Mirror, Mirror
on the Wall

 

Request…

Look in a mirror at just your face.

Either first thing when you wake up—or if you’re like me, you can wait until after you recreate your face with an assortment of overpriced stuff.

I can’t look in the mirror before I put make-up on.
It’s too scary.

I use:

Black Maybelline washable mascara in the pink thing…

black Kohl eyeliner…

and Mac Verve lipstick.

I never use foundation—gets in the wrinkles.
I never use blush. Everybodies doing everything these days so there’s nothing to blush about.

It only takes me five minutes to transform myself from being a before to an after. Somedays, no matter what I do, I always look like a before.

 

Who do you see when you look in the mirror?

What’s the first thing you would say to describe yourself.

Would you give your name?

Or say I’m a woman or I’m a mother, I’m a wife, or I’m a grandmother?

Would you say you were gay?

Would you say you were bi-polar?

Would you say you have cancer?

Would you say you were divorced?

Would you say you needed to lose 5 pounds, or ten, or twenty?

Would you admit your age or just say you’re old?

Would you say you were Jewish or Christian or an Objectivist because you just read Any Rand?

Or state your occupation: I’m a teacher or I’m a nurse or I’m a hooker?

Would you describe your mood–I’m happy or I’m tired?

Or when you saw your reflection would you say I ate too much or I drank too much?

At different times in my life, I would have given different answers.

When I was younger, I would have said “I’m Gingy.” That’s the nick name my family always called me. I was born with ginger colored hair. I’ve dyed it every color since.

But in school, I would have said “I’m Ilene,” my real name. I was named after some old man whose name started with “I” but nobody knows who.

When I was married and after I had children, I disappeared as Gingy and Ilene and became who I was attached to.

When I was married, I would have said

“I’m Harry’s wife”

or

“I’m Al’s wife”

or

“I’m Stanley’s wife”.

depending on who I was married to at the time.

When I had children, I would have said

“I’m Isabelle’s mother”

or

“I’m David’s mother”

or

“I’m Lillie’s mother”

or

“I’m Michael’s mother”

or

“I’m Joseph’s mother”

or

“I’m Julie’s mother”

depending on who was asking.

I’m not sure how I’d describe myself these days. I no longer have to take my identity from being the refection of someone else. It’s taken me a lifetime to realize that.

In September I went to a birthday party for my older sister (5 years older) and her husband. She’s now 88 and he’s 90.

She’s had many names, too. Born Blossom (she was born in the Flower Hospital in NY), nicknamed by the family Tootsie, renamed Bonnie by her husband.

I wonder who my sister sees when she looks in a mirror now? Blossom? Tootsie? Bonnie?

She’s not Blossom, the first grandchild. The smart child.

She’s not Tootsie, the beautiful curvaceous girl with the blonde hair that fell over her eye just like Lauren Bacall.

She’s not Bonnie, the girl with the pale blue eyes and Revlon Fire and Ice red lipstick that matched the nail polish on her long nails.

She’s no longer the glamorous sister I always wanted to be.

Does she see Blossom, Tootsie, or Bonnie in her mirror?  When I look at her, when I become her mirror, I’d just see my sister who I love.

Who do you see in your mirror?

 

You’re just a button click away–and I’d love to hear from you.

About your world, your family, your joys and frustrations,
growing up, growing older, even recipes– even though I stopped cooking–by request–years ago.

Goodbye until next time…

Hope your day turns out as well as I hope
(but doubt) mine will,

Gingy (Ilene)