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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| DAY 2779 June 26, 2020 Remember those long summer afternoons sitting outside with Sun In in your hair? Tell about your best (or worst!) hair moments. No, I never applied that Sun In gunk to my hair. It has always shimmered with natural blonde highlights, although when I could claim to be young some referred to my hair colour as 'dirty blonde.' As if. Oh, I hated that description! I took great pride in my flowing tresses and I've never used so much as any styling products such as hairspray or gels. I hail from a family of true blondes and my hair is light brownish, I suppose. I also hail from a family of pale-skins. We are most definitely white skinned, fair-skinned, pale, ghostly even. As such, our delicate skin tends to burn. In my foolish youth, I spent far too much time outside in the summer exposed to the full effects of the blazing sun without sunscreen protection. I confess I even slathered myself, a few times, with baby oil. All of this I endured in hopes of a tan. Oh, I broiled and basted myself in the pursuit of even a hint of colour. Be careful what you wish for 'cause I did sport some colour, but not anything in the brown range. I coveted a tawny, dusky, or honey hue. Ya, right. I've never liked red, yet that is what I earned sunbathing. The most apt descriptor is that of a broiled lobster. I resembled a burn victim because that's what I was. My poor skin glowed red. I could've shared some of that radiating heat to warm houses in the winter. After the first days parading around with only the taut skin surrounding my eyes remaining white and resembling 'raccoon eyes' thanks to my ever-present sunglasses, I would begin to peel. Yep, damaged skin sloughed off me and oh, did it itch. I'd admit to being a slow learner. Every summer I pursued the elusive tan. Sure, a scant few sunburns were the result of cavorting in the water when the sun reached its zenith and the deceptively refreshing water acted as a reflector / conductor. Most blessed me because I chose to languish on a beach towel willing my body to turn brown just once. What do I now have to show for all my efforts? I have freckles, lots of freckles. Too late wiser, I now avoid sun exposure. My worst hair moments in the summer? Huh, I could share a few. I've always preferred my hair to be long, well past shoulder length. That has created some memorable 'hair-raising' incidents. I recall a boat ride across a lake at dusk to access a store with ice cream. What I hadn't anticipated was my long strands whipping across my face as I struggled to lick a rapidly melting ice cream cone. I also didn't appear so together and attractive to the new boyfriend. During a car trip in a convertible, my long tresses snapped, whipped and tugged at my uncovered head. Inevitably, they were snarled into a frizzy mop that required a great deal of extreme brushing to eradicate. |
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