My mother died young; a month before her 60th birthday. It’s hard to believe she would have turned 70 today. She was very concerned about aging. I remember how diligent she was with her beauty treatments.
She’d never use soap on her face but a facial cleanser, toner, and she always applied the creams to her face gently, in an upward motion. She was delicate when touching her face, patting it dry. I’m sure she fantasized about cosmetic surgery as she guided her skin upward, holding it there a moment, turning her face slightly, from side to side, in front of the mirror.
Clara was a glamour girl. I’m sure that’s the way she would have liked to be remembered. She was always dressed fashionable and groomed herself before ever leaving home, if only to the supermarket. She also accessorizes her wardrobe from head to toe. I recall she owned tennis shoes, although, I don’t believe they ever stepped beyond our yard.
I am nothing like my mother, except that when I look into the mirror I can see that I am aging. I hope to have many smile lines and I hope to wear them for a long time. I will not trouble my girls by passing along the beauty tips from my mother, I’d rather they concern themselves only with matters of inner beauty.
Now, my girls may see things differently. They remark about my smell,”the mommy smell” as I spray myself with Tresor. They can tell by how much makeup I am putting on: if I am running around town doing errands, off on business, or heading down to the city.
So as much as I like to claim I am different from my mother; I am her daughter. When I am seen out without my makeup on or if my hair’s a mess and feel that tinge of embarrassment and I can still hear my mother’s whisper.