A Wrinkle in Time

I love wrinkles. Really. I wish every wrinkle on my face could talk. "Hey! I was born when Brody cracked his face on a motorcycle peg at the age of three!" or "Look at me! I'm a three-pack that started out when Coleson broke his arm for the second time!"

My wrinkles would not be as interesting to talk to as some people I've come across in my life. Several years back, I worked nights at an independent living complex. I didn't have too many interactions with the seniors that lived there, but every now and then one of the residents couldn't sleep and would come sauntering into the common area in hopes of meeting up with one of us night-shift girls. I would make a pot of coffee (these people didn't care if caffeine was going to keep them awake at night because they were up anyway) and we'd have a seat in the comfy chairs and talk or just watch TV together. Once they started talking, oh the stories they would tell! There's nothing like listening to glory days of an era gone by.

I'm sure many of the stories I heard were embellished but that's fine by me.....it made the tales much more interesting!

There's also the happy wrinkles. We call them laugh lines. They are beautiful. Each of my laugh wrinkles could tell you a joke.

Unfortunately I have those nasty angry wrinkles too.....too many of them. I know I've got a permanent scowl going on. They have stories too.

The most I can do is take care of my skin by washing it every morning and every night and smearing on a good moisturizer. I wouldn't want to erase all my facial lines....maybe just soften them up a bit. I like looking in the mirror and know that I've lived and all the tears and laughter had a purpose.