Click here to go home!
My Side of the Moon
May 30, 2002
3 AM in the Garden of Good and Socially Questionable
I'm not sure what the heading above means. It is 3 AM, after all! I think my antihistimines are doing a number on my sleep patterns. I don't mind getting up at 5 to write, but 3 is a little extreme, even for me! I think I'll share some photos with you. Let's imagine that I'm sitting next to you showing you these pictures. You can rub my shoulders while I talk. Maybe I'll relax and fall back to sleep.

Want to see what I'll look like 10 years from now? Everyone in my mother's family goes gray early. I don't seem to be an exception. (Think I'm kidding? Look at my hair in the sunlight sometime.) I'll probably add a few pounds. As a preview of this, here are photos from Brak Jr's first Halloween. I enjoy the Cruella DeVil look. It reassures me that I won't be unhappy when I refuse to be a slave to hair dye, and that I'll still recognize my body at the higher weight. Throw in a few wrinkles, and this is me, sooner than you might suspect.
Brak Jr. as a dalmation puppy. "THIS is my mother?" I think I'll pull this out when he's sixteen and show his girlfriend.   Heh heh heh.
With any luck, I'll be turning 36 on Thoreau's birthday this year. It's a most wondrous thing. I've been living on bonus time all these years, and I try not to forget it. Sometimes I slip up. Generally, though, I think I do a decent job of remembering my mortality. The sure and certain knowledge that there is no future promised adds grace to my life. How can we not live well and truly when this moment, right now, is all we really have?

My mother at 36 was trapped in a dying body. She held on, fought to stay in the world. For love.

I am her legacy to the world. All we have of immortality are our genes and our presence in the memories of those whose lives we touch. While I live, I try to hold my mother's patience and love around me, a gift for those in my life. I hope that their memories of me, and so of her, will outlive my mortal presence. Heya.
"I grow old, I grow old.
I shall wear my trousers rolled ..."
     I happen to be quite fond of rolled trousers. I think I'm entitled to them. Every birthday is a victory.

I often interpret my scattered shattered early life as having aged me. Near as I can figure: my mental, psychic, spiritual age is about 12 - 14 years older than my body. At age 48, I'm wise enough to appreciate my blessings. My body's still a vigorous 35, though. I think that works out pretty well. I do still plan to hike the Appalachian Trail when my little Brak's old enough to either tag along or do without me. C'mon, body, stay healthy! I'm stronger than I've ever been. Working hard to keep it that way.

My internal editor is sneering at this journal entry. Think I'd better go try to get it back to bed, or I'll delete the whole page. And I really did want you to see me gray.

'Day!

moonsownsister
Not a wig, but my own hair coated with two cans of gray costume spray. Yes, I'll probably always have the long hair.

The bangs may be subject to change. I can't decide. I see the photos above and think that maybe I'd like to see more of  my forehead ....
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1