Alive and well and smiling

You hate me, don't you? I'm so sorry for not posting for so very long! Life. Life got in the way of retelling life here.

And then the lives of others, whose stories I can't share because they are not mine, took over my life. Or I let them take over. Welcomed them as a matter of fact. Pursued them even, if can imagine that.

But it wasn't you. And it wasn't this forum. I took the entire month of January off from the other place that I blog at every week; one week off at the place that pays me to tell tales. See? Not you.

But I will be back soon, oh, very soon, to share some more tales. I promise. Ok, I feel bad for neglecting things over here. ONE short tale:

This is me. I'm going to church. I almost didn't go that day, but decided that was the wrong message to send to my kids. So I fluffed my hair, donned my pearls and contemplated, but did not decide upon, a lowcut top.

Contemplating lower cut top

I was healthy, awoke in plenty of time, and really had no good reason to miss church, so why did I not want to go? Because, apparently, menopause is the new adolescence. My face had decided to head in the Way Back Machine to age 13. I had a breakout like I have not seen since I would smudge my Leif Garrett posters with Lip Smackers each night.

Look at the chin! I have the chin of a teenager!

"I'm not going to church today." I announced at breakfast.

"Why not?" Brian asked.

"If she's not going, I'm not going, I'll keep her company," Bekah offered oh. so. generously.

"Because, I uh..." I looked at the faces of my kids, faces that would probably face a similar situation in the not so distant future," ugh, I'm going. But not one crack about having a third eye!"

So I went. Concealer as in place as it was going to be, head held high, as many distracting techniques as I could come up with (although it was a communion Sunday, and I don't like wearing anything that might accidentally give the elders serving an eye full as I bowed before the alter so the top was not low cut.)

I have age 50 right ahead of me and I'm trying to conceal pimples. It's just wrong. 

I have to point them out, don't I? Oh, you can see some, even caked with concealer they are hardly concealed.

Sorry about that. In person, they  really were quite obvious. I caught people looking at my chin all morning, and it wasn't my imagination either. The blemishes were there, but I couldn't let a hormonal outbreak stop me from going places, doing things that are important to me. I couldn't let something so superficial hold me back.  What would be the point in that?  There really wasn't anything I could do but smile.

Which is probably a really great life lesson on several levels, don't you think?