Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures!

As I have gotten older I have been very critical of Hollywood celebrities and their plastic surgeries.  Why, I would always ask, do they do that to themselves?  They make themselves look worse, not better.  Take, for example, Marie Osmond.  She was always so beautiful!  At this point, though, she barely resembles her 'natural' self.  What with the brow lift and the 'trout pout' (anybody out there see her on Oprah after her son committed suicide?), she looks like a freak!  I just never understood.  How on earth could these women think that they looked better?  That was then.  Now, I understand.

When I turned 50, I started experiencing the joyful symptoms of menopause.  I was plagued, particularly, with hot flashes which are, by the way, VERY hot and come on in a flash.  I remember one particular time, I was standing in line to check out at Macy's.  There was one woman in line in front of me.  The salesgirl glanced at me and said that she would be right with me.  The woman in front of me had maybe 2 items, so it did not take long to conclude her transaction.  However, in that very brief amount of time, I began to experience a hot flash.  They always start from the top of my head and go down my body.  In no time at all, yea, a veritable FLASH, all of my hair was soaking wet, my face was dripping, and my shirt was sticking to my sopping wet chest.  I moved forward and put my items on the counter.  The salesgirl who had glanced at me only moments previous, now gasped and asked, "Are you alright?"  (Never a good sign when they ask that!)  I said, "Have you ever heard of hot flashes?"  She indicated that, yes, she had heard of such things.  I said, "Well, this is what one looks like."  She was clearly disturbed by this information. 

As 50 turned into 51, I was fully in the throes of "The Change." My hair, which was always very thick when I was younger, began to thin.  I began to experience the severe joint pain that can be associated with menopause. My face suddenly became a road map of wrinkles.  I'd chuckle bitterly at the Oil of Olay ads that promised to "smooth out fine lines"......there was nothing fine about my lines.  They were deep rivulets that I could FEEL with my fingertips, even when I had no mirror with which to view them.  I also began to enjoy to highly-euphemistically-named "Mood Swings" that I had not had much trouble with when I was menstruating.  I would be driving down the highway and suddenly start SOBBING and not have a clue why.  I felt like I was losing my mind. 

My OB/Gyn was not much help.  She refused to prescribe hormone replacement drugs or any other kind of medication for me.  She explained, with an irritatingly sweet smile on her face, that this was "just another phase of life" to enjoy and experience.  I asked her if it would ever get better.  With the same lovely grin on her face, she responded, "No."

Now I am 52.  In addition to all of the aforementioned symptoms, I am not experiencing hair LOSS.  The hair on the very top of my head is so thin, my scalp is clearly visible.  My face has finally given up the fight.  Whereas before, if I wore enough make-up, was in the right light, and used the right camera angle, I had a chance of still being able to take a somewhat flattering photograph, not even those techniques will work anymore.  The last time I tried to get a good picture taken, I looked at all of the rejected attempts and wept.  I realized the truth: I am old and ugly and there is nothing I can do about it anymore.  It was then that I also realized why Marie and all of her cohorts are rushing to their plastic surgeons and estheticians in droves: they have had that "I-am-old-and-ugly" moment themselves and, since they have the money to do so, have decided to put up a fight. 

Sadly, it is a losing battle.  I ask myself, if I were incredibly rich, would I go under the knife.  The answer is: probably yes.  But I do not have that kind of cash, so it is not an option.  I guess it's for the best.  It would be a waste of money, I am sure.  I have to face the truth:  I am old and ugly and middle-aged and a dried up old (did I already use that word??) hag.  It's depressing, but there is nothing to do but live with it and hope that I did not inherit my Great-Grandmother's longevity.  She lived to be over 100 years old!

A Tale of Two Sort-Of Cities

I grew up in Northeast Los Angeles, California.  I have always considered myself a "city girl."  My friends and I used to buy season tickets each year for the Orange County Performing Arts Center.  As a member of the Southern California Mormon Choir, I have had the opportunity to sing on the stages of the Hollywood Bowl, The Forum, and The Dorothy Chandler Pavillion.  I have sung on the soundtracks of two videos.  I have sung at a big Hollywood wedding.  I have been to pretty much every museum in the greater Los Angeles area, most more than once.  I have enjoyed the perks of city living. 
In 2002, I moved to Placerville, California.  Placerville is about an hour's drive northeast of Sacramento and has a population of just over 10,000.  There is a quaint "Main Street", with antique stores, bookstores, a newspaper shop, and other assorted businesses.  It is quite different from Los Angeles in many ways.  I owe a great deal to my friend, Lynne, who invited me to live there and who introduced me to all of her friends.  In almost no time at all, I felt like a part of things.  I had friends.  I felt cared about.  I only lived there for 9 months but, ten years later, I can still go to Placerville and have people remember me and be glad to see me.
Flash forward to 2004.  I married a wonderful man, who happened to grow up in Brawley, California.  The latest Census shows the population of Brawley to be just under 25,000 people.  I moved to Brawley to be with my new husband and got a job teaching school in the Imperial Valley.  It took some time, but I eventually made friends within the Brawley ward.  They are not people who socialize outside of church on Sunday.  I have invited people to go out or to do something at my house and they always give me a vague answer to the effect of, "Oh yeah.....someday we'll have to do that...."  They never do.  But, on Sundays, they do make me feel welcome and cared about and a part of the ward family.  I have made friends in the community as well.  My colleagues at work, however, are a very different story. 
Most of the people I work with grew up here and have never taught anywhere outside of the Imperial Valley.  Despite my best efforts, the majority of them have not really accepted me into their circle and some of them are quite rude to me.  It has really caused me to think:  What on earth makes these people think that they are so great?  Do they really believe that anyone outside of Holtville knows or cares a whit about the "Swiss Club" or that their last name could get them so much as a cup of coffee outside of this valley?  It's a lot easier to be a cheerleader in a high school that has a total population of less than 500 than it is in a high school (like mine) where the population of the senior class is twice that.  This entire valley does not have a single quality bookstore.  It does not have a fabric store.  There is one very small museum.  The only musical theatre is put on by the local high schools.  They have only had a Target store for about 5 years and the one mall in the entire valley has been here less time than that.  So why on earth should they look down their noses at someone who dares to move here? 
We will probably be here for at least another 4-5 years.  I will be fine.  I know how to do my job and I do it, whether people are kind to me or not.  I am a teacher because I care about children and truly want to make a difference in the world.  That will never change.  I do not HAVE to have friends at work.  It would be nice if I did but, after trying for the past 8 years and being used and lied about and thrown under the bus on more than one ocassion by someone who I truly believed was a friend, I am pretty done. 
Hopefully, the next city we live in will be two things:
1. An actual CITY, not some little burg where people have a very over-inflated opinion of their self-worth and importance in the world
and
2. A place where we can feel welcomed and cared about. 
I look forward to finding that place!