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I have the pleasure of dealing with a woman who has the most beautiful voice - so beautiful it is a pleasure just to listen to her voicemail recording. Clearly an English accent but after many years on the other side it is well-situated in the mid-Atlantic range. It is rather sing-song-ish without be affected and is so welcoming and joyous that she does sound like a bird who sings for the sheer joy of making the sound.
This lovely voice belongs to a woman who has experienced the full slice of life with its full helping of sadness and heartbreak and all the other stuff that we travel through on the way to l'age moyen. Upon meeting her one has the pleasure of seeing the voice fit the face, lovely, enthusiastic, animated and fully reciprocal (here I mean genuinely interested in you and everyone at the table).
Perhaps the voice is the window to the spirit as the eyes are the window to the soul. Are the soul and spirit two separate things?
Upon entering my 40s I was psychologically and cosmetically prepared to deal with a new era of skin issues in the form of lines, wrinkles and sagging skin. I was up for a new challenge. Alas, the l'age moyen came in with an extra wrinkle - zits. Sore, red zits that would appear and stay for months. I was plagued with adult acne in a new incarnation and one that two dermatologists would simple not call acne. They prescribed acne drugs like Tetracyclene but called the problem 'environmental'. Sure, it was all over my personal facial environment. If they had said it was acne I would have headed to the drugstore for some 'acne treatment' instead of enduring months of tetracyclene.
Everytime I stopped the tetracyclene the zits came back. Instead I tried makeup, then removing beloved pleasures from my diet (caffeine and alcohol, never again), and even endured a nasty clay cleanse (eat nothing and drink liquid clay - a near-death experience) when two ladies of a certain age came to my rescue and advised me to try Proactiv. Yes, that stuff that Jessica Simpson flogs on paid commercial programming. Much to my surprise, it worked. Within a week all my bumps were gone and now I'm never without a supply. I don't need to use it all the time just when the hormones kick in or kick out and boom, I nip the zit in the bud with one fell swoop.
What this does mean is that the moisturizing routine requires a kind of precise missile targeting to ensure the right stuff attacks the right spot without too much collateral damage. The eyes get the anti-aging, vitamin e treatment while the spot just below may need a full-on treatment of Proactiv cleanser, tonic and moisturizer. Whatever works.
I don't mean to shill Proactiv, I think there are other products around that do the same thing, the point here is that those annoying zits aren't going anywhere without some tactical strikes.
Perhaps this points to one of the benefits of l'age ancien: The final end to zits. Hope springs eternal.
Research shows that blonds do have more fun in the early years what with our species (both men and women) predelection to be drawn to the halo of light that emanates from the angelic blond. Once the mousy brunette crosses the floor and douses herself with blondness it seems to be a rare gal who willingly retraces her steps back to the relative anonymity of brunettehood. In France it is said there are no brunettes over 40. "La blonde" is the term used to describe the girlfriend/boyfriend en francais. There the French go again calling la spade la spade.
But what happens when everything below the hairline says 40+ and everything above screams 18? Is it harder for blonds to approach l'age moyen?
In commercials for hair colour the brunette is battling to cover her greys while the blonde enjoys lasting, lustrous colour. Denial is ingrained in the blonde psyche. You will never grey, implies the advertising, as the chosen people you will enrich your colour forever.
I admit to a deep fascination with coloured, highlighted and highly styled hair. I love it. I yearn for it and yet have only dipped my toe in the colourist' s pool, so to speak. The little that I've done requires too much maintenance. And as much as I revel in the complexity of colour and product, I adore and am equally fascinated with a head chock full of grey. I love grainy grey with all the tones and variations and what's not to love about that real white hair that is brighter than any blonde.
On the subway one afternoon a woman of a certain age charged into the car with a head of thick hair that sprung from her scalp in a well-cut yet straw-like way. The greys ranged from medium to dark without being salt and pepper. It was gorgeous. It didn't hurt that she wore a beautiful grey coat and accessorized herself thematically from top to bottom. It was all grey but there was nothing 'gray' about her.
I suspect this lady in grey was having a pretty good time all around. Inspiration for blondes.
A word to the debutante headstander: Proceed with caution. I was not able to achieve a comfortable headstand until I received excellent instruction from a certain yoga teacher who had a whole loft full of women of l'age moyen upside down and loving it.
It's all in the arms, folks. Who knew. Once you get the arm position down you'll be able to enjoy the thrill of gravity actually doing something good for your body.
Ken and Barbie have held onto their age moyen for decades, now it's your turn.
My hands cause great concern to the very young and very observant. No I'm not close to dying because you can trace the blue veins (rather vine-like I admit) through the backs of my hands, and, yes, it does come along with the age moyen territory.
There is no camouflaging the hands (although I'm sure there is some cosmetic procedure to take the fat from your butt and pump it into your hands) save for wearing gloves. You can botox your face, dye your hair and dress like a tween but you can't hide your hands. One can moisturize for a silken effect, one can choose a strong nail colour to distract the eye, or you can say, these hands have served me well and, if I keep using them everyday to dig in the ground, knead bread, braid hair and write thank you notes. I may claim them as well-deserved and well-loved.
Sadly, this is one sign of l'age moyen that cannot be recovered through a headstand. Worth a try though.
Spring has arrived in the melting north. That means bicycles and the official launch of bicycle season. We usually have bicycles around all winter but with so much snow this winter only the truly hardy or foolish were on their bicycles.
The old bikes are the best. When I was in Holland far too long ago I expected to see shiny bicycles in great repair. Just the opposite. Never seen so many beat up bicycles with bits dragging along behind. Speed did not seem to be a desired outcome of a bicycle ride. They meandered usually carrying some flowers which the Dutch can't do without. The problem in Holland is that if you have a nice bike it will be stolen so everyone rides these beat up things.
I hate all the gear but I hate that about all sports. I have a lovely old Dutch bike that is too heavy to go uphill so if I need to navigate some hills I take my trusty little CCM 3 speed. Old Dutch has saddlebags (purchased in Holland and long since faded from their jaunty green plaid) and my CCM has a lovely wire basket that sits on the back fender.
My favourite cyclists are those who maintain their individual style throwing caution to the wind, which means no helmets, gloves or bicycle shorts. Those that manage to look great and wear a helmet receive extra points.
Look for photos of dapper cyclists in the coming months. Look out, I'm packing my camera ....
In the interests of presenting a balanced view, a word about Hilary and specifically her hair. Fabulous. Think lionness - thick, yellow, firmly in place - a modern hair helmet. So much better than the mixed messages she sent while first lady. As much as we try, can't forget the velvet hairband with the bangs. Non, non and no.
I love the colour and the fact that it is so deeply coloured with highlights and lowlights, the works. It is a bit Catherine Deneuve-ish which is a good thing. No one does it better than la belle du jour and it is the commitment to colour that I respect. If you're going to colour your hair then do it boldly, forget trying to look quasi natural. Who are you kidding? Go all the way or go grey.
A word on clothes: While she can't compete with Barack's elegance I am in full agreement that pants are the way to go and I like the jacket with matching jewellery combo. Totally works and provides a great set-up for the big yellow hair.
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