On Turning 54
Sunday, August 20, I turned 54 years of age. As is customary, I reflected--on where I had hoped to be in my life goals, what new adventures I'm contemplating, and what I've learned in the past year.
I find myself becoming my mother. For the first time in my life, I exhausted a tube of lipstick. This may seem an odd thing, especially to those of the male persuasion out there. Exhausting a tube of lipstick means that a) you're really using it--a lot and b) you're probably using it exclusively over any other tube or color and c) you've probably settled on a single color.
My mother, Esther Cecilia Henrika Watson Moffit, wore one color of lipstick in all the years I noticed this kind of thing about her. She wore Dubonnet on Ice--a frosty kind of red wine color. Mama was a redhead--from deep auburn to light auburn when she was coloring her hair which also was most of the years I was growing up. Dubonnet on Ice was in the purples, rather than oranges--an interesting choice for a redhead. My color fits a redhead, and I've received several compliments on it, although I am a brunette. I could wear Dubonnet on Ice easily.
My mother wore one dress more than any other. It was a navy crepe shirtwaist with printed white polka-dots. She wore it so much that the dots began to wear off the dress. I remember the smell of the dress and that she always hung it inside out. It had a belt that she wore cinched and a bit of a flared skirt. It would swing when she walked. Mama had an odd gait for quite a while--she injured her knee at work, falling over nothing on a polished vinyl tile floor. For several years, she limped, her knee having become increasingly stiff until it would not bend. Later, my senior year of college, Mama's leg was amputated. She was a diabetic who smoke heavily and drank and who chose to not purchase oral diabetic medications if it meant giving up dressing, feeding, and sheltering her two girls on top of her addiction to nicotine.
I now have a navy dress with white polka-dots. I didn't purchase it to look like Mama and it isn't quite the same kind of cut--my body is similar to hers, although I am taller, slimmer, stronger, and have been fortunate to avoid many of the health problems she encountered. Instead my dress has a tight lettuce hem of a ruffle in lime green and a soft bow at the neckline. But, it swings, too, when I walk. And my "odd gait" is due to the white, two-inch-heeled mules I wear with this--a far cry from my mother's navy flats. Skirts swing when hips roll and hips roll when you're wearing heels. And I can be *such* a girl!
I am becoming my mother in these odd little ways, but inside, too. I empathize now, facing the possibility, if not likelihood, of a life alone like my mother's. A few good friends, work that satisfies but does not necessarily move me or engage my heart passionately, children that are grown and really using the wings you hope they've acquired--all of these she saw in her mid-50s. Mama died of the last of several heart attacks three months before her 62nd birthday.
My mother was the sun, moon, and stars for me. I wish I could have told her that in her lifetime. Today, I hope to emulate her admirable traits. She was tolerant beyond belief, compassionate, open-minded, and humble. She loved natural beauty and was creative and resourceful. She had more courage in her than any great leader and she was incredibly brave in the face of terrible challenges. To be a divorced, self-supporting woman in a small town in the sixties was a fearsome thing.
I am becoming my mother and I hope I face these coming years, whatever shape and form they take, with as much courage and grace as she did. I am fortunate to have a daughter who is far wiser and far more loving than me. She lights the way for me with her beautiful images and storytelling. And I am so blessed in things material and spiritual to keep my feet on a healthy and faithful path.
I find myself becoming my mother. For the first time in my life, I exhausted a tube of lipstick. This may seem an odd thing, especially to those of the male persuasion out there. Exhausting a tube of lipstick means that a) you're really using it--a lot and b) you're probably using it exclusively over any other tube or color and c) you've probably settled on a single color.
My mother, Esther Cecilia Henrika Watson Moffit, wore one color of lipstick in all the years I noticed this kind of thing about her. She wore Dubonnet on Ice--a frosty kind of red wine color. Mama was a redhead--from deep auburn to light auburn when she was coloring her hair which also was most of the years I was growing up. Dubonnet on Ice was in the purples, rather than oranges--an interesting choice for a redhead. My color fits a redhead, and I've received several compliments on it, although I am a brunette. I could wear Dubonnet on Ice easily.
My mother wore one dress more than any other. It was a navy crepe shirtwaist with printed white polka-dots. She wore it so much that the dots began to wear off the dress. I remember the smell of the dress and that she always hung it inside out. It had a belt that she wore cinched and a bit of a flared skirt. It would swing when she walked. Mama had an odd gait for quite a while--she injured her knee at work, falling over nothing on a polished vinyl tile floor. For several years, she limped, her knee having become increasingly stiff until it would not bend. Later, my senior year of college, Mama's leg was amputated. She was a diabetic who smoke heavily and drank and who chose to not purchase oral diabetic medications if it meant giving up dressing, feeding, and sheltering her two girls on top of her addiction to nicotine.
I now have a navy dress with white polka-dots. I didn't purchase it to look like Mama and it isn't quite the same kind of cut--my body is similar to hers, although I am taller, slimmer, stronger, and have been fortunate to avoid many of the health problems she encountered. Instead my dress has a tight lettuce hem of a ruffle in lime green and a soft bow at the neckline. But, it swings, too, when I walk. And my "odd gait" is due to the white, two-inch-heeled mules I wear with this--a far cry from my mother's navy flats. Skirts swing when hips roll and hips roll when you're wearing heels. And I can be *such* a girl!
I am becoming my mother in these odd little ways, but inside, too. I empathize now, facing the possibility, if not likelihood, of a life alone like my mother's. A few good friends, work that satisfies but does not necessarily move me or engage my heart passionately, children that are grown and really using the wings you hope they've acquired--all of these she saw in her mid-50s. Mama died of the last of several heart attacks three months before her 62nd birthday.
My mother was the sun, moon, and stars for me. I wish I could have told her that in her lifetime. Today, I hope to emulate her admirable traits. She was tolerant beyond belief, compassionate, open-minded, and humble. She loved natural beauty and was creative and resourceful. She had more courage in her than any great leader and she was incredibly brave in the face of terrible challenges. To be a divorced, self-supporting woman in a small town in the sixties was a fearsome thing.
I am becoming my mother and I hope I face these coming years, whatever shape and form they take, with as much courage and grace as she did. I am fortunate to have a daughter who is far wiser and far more loving than me. She lights the way for me with her beautiful images and storytelling. And I am so blessed in things material and spiritual to keep my feet on a healthy and faithful path.
posted by Cecilia Ann | 8:38 PM
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