Getting old has a pretty bad rap, hasn’t it? It seemed the best anyone could ever say about it was getting old is better than death but not by much. But you know, turns out that’s not true. I mean, it’s been wonderful to be an older woman because as an older woman you get the opportunity to stop always straining to be the object of somebody else’s desire and you finally, finally get the chance to become the subject of your own life. And that’s when you can really, REALLY, start to live.
Mary Walsh, Canadian actress and comedian, March 31, 2019 Canadian Screen Awards
I wake to my mother’s black and white image every day. Her photo hangs over my dresser and she stares directly at me. Its one of those photos where the eyes follow you. My husband has never objected to the location of the photo or that her gaze is focused on our bed. Perhaps its because she is very beautiful and serene.
Judging from the hairstyle and clothes, the photo was probably taken around 1940. She looks like a big city gal which belies her rural Midwest roots. I wonder if it was taken while she lived in Chicago where she finally settled down after years trailing her Dad in the Dirty Thirties as he looked for work.
Propped in my bed with the dog snoring beside me, cozy in a nest of pillows and books, we loll in soft grey light. A squirrel skitters across the roof and I tense, hoping he doesn’t fall down the chimney as happened to one of his brethren on Boxing Day. As I hold my breath, I hear my mother’s voice. Continue reading
Deborah J. Brasket, writer and mother, posted thoughts on moving beyond motherhood and aging, words that lifted me out of Mondayness and made me feel good about this “in-between” stage of life.
I’m letting my hair grow out. Like a girl again. It’s past my shoulders already, still mostly brown with a few shimmers of light woven through. I don’t feel old. Few of us do, even while seeing the signs. When I was young, I always felt young. Too young. Young in a lost, vulnerable, deer-in-the-headlights […]
via Right, at Last, and Wide Open — Deborah J. Brasket
The weatherman warns
stay away from water.
All day the clouds shroud
in a way I had not considered
before I dyed
My head blends into land, water, sky
swathed in its uniform grey,
blue-grey, green-grey. Sky
churns, grumbles, low
clouds fill Scotch
Point for the
day. Continue reading
Katsushika Hokusai’s “The Great Wave Off Kanagawa”
I felt no different when I woke at 2:00 a.m. than when I had fallen into bed four hours earlier but, as is my habit when I wake in the wee hours, I checked my phone for the daily horoscope – to be prepared. The usual exhortations about my love life and relationships glowed in front of my eyes. Then I read the “If today is your birthday…” bit which said:
There will be numerous occasions over the coming year when it seems as if you are at the mercy of events, and to a large extent you will be. But that does not mean you cannot bend those events to your will. You’re smart enough to make it happen.
I stumbled out of bed in the dark to the bathroom, flicked on the light and looked in the mirror to inspect the damage of a 4th consecutive night of crappy sleep. A strange woman with grey hair looked back at me. Continue reading
This latté cost more than these jeans
bought at the thrift store next door –
a balanced economy, declined and consumable. Continue reading
Railroaded time in tracks
‘twixt my eyes – the trip to 59.
Daily squints, become grooves with
ties to hindsight – sometimes –
but no regrets not even when
the twin in the mirror thickens
and I flinch at the nicks of time
and the span that lies
between the 11s, the age
I don’t feel inside.
Your old photo is a great lake of what ifs
that floats a skiff of because, whys Continue reading