Old Women Cry Alot

When I was a kid,
old women made me nervous.
I didn't really enjoy being around them.

Their hair wasn't shiny,
their eyes weren't bright,
their skin wasn't as smoothe as mine
and in addition to all of that,
some appeared to be loose cannons
socially.
I remember wondering why they could go from smiling
and laughing
to crying in an instant
for what I perceived as no apparent reason.
It freaked me out inside
when I was young.
Then,
there were those older women
who just sat quietly tucked into themselves--
half smiling, hands folded, purple floral shirt perfectly matching
their purple polyester pants and white hair.
I always thought if I could choose,
I'd be like the latter purple-hued-white-hair-in-check
composed old woman
and that gave me hope of holding onto any dignity or self-importance
I might have conjured up between 7 years old and 50.

Now, I'm on the other end.
I'm at the magical age of 50.
I get it.
My skin is not smoothe anymore,
it's often dry and wrinkly.
It has "age spots" on it--
no wonder my granma always had a jar of
Pond's Cold Cream
on her bureau.
And I now look for moisturizing creams
for specific maladies--
like red spots, wrinkles, brown blotches,
n' whatever else I can find.

My eyes aren't as bright,
and I am constantly battling my eyeglasses--
I have a Love-Hate Relationship with them
On
Off
On
Off--
On when I need to drive
Off when I need to read.
Such a bother.
But, I think I've figured out something about my eye sight--
for as different as it in focus,
these days I see the world around me
in more detail.
It's like my eyes and my heart
are connected...
an invisible string that runs from my eyes
triggers straight to my heart.

I cry more than should be legal these days.
And it doesn't take much to release the ol' tear ducts flooding
either.
It's annoying.
I've become such a pansy.
And just so you know,
my family isn't surprised at all.
They say I've always been this way.
No. No. No. I haven't.
I mean. I've always been "tenderhearted",
that's true.
But holy hannah,
I am a mess.

Last week,
I had a meeting with one of the Caboose's teachers.
Before I got there,
I had to give my self a pep talk--
"Don't cry. No matter what, Don't cry! Dang it!"
It's not like I was going to get bad news--
it's not like I didn't like the teacher...
I just woke up that morning feeling weepy
for no apparent reason.
I did go to the meeting
and I did not cry.
Sheesh.

I had a doctor's appointment a couple of weeks ago
you know, the whole biopsy thing--
I even asked
"What's the deal with my emotions? They're all over the map.
Am I losing my mind? Is this normal?"--and I am not kidding,
even talking about it got me a little choked up!
Then I laughed at how stupid it was that I couldn't even talk about
being emotional without becoming emotional!
ACK!
The doctor is probably two decades younger than me--
she just smiled and said,
"It's normal. Every woman is different. You'll be fine once
you get through menopause."
I hate that word.
Menopause.
So depressing. really.
I can't think of a replacement word--
but it should have something to do with "sprinkles" in it.

So I cry.
I cry reading sad blogs,
listening to sad songs,
reading the news,
passing a car accident,
finding momentos in shoeboxes,
writing emails to friends,
watching sad movies ( I cried at "The Vow" like Channing Tatum was my own son. ugh. pathetic.)
Military Homecomings,
missionary homecomings,
baby blessings,
I cry when I see other people cry--
it's sympathetic crying...
yeah, you get the picture.

It feels like my hormones are having a party inside these days.
But it's one of those parties I was never allowed to go to...
the one where there were no parents at
--so out of control, ya know?

The good news is that I have friends who cheer me on--
some are bawling right next to me
and
some are on the other side of this Crazy Sprinkles World
and assure me there are better, more sane
days ahead.
Man. I hope they're right.

One of my favorite colors is purple--
in all of it's shades from lilac to aubergine.
The next time I find a purple sweater,
I'm buying it.
Not ready for the polyester pants,
but hey, it gives me something to look forward to,
right?
As for holding onto any dignity or self-importance--
I think that's going to be harder than I thought
whatwith all this Crazy Sprinkles Party
going on.
Alot harder.
And this is why it's important to have good girlfriends.