I just had my annual eye exam. My vision hasn’t changed much but I decided to get new frames and lenses anyway. I CAN see better with my new glasses, both physically and psychologically. I decided I would go for frames that were more visible and artsy instead of the kind that blend in. The lady at the optometrist’s was not too excited about my choice. She told me my old glasses looked good and “at least you’ll have something cute to wear until you get your new frames.” She has a history of underhanded complements so I just ignored her and did my own thing. Today I took selfies of myself wearing my new glasses to use on Facebook and on my blog. I have mastered the art of taking a flattering photo by shooting the picture from above in order to minimize the double chin and neck wrinkles. I was quite successful. I have way less wrinkles than in my previous photo, not to mention the lighting was great. It was an overcast day and the light softened my face like the old Hollywood starlets who used to be photographed slightly out of focus to make them look flawless. I look younger in my new photo than my old one. I am not sure if that is good or bad. It’s hard to take an honest look at myself sometimes. Lately, when I am on zoom, I notice my double chin and neck wrinkles more and more. This is reality staring me in the face. In less than a month I will be 74. I am probably lucky I don’t have even more wrinkles. Not only is it hard to take an honest look at the less than flattering self that I see on zoom, it’s also hard for me to take an honest look at these manipulated selfies than make me look better than I really am. This photo is not exactly a true representation of how I look right now. What am I saying by choosing a new photo in which I don’t really look like the “little old lady” I claim to be? Oh dear! Danger, danger here! I am probably over thinking this choice between a flattering picture and an “honest” one. I am having a weird disconnect between what I see in pictures and what I think I look like. It’s important for me to look at this issue from a loving perspective and not use it as a reason to beat myself up. I need to see the real me as beautiful and accept myself the way I am. The whole point of getting new glasses was to be fearless and branch out, take risks, and try new things without worrying how I might look to other people, good or bad. Since my twin sister Linda died I have been on a new path to embrace my true self. Painting my house bright blue was one way of expressing the inner me, and choosing my new glasses fits in the same category. I want to be more visible and creative with my physical self in the same way I am with my art and my writing. I want to accept who I am but not be afraid to try something new. The flattering photo absolutely looks like what I feel inside. Who is the real Leslie? All of Them! My old glasses with wrinkles. . . My new glasses with wrinkles. . .My new glasses, no wrinkles
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Although the frost is not on the pumpkin in California, October means that Halloween is just around the corner. It was always a special time for me. I loved the thrill of being out at night trick-or-treating and the massive quantities of candy piled up on the living room floor to be admired, sorted, and stuffed down. But most of all I loved the COSTUMES. It was an opportunity to be someone or something different. Mom made my twin sister and I matching costumes when we were little. One of our favorites was our rabbit outfits. Even after Halloween was long over we liked to put them on and eat carrots. As we got older we planned and made our own costumes. It was usually cold with snow on the ground when we went trick-or-treating. In 6th grade I decided I was sick of having to wear a winter coat that hid my costume but kept me warm as we plodded through the snow. So I went as Santa. Sure enough I was toasty warm, although I think it was confusing for the little kids. Being a teacher gave me a lot of opportunities to get creative with my costumes. I was never into anything scary. Even though I was from Minnesota, a Hockey mask did not appeal to me in any way, shape, or form. Usually my costume was a reflection of my internal image of what I wanted to be or how I was feeling about myself. I was a pointy hatted Gnome when my self esteem was in the basement and I felt short, fat, and small, and I was the Statue of Liberty after my divorce, a statement of freedom and power. Sometimes my school’s faculty had a theme for Halloween. When we did Harry Potter I was Hogwarts’ custodian’s cat, Mrs. Norris. I won “Best Oompa Loompa” the year our theme was “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” I think I had an advantage being the shortest person on the faculty. I already had the stature of an Oompa Loompa nailed. Cats, of course, were always a great option for me. Besides being Mrs. Norris, I made a really cool three-dimensional cat hat that fit like a bonnet and wore it in several different versions with sweats or overalls. I also did a semi-sexy leopard outfit. I don’t have a cat-suit friendly body so I made a long flowy leopard print dress and matching cat ear headband that I wore to a couple of singles group dances. I still wear the ears when I hand out stuff for the local trick-or-treaters. Since retiring I haven’t really worn a costume, except maybe my cat ears to an exercise class. I sold most of my old costumes in a yard sale many years ago. I do miss the creative energy of deciding who or what I want to be. I guess I have been exploring my internal self and transforming in other ways. This year I think I would like to be an open heart. Costume GalleryI grew up with westerns. They were everywhere on TV: “Have Gun Will Travel” with Richard Boone, “Bonanza” with Michael Landon, “Wanted Dead or Alive” with Steve McQueen, and “Rawhide” with Clint Eastwood. These guys were manly men of the first order. They were tough and did a lot of squinty-eyed sneering while being emotionally disconnected. I was fascinated with them and couldn’t wait to watch the shows every week. ![]() Women in westerns were a whole different animal. They were either barroom tramps or schoolmarms cowering in the corner waiting to be rescued. They were rarely significant characters, except for Miss Kitty on “Gunsmoke,” and although she had a “heart of gold” she was basically a prostitute wearing way too much makeup. On “Bonanza,” if a woman was unlucky enough to fall in love with Little Joe they were literally doomed to die. I never remember any of his girlfriends surviving long enough to actually marry him. Despite this obvious peril, my friends and I fought over who would get to be Little Joe’s girlfriend when we played cowboys and horses (not cowboys and Indians). This leads me to ask myself what I actually learned from watching all those westerns in my formative years. How much of my internal image was created by these shows and the cultural climate that spawned them? I know that I had the idea that the man should be dominant in a relationship. Believing that the husband should have the final say in a marriage was an accepted concept among my friends. I wanted to marry someone who would be a take charge kind of guy and take care of me. I ended up being the major breadwinner in my marriage, which collapsed as neither my husband nor I lived up to what we thought the other partner should be. In many ways the wake-up call of having to take care of myself as a single woman was probably the best thing that could have happened to me, but it took years for me to feel “O.K.” about who I was and to grieve the loss of that fantasy. My sister is in a support group for people who have recently lost their spouse. It’s interesting to hear her talk about how people are dealing with the loss of a relationship, which for many of them lasted forty years or more. Some of the men in my sister’s group, who are from our generation, depended on their wives so completely that they are having a difficult time taking care of themselves. They don’t have the skills or interest in cooking or doing other household chores. I have known women in the same position who have never written a check or handled their own finances. The fantasy I had in my younger years of finding a manly man who was going to sweep in on a white horse and take care of me was very immature and self-centered and certainly didn’t reflect reality. I know that when it comes to relationships with a significant other, a friend, or family, we all take care of each other in one way or another. I am grateful that I had an opportunity to care for my Dad in his last few years and experience the strong bond of love that came from being able to give back what I had received as a child. ![]() I’m also grateful that I have had the opportunity to take care of myself as an independant woman. I might be a little old lady with cats, but I’m every bit as strong and determined as Clint Eastwood or any of those squinty-eyed gunslingers. I’m glad that the roles of men and women have evolved and that the cultural limits defining what’s “O.K.” have changed too.
![]() Years ago a friend, who was in her mid-eighties at the time, tried to coach me in the art of flirting. I don’t recall that it was very successful. I do recall that SHE was the one that was dating, not me. I think her directions involved making eye contact and smiling in a back and forth manner. The friend that I was walking with this morning suggested that the tone of the voice is important. The way that Joey on the show “Friends” says “How YOU doin’?” comes to mind or a modified Marilyn Monroe voice. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing either of them. Not only do I have difficulty flirting, my internal radar that is supposed to pick up flirting signals from the opposite sex is not very good either. When I think of past encounters, I realize that I completely missed opportunities to connect with men who were flirting with me. I remember one time a very nice guy saw me struggling trying to load stuff from a lumber store onto the top of my car and offered to load it into his truck. He drove it over to my school where I was setting up my room for a new school year. He was new to the area and we chatted briefly but I was in tunnel vision mode trying to fix up my classroom. It was only after he had gone that I realized he was flirting. I can’t believe I missed an opportunity to meet someone at the lumber yard. I have a thing about hardware stores and lumber yards and the men that frequent them. When the show “Home Improvement” was on TV I loved the character Al. I even went to a Home Show at the local fairgrounds where he was appearing and got his autograph. I am hoping that the changes I feel at this age, being more accepting of myself and more open to new possibilities in my life, will make me less likely to miss an opportunity to meet someone in the lumber yard or any other place. I still don’t feel like dating material. I feel OK about the way I look in the photos from my nephew’s wedding but I don’t think I look like a “hot babe” either. My housemate, who is talking from a man’s perspective, assures me that men my age aren’t looking for a “hot babe” in the way they were when they were younger. He reminded me that the best way to connect with people, men or women, is by doing the things you love. That’s encouraging. It’s something I do naturally, unlike flirting. |
Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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(from an entry posted on 5/1/2015) “I definitely fit some of the characteristics of a little old lady with cats: Retired - check, Single - check, Like to knit - check, Have cats - check. . .I do not want to get stuck in my Little Old Lady persona, however. In fact, this blog is a risk taking experiment in exploring and redefining what I want my retired life to look like.” Categories
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