Fade to Ugly

My dad says "beauty is only skin deep but ugly goes clear to the bone.' It' s not an original "Dad" I'm sure, be we all laugh when he says it. Lately I have been running an audio loop in my brain and the words are this "My beauty has faded. My beauty has faded. My beauty has faded." When I was younger I was what most people would put into the category of "pretty". I had mirrors in the house and I would agree. I would sometimes look at my face in the mirror and be thankful. My face has been a loyal dependable friend to me for many years past. My face often made things easy. (Okay, the nice rack was just the frosting on the cake.) Now, I look at the mirror and think "YIKES" who is that scowling, jowly, splotchy-faced thang looking back at me? I look in the mirror and I see a meaty face. Double chin. I have a permanent scowl on my forehead due to the unfortunate marriage of a wrinkle and a scar from 1959. My lips are pointing down in a frown to my pendulous breasts and apron of a belly as if to say..."Hey, look what's happening down there, it's hysterical. Finally, she's getting what she deserves!" Hahaha on me! Ethel, I know what you're thinking, it's what's on the inside that counts. But you know what? I gotta lot of ugly on the inside too. The other day I laughed a a blind man (I won't even try to defend that because it is indefensible...although I do have a reason) and my 13 year old had to scold me. And he was right and I loved him even more for it. I know a few people now who might find me funny and that's important to me but I'm having a hard time adjusting to my face. Although sometimes when the lighting, and my mood, are just right, I catch a glimpse of my old pretty self in my eyes. I like it when that happens.

Little Dogs in Sweaters

I will attempt to break the non-blogging cycle. Y'all know I'm talkin' to y'all (Griz, Mocha, .8). Recently we have been experiencing quite a cold snap here. I find myself secretly hoping my student will "threaten" (read:choke) another student so I can visit the time out room, or "quiet room" as I've heard it referred to on occasion, which is interesting because it is anything but quiet most days, in lieu of an outside recess. Anyway, I digress...how odd.....NOT! I see, almost daily, one of my neighbors walking her dogs. I admire her so much for her devotion to them and because when ever the mercury dips below a certain point they (mom and dogs) all all wearing sweaters. Awwww, isn't that a cute part? I believe the three little dogs to be of Rat Terrier persuasion. There are three of them and mom parading down the street. (interesting sidebar here: Mom used to be a waitress at The Court Street Dairy Lunch, a place frequented by me and y'all. Again y'all know to whom I am referring.) They (the dogs, not mom) walk so fast. Mom is just strolling but her little ones are furiously swinging their Popsicle-stick legs back and forth like the snare drummer cadet from a military school. Every day I see them I have to hold myself back from stopping the car, pulling over, getting out and squeezing them all with all my might. Then I would have to say to Mom: "I didn't mean to. I was just lovin' on your puppies. I'm sorry they just stopped breathing." I haven't blogged for so long that, although I am a speedy typist, I can't even begin to keep up with my stifled, blogging, inner child. But, that's it...a lotta words and not much meat. Unlike me, a lotta words and a big fat ass.