MASKS

My stomach sank.  The line in Nora Robert’s book made my eyes well up. 

The old lady philanthropist who was being manipulated by the young, slick art gallery owner, “reached out her gnarled knuckles in accepting his hand for a waltz.

 I browsed upon my own hands clasping the romance paperback. 

 Gnarled. 

 I breathed deep to regain my composure and submerge my pain.  It was true.  Gnarled was indeed an accurate description, a model adjective for arthritic hands.  So is knotty, crooked, twisted.  Used those words in my own poetry and prose to describe myself.  Sometimes in first person – other times in third person. 

 But somehow, the written image of old lady ripped through my mind.  I had been forty-three when I read that romance novel.  I noticed crow’s feet nesting in the corners of my blue eyes.  More like a murder of crows.  My genetically thin lips were almost invisible- thanks Mason DNA.  New chemically induced pouty lip-gloss proved a false promise.

 But forty is the new thirty.

 Puh-lease! 

My eyebrows grayed and spiked like pin-points.  I know, dye the gray with liquid chemicals or the newest rage- powdered chemical dye.  I might try the powder dye.

But my hands…  There was nothing available through Estee Lauder or Revlon able to  mask my arthritic hands, or feet, or my six joint replacement scars. I have not tried the newest scar removal crème.  What for?  Some things simply are the way they are. 

 I’m reading too many romance novels.  

The characters boast plentiful lips, athletic bodies adorned in milky skin with perfect long legs.  Sure they are flawed, who isn’t?  Except those romance novels fuel fantasies.  Even in my wildest dreams, my fingers are gnarled.  My lips are thin, my eyebrows are silvery spikes.  My feet are unique 😉 *Read my June 2010 Blog Entry for more details.

Then again, the heroine in this particular novel took her sweet time to come around- long legs, toned abs and all her physical perfections aside.  She rejected, she shielded, fought herself and her hero through one hundred eighty-seven pages. 

 And the little old lady has “a twinkle in her eye and a spring in her step within one paragraph.  To hell with her gnarled knuckles.  Who knows, (author, agent and editor aside) the little old lady philanthropist may have a scam of her own under all her glitzy garb.  You never know.

Keep reading, Bakus.  Keep dreaming.  Eventually, everyone finds their happily ever after.

4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Pat
    Oct 27, 2010 @ 19:46:55

    wow….
    no words –
    you wrote them all…..

    Reply

  2. Vikki Bakus
    Oct 28, 2010 @ 01:24:23

    Guess I’m unmasking. Thanks for always being here, to support me as I reveal myself in bits and pieces. You are the best 🙂

    Reply

  3. Lindsay
    Oct 28, 2010 @ 03:22:48

    Your words aren’t just words. They’re pictures.

    Reply

  4. Vikki Bakus
    Oct 28, 2010 @ 03:48:51

    Hey, Lindsay~good to hear from you again. Thanks for leaving such a wonderful comment. Knowing I’ve left a descriptive impression is a writer’s dream come true. I’ll keep dreaming and see what develops 🙂

    Reply

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