I stopped by my mother’s retirement community to drop off her laundry and groceries a couple of days ago. I arrived as she was finishing lunch with a few other residents. To be entirely honest, I time my visits after their meals because if I don’t I get repeated invitations to join in, and frankly, that just isn’t my idea of a good time. I’m not really into Jello salad and food that has, from all indications, been pre-masticated. And while I know they can’t help it, a lot of the residents have issues keeping their food in their mouths. It is, in general, a scene I prefer to avoid so I arrived as I knew she would be finishing her meal. I couldn’t stay long, and I thought I’d just sit down at the table for a few minutes as things were wrapping up.
I learned a long time ago that it is always prudent to wear a nice heavy emotional armor in the company of Mommie Dearest. But, I admit that even up until a few years ago she had the ability to occasionally undo me with her comments. These days, though, I take her jabs and ‘helpful advice’ as comic relief. Rarely does she say something that I regard as a serious insult. And more often I just laugh at whatever outrageous and offensive thing comes out of her mouth. Not food, mind you. Words.
But, apparently I have laughed too much.
Or, so my mother said. As I sat with her, she sweetly offered me one of her cookies. I declined. She offered a cup of coffee. I declined. Again she offered a cookie. I declined. This exchange went on for a while and then she looked at me, patted my hand and said, “I bought some wrinkle cream and I think you should try it. I have been using it a week but it doesn’t seem to be making any difference for me. Maybe it will work for you.”
I chuckled at her comment and said I thought possibly, having spent 83-years developing those wrinkles, a one-week turnaround was a teeny bit unrealistic. And I offered my typical suggestion that, after 83-years, maybe it was time to stop worrying about wrinkles and just embrace life. She, of course, ignored that suggestion and decided instead, to focus on my need for the miracle wrinkle cream that, clearly, doesn’t work miracles. I lightheartedly asked if she was suggesting that I had too many wrinkles and she bluntly said yes. She said, and I quote, “You have lines around your eyes from laughing too much.”
From laughing too much?
Can one laugh too much? I mean, yes, I do laugh frequently and occasionally inappropriately. Well, all right, maybe the inappropriate laughter comes more than occasionally, but, for me, the idea of laughing too much conjures up images of the maniacal Mrs. Rochester locked in the upper rooms of Thornfield, crazy as a loon. To my knowledge I don’t fit that description.
I do laugh freely and with a good bit of abandon. And yes, loudly. I have, on more than one occasion been called out for laughing too loudly as though I have some magical volume control that measures the decibel level and allows for only an appropriate amount of sound. But too much? Too often? Is that possible? And did my mother really just tell me that I have lines around my eyes because I am too happy?
Yes. Yes she did.
Of course, her comment made me laugh….probably incurring more wrinkles…and I told her I thought I’d be fine without the miracle wrinkle cream that, clearly, doesn’t work miracles. Especially if the reason for the wrinkles is laughter.
In truth, my facial lines are because of life. Because of age. Because of laughing at the funny things, crying at the sad things, squinting because I can’t see things, and because of the natural depletion of collagen or whatever it is that keeps people from getting wrinkles.
Like everyone, I’ve developed lines around my eyes because I’m alive. But, I have choices in how I deal with them. I can choose to fret over those lines. I can choose to pay a huge sum of money to a plastic surgeon to lift my eyes in the hopes that I’m not left with a look of perpetual surprise. Or, I can pay a huge sum of money to have Botox injected into the skin around my eyes to paralyze the muscles thus ensuring I’ll never be able to achieve a look of surprise. Or I can pay a huge sum of money to cosmetic companies for the miracle wrinkle cream that, clearly, doesn’t work miracles.
Or I can be content.
Content in the knowledge that who I am really doesn’t have anything to do with wrinkles. Content in the understanding that there is more value in focusing on the interior than the exterior. Content in knowing that if I laugh, I’ll get wrinkles. If I frown I’ll get wrinkles. If I live another day, I’ll get wrinkles.
I think I'll take more wrinkles.
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