The New Year Begins

Faye Lippitt

The New Year begins. Choose your memories. We are one of very few countries on earth that have the privilege of unmasked gatherings of friends. 2020 may have had its challenges, but I think that we will always remember it. Strong memories stick.

When it comes to your children, if you take a moment and write down those crazy, precious things they do today, they will stick on  paper and in mind. For me, the memories sparkle my days as I grow older.

I recall one hopeful New Year when I checked the mirror and cringed at the reflection. That mirror mirror on the wall was telling me that the fairest of them all – not even the fairest of a few – was not looking back at me. After a long look, the thought occurred that I’d been very busy looking after the kids, and perhaps a tad remiss in looking after myself. Maybe my body just needed a bit of care and attention. Surely with a bit of creative ministrations, there was still hope to be found. Trusting that natural ingredients are best, and that I happened to have most of them, I went to the kitchen in search of a morsel of that hope.

What I had in mind required a quiet place, so noting that the kids were downstairs, absorbed in their TV show, I proceeded to concoct what I thought would really help my skin.  In a bowl I mixed up a raw egg (love the protein), and vitamin E (works miracles they say). I then smeared it all over my face and neck and when there was a lot left over, I lovingly massaged the rest into my hair, and on to my arms and hands. Humming to myself, I waited for it to dry before I headed for the shower.

Unfortunately our son Spencer wandered into the kitchen before I was able to make my exit. Almost a teen, he was always hungry so I should have known to avoid that particular location for my beauty treatment. Keeping my back turned, I casually edged to the sink to clean the bowl with the hope that he’d head for the fridge as usual and I might then avoid any kind of explanation. It didn’t work.

Silence ensued and then in a dismayed voice Spencer said, “What did you do to your hair!”

“I put an egg in it” I said casually, as if that is what moms do when alone in the kitchen.

“Why?” I noted some concern in the voice.

“To make myself look beautiful” I said simply, hoping he would go away. He didn’t . By this time the egg mixture had started to dry which had the effect of casting a yellow tinge to face and arms, tightening and shriveling my skin and stiffening my hair. When I turned and left the kitchen with as much dignity as I could muster, I was aware of a pair of astonished eyes following me. I’d just about made it to my room when I heard a quiet voice behind me.

“Mom,” he said sadly, “It isn’t working.”

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