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Egg On my Face, Really

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Because I was adopted when my mother was 37 & 1/2 years old, I think it was very hard for her to be "girlie' with me when I entered my teens. That being said, or perhaps because I still have fond memories of my girlie years, I always say 'yes' when Brigit approaches me with a girlie concept. Mind you, her timing bears no coordination with my adult (read 50-year-old woman) schedule. So saying 'yes', in my case meaning 'being approachable', takes a determined effort on my part. Effort that is never regretted, more so when there's a stew or other easily off-put task on my list at that moment. I also have a personal wrong to right.
Today it was an instant face-lift mask. I was in the dark when the activity began, but was also in my weekend cocktail hour at the same time. I heard rumblings, clackings, rattlings, in my kitchen. I knew better than to simply shout out an inquiry. As I approached my lovely teen, she was cracking an egg. I reminded her that our 8-hour crockpot Irish Stew was less than an hour from readiness. I thought she was hungry and making a snack.
Then the fun began. She told me she was using an egg white to paint on her face for a beauty treatment. (I am quite sure I did this at her age...c.1975) She began painting herself with one of my pastry brushes, but was scrimping on the application. I encouraged her to use more. She squealed as she applied it because it was very cold. (She was not told the tip I recall about letting the egg come to room temperature first). I decided to move the party to the downstairs bathroom. Brigit wanted to paint my face. So I removed my glasses, let her pull my hair back, and have at it!
Twenty tight-skinned minutes later, we were both rinsing our faces and laughing. I had just enough time to plate the stew, fresh-faced and feeling much younger than fifty. As I calculate it, .13 cents and a loving mother-daughter experience is well worth getting a little egg on your face.

Am I getting Old, or What?

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I'm quite sure that 20 years ago my ankle injury would have healed in 6 to 8 weeks. This time it's going to need 6 to 8 months. Or better. I have to say it is discouraging. I have done everything the experts recommend, and worn "sensible shoes" till I'm sick of them. And yes, it is still getting better, but I have to measure the improvements by weeks, not days. For now I am finished with Physical Therapy. Although I am positive I would benefit from more, our insurance ran out. Coverage is per year, not per injury. Plus the co-pay almost tripled a few months ago when Mr.'s contract was renegotiated and passed. It's all about money right now. And being able to forget about my left foot while I go about my daily business. Still, no high heels in my future. Boo-hoo.

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