Pay attention, Chicken Little!

Feb 24, 2020 | 0 comments

Helen and Harry Es;py on their 50th Wedding Anniversary

I have been noticing in my mirror lately that Chicken Little was quite wrong about what was falling.  And not in an acorn sort of way, either.  In a face sort of way.  Specifically my chinny-chin-chin.  (And never mind that that’s yet another fairy tale.  It’s the falling part that matters here, not the  hair on it — a totally different problem that I’m not yet ready to discuss.)

I believe I have my sainted Grandmother Espy’s chin.  Hers started migrating south by the time she was in her fifties.  I don’t think  I even noticed at the time.  She was my beloved granny and I wasn’t very concerned about her chin or any other individual part of her.  It was the whole package that counted.

Sydney, 1941

I was a lot smarter and a lot less critical eighty years ago.  It never occurred to me to notice what people looked like — and especially not how I might look.  I guess that all changes in the teens or, probably nowadays, in the preteens.  Up until that time, I don’t even remember looking in the mirror.  Except once when I was five or six and it wasn’t my face that concerned me.

I had been spanked for some transgression and I’m sure my dignity was hurt worse than my bottom.  I remember going up into my bedroom, standing in front of the full length mirror on my closet door, pulling down my underpants and looking at my behind with great indignation.  I was howling mightily (for my mother’s benefit, I’m sure) and howled even louder when I discovered that my skinny little tush wasn’t even one bit red!  How could THAT be?  I’m sure I had expected a hand print or two at the very least!

In the eye of the beholder… 2019

I console myself that my eyes are growing dimmer at just at the right time.  Not only does my own reflection seem pleasantly blurred these days, but my friends and loved ones are also are taking on soft edges.  Plus they seem to be speaking in more dulcet tones.  (Surely, I don’t need those pesky hearing aids.  Not yet.)

It’s probably a little late to be wishing for grandchildren.  Or for anyone else who might overlook the ravages of time.  Although, come to think of it, the chickens are always glad to see me…

 

 

 

 

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