So the burning question is, is it too late for me? Has the beauty ship sailed out of the desire port? Sometimes I feel as if I'm grasping onto something that no longer belongs to me. A untouchable thing that is the property of the young, vibrant youth. At other times, I am defiant and feel I can conquer anything and no matter how old I am, I still got "it" and can flaunt "it". Which is true? I have no idea because my feelings sway all over the place as the pendulam of thought brings me from one extreme to the other.
I want to say that the defiant one in me usually wins, without taking into consideration the percentage of wishful thinking that accompanies such thoughts. In other words, as my mirror image varies from day to day, and from day to night depending on the lighting of course, so do my feelings. There are times when I look at myself and feel so confident and smug that at my age, I have the skin that I have, and can afford to feel sorry for those less fortunate than me. Then there are those deep dark nights, when I realize that I have lived over half a century and no one can tell how much longer since we just don't know when  our last tube of mascara will dry up forever.
It's on those scary occasions that I don't recognize the reflection in the  mirror. Wait a  minute, where did that line come from? Was I pressing down with my hand just now? When did those marionette lines appear?  That's not me, impossible. I'm young, I'm hip, I'm reinventing myself daily, I still wear jeans with a swagger- hold on here Father Time, what are you trying to pull?
It angers me that the majority of makeup YouTube video tutorials begin with Kylie or Kendall. When did these fauxlebreties take over the scene? Then they have lessons on how to do the 1960's look...um, I was there. I remember the 60's. I was very young, but I was there. I remember looking at Twiggy in magazines when I was waiting for my Mom at the beauty parlor, and thinking how cool she looked (I instinctively felt it, didn't yet know what cool was) and how badly I wished I was her. Or Jean Shrimpton. Those impossibly big eyes with lashes that reached over the pond. I wanted to be her too. I knew that to be somebody, I had to look like a somebody. Somebody with cool makeup and chiseled cheekbones and skinny legs and platform shoes and a furry boa around my neck. I wanted all of that and more.
The funny thing is, that when I had every opportunity in the world to decorate myself like a Christmas tree, I didn't do it. The natural look was "in". Lip gloss and barely a swipe of mascara and I was out the door. I never connected the dots from where I started and to where I had landed. There was this undeniably large void, a huge makeup black hole that was left undiscovered and under achieved. I had wasted all that time and didn't even know it .
So kill me for being a late bloomer but the time to act and beautify is now. You may not agree. Should women simply roll up their sleeves and bake at abandon forever discharging their beauty ideals into a loaf of bread?
 That simply doesn't appeal to me. Or knitting. Or revisiting my past through time worn antedotes and stories the family has memorized and engraved into their skeletons.
 So I am caught in this limbo of what- the- heck- am- I- land. Well one thing I know for sure is that this is the year it will be or not be.
Is anyone listening? Anyone out there?