Saturday, March 27, 2010

Wattle, Me Worry?

Time was, I knew the exact location of everything on my body. It was easy. Everything was just about where I'd left it. And if I directed the left bicep to tighten up, that's just what it'd do.

But time marches on, and in some cases all over you with jackboots, and you lose track. It's a natural progression. If you have very small children, you keep an eye on them at all times. As they grow and develop more responsibility, you give them a little slack. If all goes as planned, you should be able to let them go and live their own lives and still be able to sleep through the night.

Similarly, some of the stuff I was born with, and some of the stuff that showed up later, has struck out on its own. Sometimes if I turn suddenly and stop, parts of me keep going and then jangle back and forth. I have a number of wattles under development and they're not even all on my neck. Everything's flapping around and it's hard to get all my skin on the same page and pointing in the same direction.

No part is unchanged. Even the backs of my hands have gotten unruly. I can push the skin on them into little ridges and valleys and they'll stay put. We used to make little topographical representations of Virginia out of flour paste and oatmeal when we were in grade school, and it's a lot like that. You can pull the Blue Ridge up over on the thumb side and flatten out the Piedmont region and dent the Chesapeake Bay into the pinkie area, and it will all stay put until you make a fist. Then you can start in on Maryland. It's a fun way to occupy yourself at a coffee house where it has the added bonus of totally freaking out the young people at the next table.

It used to be that if I turned, everything turned with me, tight as schooled herring. Now, even if I'm just lying in bed, it's hard to keep the crew in line. "Okay, gang," I say, addressing my body parts, "we're going to roll over," and my breasts whine "all of us?" They've already slid off the sides and are heading for the hinterlands, and it's hell to pay to haul everything back and tuck it in so the rest of me can get some sleep. But somehow I manage to get everything moving and roll over on my side. Sadly, this position gives me a good view of my belly thundering across the mattress like high tide in a shallow cove, swamping tiny imaginary beachcombers on the far side of the bed. It's horrifying, at first, but you get used to it; you look at it wistfully but not without fondness, as you might your own, familiar child who is dabbling in Libertarianism and shacking up with a blogger, but who you know will come home for Christmas. It belongs to you; you can only be disappointed for so long.

Besides, I am a fortunate woman with friends whose affection is not contingent on my maintaining a superficial, youthful beauty, and I stumble towards self-acceptance, secure in the knowledge that nothing on me could be lifted without hydraulics anyway. There is a peace in this. And in the soul's twilight just before the dark of sleep, as the last of my muscles loosen their grip and relax, I feel my upper lip sagging against the pillow.

It's pleating up. Dammit, there's a limit.


41 comments:

  1. "Similarly, some of the stuff I was born with, and some of the stuff that showed up later, has struck out on its own. Sometimes if I turn suddenly and stop, parts of me keep going and then jangle back and forth."

    That, my friend, is what I call an out-f'ing-fantastic way with words. I knew you were quality, too. Carry on, then. You're a master wordsmith. Let 'er rip!

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  2. Dammit! I'd actually turned off my computer and all the lights, and was almost in bed when I thought, "Uh oh." So here I am again to tell you that I meant to say either, "out-f'ing-standing", OR "fan-f'ing-tastic." I'm going to play the senior citizen card here and add the other mitigating fact that it's late. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I know you could've probably filled in the blanks in my head for me, but by golly, we're just getting to know each other and I hate to let my flake flag fly so soon. Okie dokie then, over and out from North Idaho and nighty noodles for now.

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  3. Hold it. I should just shut up, I know. But I just noticed that YOU'RE the one who has a dysfunctional widget on your blog. It says, "Share This," but there's nothing someone like me apparently can do about that. There's nothing to click on and nowhere to go with my sudden burst of enthusiasm and desire to share your blog with someone. I just thought I'd let you know. It could be that I am the one who doesn't know how to Share This, (see above for my excuse), but I really do think maybe you should see if you've got a dud widget. OKAY? OKAY! That's IT! I'm going to bed!

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  4. Murr, I can always be assured of giggles, snickers, guffaws, and flat out peals of laughter when I read this blog. This time the peals were accompanied by tears and several bouts of coughing and lightheadedness from laughing so hard. Your genius with words leaves me without them, but that's OK, the void gets filled with plenty of laughter and a smile that lasts quite a while. You go, girl!

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  5. Oh my. This is hilarious! I love the photos, the analogies, EVERYTHING. Very refreshing indeed.

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  6. Love the photos. My body is starting to do similar things and bits of me wobble that I never thought would wobble. Very funny post indeed, charting the sad decline into aged wibble.

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  7. Unfortunately, I can totally relate. My stomach has of late escaped my pants and now wants to hang out. And don't get me started on my hands. My grandchildren lovingly call me 'old lady' as they point out all the places hair is growing where it's not supposed to. I just cackle and tell them that they too will be old one day. They scream and run away.

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  8. That rolling over in bed scene? Played out in a bed in Ohio EVERY NIGHT. Sigh. Arthritis on the one side, bum should on the other - really, a crane would be VERY helpful :)

    I've decided that you're WAY more entertaining than I am, so consider yourself followed!

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  9. Um - that should be SHOULDER, although I'm sure I have a lot of shoulds too...

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  10. Ah, the things we have to look forward to.

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  11. Oh, Magpie, and there's so much more.
    Donna: flake flags always welcome here! As to my widget, I know. The real widget is at the bottom of the post (it's green); but if I take out the big Share This thingy in the margin, the whole contraption disappears. This is why I shoulda had kids.
    Ellen: Also tell them that there's places that are SUPPOSED to have hair, that USED to have hair, that no longer have hair.
    Thanks Bug, Madame, and Jennifer Jo!

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  12. Let us not forget the eyebrows that have migrated halfway (or more) down the face...

    The good news is, I rarely have to shave my legs anymore. I can just pluck. I'm waiting for my underarms to get that memo.

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  13. (Better a late comment than none!) Your bicep wattle is much firmer than mine, so that should make you feel better! I sometimes find myself looking at my hands and then quickly over my shoulder to find out whose they are. Except for the breast part (never were large and won't ever be now - which is probably good news for future pull on pants problems) I can relate to everything! Getting old is not for the faint of heart! Thanks for another uproariously great post!

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  14. I feel like I'm an intruder in the Ladies' Salon, but we men have our body problems too.

    My neck. I used to have a handsome neck, tight and Romanesque like my nose, but now it looks like a de-feathered chicken. I nearly cry in anguish every time I shave it.

    My eyebrows. Every once in awhile I will notice an eyebrow hair that is a foot long, one that was not there the day before. How in the universe does that happen overnight?

    But enough of my problems--you have enough of your own. I love the expressions on your face.

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  15. "Topographical representations" can be useful, no? Funny, funny post...and I must thank you for your humorous comment!

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  16. Ouch. So very true. And I was SO sure that it would never happen to moi...

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  17. :-) Loved the bit about doing Virginia & Maryland to the consternation of young onlookers.

    (Speaking as someone who handles bodies for a living, you look quite nicely toned to me. Am I the only person in the world who doesn't want everyone to look like a teenager?)

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  18. Golly, Dale, I hope not. Let's just say some parts are behaving themselves, and others are way out of control.

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  19. And of course that first picture was taken, um, 27 years ago.

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  20. How timely; I've been obsessing about my hands, too! I guess I only worry about the face when I have to look in a mirror, but the damned hands follow me all day, right in front of me. How weird that they look like my grandma's hands, when surely she must have been about 170 years old when I was little.

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  21. That picture of you at the beginning reminds me that we always see what's "wrong" with ourselves at the time...I look at pictures of myself at 40 and think, "gee, I was kinda still hot, but NOW I look just awful!" And then I remember my grandma saying at age 90, "I just wish I felt as good as I did in my 70s!" Ha! There's a mantra for you!
    Great post as always!

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  22. Gasp***giggle***regain control***sort of.

    OK--and here I ruminate on the state of my body by writing somber poetry about "the body betrays."
    Must remember humor.
    That's it--laugh and the world laughs with you.
    OK--WORLD--knock it off; enough with the laughing.

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  23. Meg, I'm very nearly over it by now. I'm just happy to keep waking up. Seriously. And thanks, Charlie, this ain't no girls' club. What is it with you dudes and the eyebrow hairs? I could never understand how Gregory Peck (give me a moment...yum) didn't have SOMEBODY in his posse to clip his eyebrows.

    My Dave now occasionally shaves his nose. On top. Meanwhile, my hair is falling out and not coming back.

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  24. I think the whole thing has to do with physics (the science of).

    With a man, as he loses hair on his head, it slides down to his eyebrows, his ears, his nose (inside and out), and his soup.

    It's gravity.

    Which is what I told Martha, my Precious Moment, when she complained that her boobs are getting smaller and her butt is getting larger.

    Gravity earned me two nights in the dog kennel out back.

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  25. Is is sad that you just described my body and I'm only 40?! That rolling over in bed scene was so familiar. Very honest and humorous post! You have a new follower.

    ♥Spot

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  26. Funny and pretty true. I keep looking at the back of my hands -- all crinkly. I am not amused. Mind you 69 year old Raquel looked pretty spiffy on Oprah today.

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  27. Having just read upwards a bit and landing of Charlie's comment, I am reminded that not long ago I caught a glimpse of my butt in the mirror. Holy Cow! When did that happen to my formerly tight, round posterior?

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  28. Oh, Anvil. I'm simply not in a position to say.

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  29. Oh, I am so glad I found you (via my own blog). You are a reader/writer's dream. Good stuff here, and I'll be back.

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  30. I looked at myself in a full-length mirror tonight, from the side, and I wondered. Was this new shape (the bulge in the front and back, just below the midsection) a recent occurrence I'd somehow missed in previous outfits? Or had I ballooned up over spring break? What left me the most concerned, though, was my only passing curiosity. Usually, I take immediate action. Nope, I went straight down and fried up a piece of chicken, making a mental note never to wear those pants with that vest. I will be better camouflaged tomorrow.
    Great post, Murr!

    Prudence

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  31. oh my GOD that was funny! And yeah, those pictures could have been ME.

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  32. Here I am, pinching the back of my hand to see if I have creases and canyons. I guess it's all about accepting that our body parts are bendable and re-shapeable. Fun, isn't it?

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  33. Have you ever notice that in Vogue the models all look slitty-eyed down their noses and you can't believe that they don't even have smile muscles, because you never see them use them, but in the over 40s mags everyone grins ear to ear. Do you think it's because they're so happy to be old? Or do you think maybe smiling pulls ups some of the slack--so to speak? I first realized that I'd lost control when I laid down on my side, and my tummy laid down beside me.

    Great blog as usual Murr!

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  34. HAR! That's just it; there's my spot on the bed, the cat's spot, and some nice acreage for the tummy.

    I think you can make a good case for old people being happy. You do get to let go of some baggage even while your body is manufacturing new baggage.

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  35. By the time I got to the breasts whining I was laughing out loud. Thanks, Murr, I needed that! (said one whose body parts can totally relate...)

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  36. By the time I got to the breasts whining I was laughing out loud. Thanks, Murr, I needed that! (said one whose body parts can totally relate...)

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  37. oh my GOD that was funny! And yeah, those pictures could have been ME.

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  38. Having just read upwards a bit and landing of Charlie's comment, I am reminded that not long ago I caught a glimpse of my butt in the mirror. Holy Cow! When did that happen to my formerly tight, round posterior?

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  39. Dammit! I'd actually turned off my computer and all the lights, and was almost in bed when I thought, "Uh oh." So here I am again to tell you that I meant to say either, "out-f'ing-standing", OR "fan-f'ing-tastic." I'm going to play the senior citizen card here and add the other mitigating fact that it's late. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I know you could've probably filled in the blanks in my head for me, but by golly, we're just getting to know each other and I hate to let my flake flag fly so soon. Okie dokie then, over and out from North Idaho and nighty noodles for now.

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