August 8, 2007
As I stood in front of my full-length mirror after my shower, commending myself on losing almost 15 lbs over the past four months, I noticed them. I ran over to my computer and googled "tiny skin flaps cause."
It's not bad enough that my gums are receding. It's not bad enough that, despite losing some extra pounds, I can't get rid of the (neck) waddle. And don't get me going on the state of my upper arms. Now I have skin tags.
Yes, yes, I know. I'm not only getting older, I'm getting wiser. (At least that's what we like to tell ourselves.)
But I'm GETTING OLD! I'm developing all of those obvious signs of old age. Why does that bother me -- after all, I consider myself smart enough to keep it all in perspective and be proud to be an "elder."
Actually, I think there are two reasons I am bothered by those obvious signs of aging (of course, I'm not bothered enough to have what body I have left carved up).
The first reason is my own sense of what I want to look like, my own personal sense of vanity and aesthetics.
The second reason is more valid. These physical signs are reminders of the time that is passing in my life, time I can never get back. What if my mother lives ten more years. I'm taking such good care of her that it just might happen.
In ten years, I will be 77. My dad died when he was 72.
What will I look like at 77? What personal joys will I have missed having during those 16 years that I will have been my mother's primary caregiver? What will I still be able to do? Drive? Dance? Blog? Knit? Read?
Maybe. Maybe not.
And that made me think about how I would rewrite this poem of Jane Kenyon's (another of Culleny's daily poetry emails). I would have to turn it inside out and upside down.
Otherwise
by Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
It's otherwise for me now. And then I've got skin tags on top of that.
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