Shar Pei Complex

I have been writing, lately, about being grateful and working very hard at being positive. I am taking a departure from that in this entry. I have a dilemma and it is trite and completely vain. I do not know what to do with the criss-cross pattern of wrinkles that have taken up residence on my forehead.

I kind of think I have three options:

1) Suck it up, stop being so vain and live with the lines that are me
2) Get myself a french woman's facelift - a solid set of bangs
3) Actually consider (gasp) Botox

I know, I know...Botox can you make you look like Nicole Kidmann (did anyone see her when she was on David Letterman? Yikes!) but I am not sure that I can deal with the grid that I stare at each morning. I just stare at my forehead and think about how smooth it appeared just 5 or 6 years ago.

I actually went to a Botox place about 2 years ago (they did free consultations) and saw a doctor who took one look at my forehead (when I was wrinkling it up as he had instructed) and he kind of made a face like "wow, or yikes" I said to him (after taking one look at his expression) "is it that bad?" to which he replied (ever so diplomatically) "Welllll, you do have a large number of very strong muscles in your forehead and they are very expressive". So. What the heck did that mean? "You would need a lot of injections to really take care of all of the individual muscles." "At least 25-30". Yea, not likely.

So, as you can guess, I went as far as a consultation and that was that. But, two years later, with the prospect of going to job interviews and hopefully finding myself in a new career, I am thinking that maybe 25-30 injections could be manageable. All of this deliberating certainly doesn't help since I am sitting here with my forehead all creased.

So, as horrible as this post may seem, it is what it is. I have a Shar Mei Complex and will continue to deliberate my options. I'll let you know when I make a decision!

needs and wants

Today, on this sunny, crisp February day, I was lucky enough to be able to call up a dear friend, last minute, and arrange for a walk, some tea and some chats. Since I was feeling a teeny bit sorry for myself this morning (due to the prospect of more resume flogging and more interviews), this interlude with my friend came at a perfect moment. How fortunate I am.

Part of our conversation this morning, saw me (of course), telling a story about a friend that I had made many years ago who I still connect with every 12 to 18 months. The phone will ring and this deep, rich, rolling voice will say "On-dray-a, its me...". I love that voice and the image that is conjures up. In my minds eye (I have not seen my friend in many years as she no longer lives here) I see her beautiful smiling face; her flashing gold earrings and her colourful headdress and clothes. I can smell the unfamiliar but comforting smell of African spices.

Yet, the strongest memory I have of my friend was her ability to stay positive and happy with so little. I can remember going to the house of a family where my African friend was staying for a few weeks (she had given up her small suite in order to save money to go home to Africa). This basement suite, from the outside, looked rough and was in an even rougher part of town. When I went in to the little suite (I was helping my friend pack up her things to go home), I was met with that fragrant smell of traditional African food and the smiling faces of the family that lived there. They graciously welcomed me in and offered me tea and a seat. There were five people. All of them also from Ghana, originally. The father, a fellow in his early thirties, had been sponsored by a brother to come to Canada with his family and had taken the chance.

I was struck at that time but even more later in my life and certainly today, by the fact that this family, together, and healthy, appeared to need nothing more to be happy. The basement suite had two bedrooms, and so the parents were in one room and their three little children were in the other. My friend was on the couch until her departure. There was no TV, no playroom crowded with tacky, brightly-coloured plastic, no playstation. There was a simple room, neat and tidy with some books on the table from the library. One of the children, a little girl, took me by the hand to show me the room that she and her sibling shared. She was so pleased with the big bed that they got to sleep together on.

When I hear every day about our struggling economy and, I myself, look for a new job, I think about this family and about the smiles on each of their faces. Each of them willing to share the little they had. Each perfectly content.

Today, I am inspired by this memory. Today I am working on being content. Today, I am grateful.