and I'll always like a bit of lipstick, but the worries of someone's opinion of me is over. It's really none of my business what you think of me anyway.
I won’t ever wear sweat pants although a comfortable elastic waistband is acceptable. The goal is all about comfort with heels that don’t hurt my feet and are wide enough that my toes can wiggle. I’ve lost the desire to impress; I no longer care if I’m judged. A met a woman in Save Easy today and as we spoke she swept her eyes disapprovingly over my attire, from neck to shoes. It was done slickly, a well-honed up and down bow of the head, the eyes never even attempted to hide the disapproval before them. In my youth I would have wilted under her gaze but now it made me smile. I thought, you silly woman. I would never do that kind of catty, vertical dissection to another woman. I’m not dead, I like to look at what others wear, but it can be done without a jeering roll of the eye as if seeing something repulsive. Woman can be very hard on one another. It’s foolish really. What’s in my head is far more current and stylish than what I wear on my back, if you judge me by what hangs in my closet you’ll miss out on knowing the real me.....and at the risk of sounding conceited, I think that might be your loss.....
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