Middle Age Snuck Up on Me!


Middle age snuck up on me. Surprise! It was like one day I was youthful, and the next I realized my boobs were supposed to sit two inches higher.

I wasn’t disappointed, just surprised.

I suppose, eventually, old age will spring upon my consciousness in much the same way.  Though the other day, in a calm state of semi- meditation, I flashed upon a mental image of myself as an elderly woman.  This is not something new.  Coming out of meditation, I’ve glimpsed my future self before.

This time I was much older.  I wasn’t alarmed though. My green eyes still sparked with curiousity. A touch of athleticism graced my frail arms and legs, like a faded memo of strength.  And my hair was long and tangly.  This bothered me. So many years gone by and I am still not at peace with my hair?

But my hands were still my hands.  I’m not sure they’ve ever felt youthful.  As a child growing up on the Canadian prairies, the winters were particularly brutal.  I had eczema so bad I’d soak in a doctor-prescribed tar solution daily.  At night I lathered my hands in Vaseline and wore thick cotton gloves to bed.  Still, my knuckles cracked and bled constantly. The shame and embarrassment of being the girl with the bloody hands was a lonely existence, broken only by spring (as in JULY because snow in June wasn’t unheard of), and finally, a move to a warmer climate.

My hands went through hell all those years, and ever since their weathered texture has been a badge of survival.  As I sit here writing this I realize I truly love my hands.



About Jamie Brazil

Humor writer, romance novelist, Bloodhound enthusiast.

Posted on August 18, 2014, in Auth: Jamie Brazil and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. My hands are on my mind as well. I have been covering for an co-worker that has been on vacation for weeks. I spent half my time at her desk. Since it’s not my space, I try not to mess with any of her stuff but my arm and right hand are showing signs of distress. I think it’s the position of her mouse. My first thought was my… twenty year old self would have been just fine… now I’m old lady 🙂


  2. My grandmother had bad arthritis in her hands, but even though her fingers stuck out any which way, she was always a maker, using her hands for all sorts of arts and crafts and even typing out four books of her memoirs! She loved when people asked her directions so she could “point” the way — and her fingers went whichever way they wanted to go. Just like her 🙂


  3. I have always had horrible skin and was once called “pizza face” as a teenager. I went home in tears and my mom comforted me by saying that my oily skin meant I would have fewer wrinkles as I got older. I do have a few crows feet, but I call them laugh lines, but for the most part, mom was right. She did not however tell me that my oily skin would also give me acne well into my 40s. Technically, I am now middle aged, but I refuse to acknowledge that until the pimples no longer erupt on my face. 🙂


    • What is middle-aged anyway? I went to happy hour and had drinks two nights ago with my mother-in-law who is in her 90s and her friend, 89… they acted like teenagers swilling marguritas and gossiping. It was one of those what-is-age-anyway moments 🙂 We all had a great time.


  4. I really love this post Jamie. I’ve been looking at my own hands lately, remembering the day I compared them to my mother’s marveling at my smooth skin and lack of visible veins, seeing the future that awaited me. Now I look at my daughter’s youthful hands in comparison to mine, and wonder where the time went. Next time I visit my mom I’ll look at her hands again and think of all the beautiful things she’s created with them.


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