This is me, just me. No makeup, no soft lighting, no mask. The wrinkle across my cheek is from the brief, hard nap that I took between 6:00 and 8:00 this morning. The lines fanning out from the corner of my eye are from forty-two years of squinting into the sun. The furrow in the lower right is from an equal number of years of smiling.
* * *
"You could use a chin implant," my mother said, reaching across the restaurant table to tug at the lower half of my face.
"Oh, it's easy. They just pop it in, and..."
"What I'm saying is that I don't think there's anything wrong with my face!"
"Well, it's something to think about."
Tuesday, October 02, 2012
Monday, October 01, 2012
Santa Barbara Harbor Breakwater, August 2012
"What makes this time different from the last time?" Red asked.
"Yes. How is your relationship with Hardt different from your relationship with Peter? As we're both coming out of spectacularly failed marriages and starting new relationships, I'm curious."
"This time, nothing goes unsaid. I don't assume that he can read my mind. I don't presume to know what's on his. Everything - good and bad - is out in the open."
"How's that working? Can you really do that?"
"Not yet, but I'm trying. I'm learning."
* * *
This month's NaBloPoMo theme is "Mask", and today's prompt is "When you saw the word mask, was your first interpretation protection, covering up, persona, or performance?"
My short answer to that prompt is "yes."