Didn't My Skin Used to Fit? Read Online Free PDF Page A

I don’t think so. Unless they add a scoop of Rocky Road.

    And in the end it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.
—Abraham Lincoln

13

I’ve Only Got Eyelids for You
    My good friends Linda Aleahmad, a licensed marriage and family therapist, and Mary Scott, a poet and administrative assistant to a Southern California newspaper editor, and I celebrate our birthdays together each year. We usually go out to a nice restaurant and talk about things like life, work, children, and of course, growing older. No matter how much we don’t want to be reminded of it, the subject of aging almost always comes up, and we spend the rest of the evening comparing our latest physical changes and laughing about them as much as possible.
    Tonight the physical change du jour was droopy eyelids. Each of us noted that our once perky eyelids had recently un- perked themselves, and as Joshua might have said at the wall of Jericho, ‘‘They’ve come a tumbling down!’’ Not that we’re tripping over them or anything, but they’ve drooped enough to give us that half-open, half-closed look that so many of us had through high school and college.
    It seemed to happen to each of us overnight. Eyelids are sneaky that way. You go to bed with all your body parts exactly where they’re supposed to be: Chin in place? Check . Lips in place? Check . Eyelids where they’re supposed to be? Check . But when you wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, you notice that the rest of your body is exactly where it was eight hours ago, but your eyelids are now drooping like Deputy Dawg’s, and you’re just about as excited as he is about it.
    I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. Our eyelids can’t be expected to stay at attention forever. Forty or fifty years is long enough. They’re pooped. They’re ready for a break. They’ve faithfully served at their post and now they deserve a rest.
    Unfortunately, though, their early retirement begins to place undo pressure on the eyelashes. They are the only things between the avalanche of flesh and our cheekbones.
    A business associate of mine had her eyelids pulled back surgically. That’s one solution, I suppose. And yes, it worked, but now she has that wide-awake look, like someone just said, ‘‘Boo!’’
    My friends and I spent the evening together weighing the pros and cons of getting our eyelids done but decided against it. We opted to keep the skin we’re in and let nature take its course. We would be thankful for our health, our families, and all our blessings. It seemed like the right thing to do—especially when we remembered that Thanksgiving was just around the corner.
    I think there was something about my neck that reminded them.

    There’s more to life than increasing its speed.
—Gandhi

14

Death Doesn’t Become Us
    Since my friend Mary had recently attended a family funeral, the subject moved from fallen eyelids to funerals, wills, and last wishes. Linda was the first to share what she wanted done with her remains.
    ‘‘I want to be cremated,’’ she said, ‘‘and my ashes placed inside a firecracker and shot into the air in one spectacular send-off.’’
    We figured it must be the cheesecake gone to her head.
    Mary said she wanted to be cremated, too, but she also wanted a memorial service in which people said nice things about her. She also wanted a good picture on display, and she’d like her ashes scattered in the barranca in Ventura, California.
    I opted for a more traditional funeral. I want nice things said about me at my funeral, too (I’ll write them up ahead of time), but I also want the service to be full of funny remembrances. I’ve embraced laughter my entire life. I wouldn’t want it to be missing from my funeral. I want tears, too, of course (who doesn’t want to be missed?), but I would hope there’d be lots of laughter to balance things out.
    I also asked them to help my husband with the telephone calls. I know