Crepe Paper? Where’s the Party?
On My Upper Arms . . .
Crepe paper is for parties, so why is a party happening on my arms? I shouldn’t have been surprised when I looked in the mirror recently and spied some dreaded crepe paper skin. Well, I wasn’t surprised. I was dismayed. Isn’t it enough that my near-sixty body has protruding veins, horrid age spots, and so many broken capillaries on my thighs that they look like Manhattan street maps? The list could go on, and it does: glasses that get more powerful with each visit to the optician, hot flashes, moodiness, and forgetfulness. To top it off, I also have what I call "Michael Jackson disease"—vitiligo—so white spots dot the parts of my body that don’t have brown (horrid) age spots.
I suppose I should be grateful my upper arms don’t flap in the breeze. And, I am. Years of yoga and before that, years of schlepping babies and toddlers mean that despite what my nay-saying bench-pressing son believes, my arms do have the teeniest bit of definition.
However, the crepe-paper look is not one I want to cultivate in the climate in which I live. Florida starts getting toasty in April, morphs into hot in May, and then stays at so-hot-I-can’t-stand-it from June through mid-September.
Floridians keep cool by wearing as little clothing as basic decency permits. Maybe not all Floridians adhere to that standard, but I do. Being self-employed means I can skip office casual and go straight to summer-work-inside-my-home casual: flip-flops, shorts, and tank tops.
Tank tops do not cover arms. Baring my arms that recent morning, the light shone just right—and I saw crepe-paper lines, scrunched-up skin. My first impulse was to grab a long-sleeved shirt and to hide my arms, like I hide other less-attractive features, but it’s July. Crepe-paper skin isn’t something I want to advertise, but there it was, and I will not wear long sleeves in July, August, and September, and maybe not even in October. The tank tops stay on and I’ll just have to bare arms.
What to do? Crepe paper is for parties, so why not throw a party for my arms? What will my arms and I celebrate? We’ll celebrate the following:
- · Sixty years of balancing me and directing my hands
- · Carrying five babies, toddlers, and small children
- · Hugging. My arms have given, and received, thousands of hugs.
- · Cooking. My arms have made thousands of meals; my hands helped, of course, but would be useless without my arms.
- · Planting flowers, food, and herbs
- · Dispensing medicine as well as treats
- · Carrying thousands of bags of groceries
- · Waving to loved ones: hello and sometimes goodbye
- · Years of yoga, mountain pose, warrior, child pose
- · Driving—thousands of miles
- · Carrying towels, sunscreen, and drinks onto the beach
- · Reaching
- · Holding a loved one, even past the toddler stage
- · Leaning, falling, and helping me to stand again
If every eye wrinkle comes from a crinkled smile, then I suppose I can celebrate my arm wrinkles in all their crepe-paper party finery. I can celebrate where those wrinkles came from and look forward to celebrating and welcoming more of them. Bare these arms? You bet! They deserve it!