A Tosa resident since 1991, Christine walks the dog, cooks but avoids housework, writes and reads, and enjoys the company of friends and strangers. Her job takes her around the state, learning about people's health. A Quaker (no, they don't wear blue hats or sell oatmeal or motor oil), she has been known to stand on both sides of the political and philosophic fence at the same time, which is very uncomfortable when you think about it. She writes about pretty much whatever stops in to visit her busy mind at the moment. One reader described her as "incredibly opinionated but not judgmental." That sounds like a good thing to strive for!
Unlike most women I know, I'm blessed with an overly good opinion of how I look.
That said, it's been a long time since I've stopped to admire my reflection in windows and mirrors. At some point, you get resigned to being an obviously formerly semi-attractive woman. Then one day, you realize you are that person, minus the obviously part.
So I was surprised by what I saw when I checked the rearview mirror before leaving the dog park the other day. I was bundled absurdly, including a fuzzy hat plunked askew on top of my balaclava hoodie--the worst, but warmest, dressed woman (not that you could tell) in the field. Only my eyes were visible. And they were looking good--wide open, which translates to younger.
Or at least one was.
I checked again. It was so cold that I'd been tearing up, and the tears had frozen the lower eyelid in that wide-open position. It stayed that way as far as Mayfair Road, by which time thawing had commenced and I was back to normal.
I can't figure out how to turn "freeze your face with ice" into a money-making beauty proposition. And the requirement to be outdoors in single digit weather probably limits the market considerably.
Still, I'm offering it up for what it's worth.