I am saddened to learn that screen goddess Elizabeth Taylor has passed away.
Elizabeth, so beautiful that, even as a child actress, she didn’t just ignite the silver screen, she comandeered it. The violet eyed brunette with the kitten voice and multiple marriages is gone from us now.
“I was taught by my parents that if you fall in love, if you want to have a love affair, you get married,” she once remarked. “I guess I’m very old-fashioned.”
To me, and many others, Elizabeth Taylor was the very essence of what is a movie star.
Beautiful. Fashionable. Interesting. Persued and desired.
The very essence of glamour and beauty.
Let us not forget that she was also a humanitarian; a woman who used her fame to help others battle AIDS and she did so long before it was popular for stars to lend their status to any cause. Receiving a special humanitarian award for her charity work she declared, “I call upon you to draw from the depths of your being — to prove that we are a human race, to prove that our love outweighs our need to hate, that our compassion is more compelling than our need to blame.”
Stunningly beautiful actress and winner of Oscars, yes, but, most importantly, she was a woman who tried many things and above all .. survived. And let’s not forget that she was a Mother, Grandmother and Great-Grandmother who leaves behind a family who will mourn her absence.
So, as a blogger (and that still feels a little weird to say out loud), from time to time I’ll read over what I’ve written and think , wow.
That was pretty good.
That one made no sense at all!
Where were you going with that?
And why did that particular post strike such a cord with others?
But I’ve noticed something startling and I admit that I’m feeling a bit aghast about it.
I’ve filtered my posts.
Crap.
That’s what Facebook was for. Facebook was where I followed my own rule of “never post anything you wouldn’t want your Mother to read.”
And I’ve stuck to it.
Sure, some of my posts were mundane but they’ve all been harmless. I’ve held back from posting too many pictures of cute grand-babies. I’ve resisted commenting when teens I know and care about are sharing way too much. (Where are the parents??) I’ve chosen to not engage when the braggety McBraggarts have taken over the wall posts. And I’ve stayed mute when mid-life crises have imploded right before my very eyes. I’ve been pretty darn PC and proud of it!
I started a blog, because really, I just wanted to write. I wanted to write about what’s important to me; what matters, what concerns, what inspires and what intrigues me.
But like a brand new ice skater clinging to the boards of the rink, I’ve held back and I’ve stayed a little too close to the careful side.
Crap!
I haven’t written about my job or what I do or how I spend most of my days. And I probably won’t.
I haven’t written about dysfunction junction; about how sometimes family can be the ultimate F word. We have many that we adore and enjoy and others .. well, I just don’t even know where to begin.
I haven’t written about health concerns or struggles with weight or what getting older really feels like.
I haven’t written about fears, dreams, or desires.
I haven’t written about what I want the rest of my life to look like.
I’ve held back .. I’ve filtered and I’ve been a little bit less than .. me.
So, please bear with me because, today, I’m gonna try lacing up the figure skates I’ve had since I was 12 and stepping back out onto the ice. I’m Canadian born & raised after all; we practically skate before we walk! The blades are a little dull, but I’m pretty sure that, with practice, I could still “shoot the duck.”
How about you? Have you ever caught yourself “skating through” something? Did you change your behavior or just keep on going?
A special benefit? Order the complete kit since it comes with a “how – to” DVD. Yep. Perfect for dorks like me whose high school beauty kit consisted of Bonne Bell lip smackers and match-my-mood blush. I’m guilty of 80s fashion crimes including black eyeliner and blue shadow .. oh yeah .. worked it, worked it. But, as I matured, I poured over Cosmopolitan and tried my best to look like that… but, I didn’t have the tools or the know-how. Then .. along comes Alexis Vogel who delivers a kit of well made products and the expertise — a super secret pass-key into a world of girl-dom that I knew existed but couldn’t attain.
Why makeup?
Because I like it.
Because I’m creative.
Because I like to put it all together and see what happens.
I’m not a Birkenstock kinda girl. I’m just ..not.
On date nights with the hubbs, I’m all about hair that’s full, lips that are red and …cleavage. I like clothes that are fitted and eyes that sparkle. (And so does he ..)
Come to think of it, the holidays are approaching which means time off and lots of date nights — I do believe it’s time to re-order. Whee !!
I’ve had loads of costumes over the years but never did dress up like a witch.
But .. If I had, I’d want to be Samantha Stevens. Funny. Smart. Sexy. Capable in the kitchen and the board room. Able to easily deflect nosy neighbors (Mrs. Cravitz) and meddling relatives (Endora).
Years ago, I used to wear a suit every day to work. Jacket. Shoulder pads. Hose. Heels. You name it.
I don’t wear dresses for work much anymore. This is for several reasons; the dress code in my office is “business casual.” I’m pretty comfortable working in pants, not to mention.. warm. And… I’m heavier than I was in those “suit-wearing days.” Definitely packing more “junk” in the “trunk” than I did back in the day.
Still .. sometimes it just feels good to feel feminine and dresses do that for me. So do heels. When I feel good in something, the number on the tag fades away. When I walk with confidence, with my shoulders back and a wide smile across my face, I feel I can do anything. The reaction, however, can be a little unsettling and here’s why: sometimes in the course of the business day, I cross paths with people I’ve never met. They don’t know me. They don’t know that I used to be thin. They don’t know that I once wore single-digit sizes.
Here’s what I realized recently: They don’t care.
It’s not the dress or the heels.
It’s me.
They’re reacting to me. A comfortable, confident woman who feels good enough in her own skin to allow herself to shine on this day, and they’re not looking for a number on the tag.
