The Makeup Counter

I know that this isn't a makeup counter--but it is a counter of sorts. I'm running this picture because today, I actually went swimming for the first time in about a month and this is supposed to be a blog that talks about swimming as a metaphor for living life in the liquid joy of forgiveness. Now I have done some swimming this year, but have been to busy to blog about it. Now it just feels good to be posting--as good as it felt to get into the water after almost a month...I can't even remember how long ago it was when I last went for a real swim.

It felt good to get into the water--I could feel some of the stress and tension flowing out of me as I kept going forward with steady strokes. Part of me wanted to be lazy and just do a little bit and coddle myself, but I kept saying, OK, just get over yourself, already! Keep going! It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be--not quite an hour, and 30 laps, so I was pretty happy. I didn't loose too much ground, at least I didn't think that I did. If I had been able to do a full hour, I think I could have done a whole mile...and hopefully it won't be another month till I get to try it. We are headed into a very busy season, and my head is already spinning.

I had various friends and loved ones react to my "catching fire" event in various ways. A few were incredibly sympathetic, but were quite honest in telling me that there was an aspect to the whole thing that made them, giggle, laugh, guffaw, snicker and otherwise have some sillies spill out of them, even though they tried hard to suppress them. Hey, who could blame them? This whole episode has been simply ridiculous, and a grace from God all at the same time--just another thing to help me get over myself. It wasn't the first by a long shot, and it won't be the last I'm afraid. I'm a pathetically slow learner at times. "Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come, 'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home." The truth is that God is trying to etch into my heart and mind and soul the kind of math He does as He adds and subtracts from my life. The most important equation to learn is this: Jesus + nothing = Everything!

There's nothing I can do to add to what He's done. He's done the work, and I need to rest in it, and as I rest, put forth my best effort to live for His glory as a thank offering, as that living sacrifice. And whenever that living sacrifice tries to crawl off the altar and run out the door, I'm determined to grab it by the scruff of the neck, and by His grace, haul it back there where it is supposed to be in the first place, because He loves me.

OK, now let's get to the makeup counter. I have to be honest with you--the day I had planned to go with my friend CC's support turned out to be a very wet and nasty day--and we had a very early (4:30 AM to be precise) distress call from Mom and Dad--and I was pretty convinced that I was going to need to make a trip out to the East Bay. So, I called and said, "Girlfriend, I'm sorry, but under the circumstances, I think I'd better hang here, just in case, to be available. But my hubby said he'd go with me on Saturday, so that's the deal."

Well, my dear friend was so excited. Hallelujah--another example of a husband loving his wife the way the Messiah loves His bride! "Take pictures," she said. "Before (without eyebrows) and after (when you are all beautified and your eyebrows are perfectly shaped and gorgeous)."

I have to be honest with you. She wanted me to post them. Well, problem one is that I don't think my pictures are going from my cell phone into the "cloud" whatever that is and my phone is now charging and off. I have to get my son-in-love the computer genius to help me figure that cloud business out at some point! So, I'd have to send the photo to my computer from my phone because I have no idea where they are on the computer, and I'm too tired. But since I won't have my computer for a few days, I won't be able to post--and I don't want to keep you in suspense.

Truth be told, I did take pictures--but my before picture looked hideous to me. My eyes were so puffy and swollen in the aftermath of my flame up. I looked about a hundred-thousand years old (don't you hear my father's voice in the background: "I've told you a MILLION TIMES not to exaggerate!"). At least I felt that when when I looked at my photo. The after picture was a bit better, but believe me--some sights are better left kept under wraps!

So we did our walk by the beach (this photo shows a place where we tend to stop and look at the waves and watch the pelicans fly in formation), and then headed to the mall. Hubby had an errand to do at Eddie Bauer--and he said, "Go to Nordies and get started and I'll meet you there!"

ULP! Holy Moral Support, Batman, you mean I have to do this myself?
So I texted Bex.
"Hon, where should I go, MAC or Clinique?"
"Go to Clinique, they're way nicer!"

Okie dokie--so now I had a place to go. I was absolutely unadorned, in all my "glory" not a drop of makeup anywhere. No eyebrows either. The counter was buzzing, and they weren't even giving away anything at that point. I contemplated forgetting the whole thing. I was very self-conscious of being in my walking clothes and not a "shopping outfit."
There were a boatload of people interested in getting beautified. I was just hoping to come out of the experience looking normal!

A cute gal named Amy finally came over and asked if she could help me. I took a deep breath. "I have a very strange story about why I'm here today, and I'm hoping you won't laugh...."
With that introduction, she was all ears. Amy turned out to be very kind, in addition to being perfectly made up. She also seemed very, very young...I have to tell you, I think that I have some sox in my dresser drawer that are older than she is...but she was so sweet. She was horrified when she heard about the flame up, and had a deeply concerned look on her face in all the right places as I told my story. When I was done she sighed. "Oh, I'm so glad you are OK! It could have been so much worse!" She was so sweet, so sympathetic, that if I had the money, I would have probably been tempted to by one of everything there, because she was so very kind. Good thing that the budget was limited and that my hubby came along shortly after I was seated in the chair, and she was making me eyebrows. That brought me back to reality. (No Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. And if there were, he'd be too poor to buy you the entire Clinique skin and makeup line today!)

I have to say that Amy's a good teache, so if you need faux eyebrows, she's your gal! Amy created one for my left eye, showing me step by step, and then it was my turn to apply the powder over my right eye and create the arch. My first attempt was clumsy and I felt a bit like the bride of Frankenstein on the right side. Amy helped fix it, and we tried it again. It was a little wobbly at first, but by the time I was done with attempt number two, I was fairly happy with it and so was Amy. So I brought the brow powder and a brush to go with it, and was ready to face the world.

As for my husband--I think that he was relieved that I went to Clinique instead of MAC. Some of the men working there looked seriously scary to him, and I'm not sure that he was willing to trust my face into their hands. Or get much closer. Me either. To top it all off, the music emanating from their general direction was loud and obnoxious.

So, when I got do do lunch with my friend CC that next Monday, she took a look at me and kindly said, "You'd never know you caught fire...you look great!"

Ah, what a priceless treasure a faithful friend is. You may look like something the cat dragged in, you may be bedraggled and in need of a major refurbishment and sorting out, but a faithful friend will look past the outside, be very kind about what she may see, and make you feel beautiful and loved and cherished. She'll remind you with a grin, that it won't matter in a hundred years, and you'll laugh, and be thankful that you are the age you are right at the moment.

The same day we did lunch, it occurred to me that I ought to check in with my eye doctor. I'm afraid to tell you how slow on the uptake I am! My doc was horrified, on one hand, but also had trouble trying not to laugh at the fact that I was more worried about my vaporized eyebrows than my eyes. Turns out my eyes are fine, and I just need some liquid tears for a few days so I'm comfy. Don't worry, she said, the brows will grow back.

We have an early flight tomorrow, so I'm going to post this now.
And my daughter was right--they are way nicer at Clinique...

Going up in Flames!

Hello, dear friends, so here I am once again. I'm not doing as much swimming these days as I'd like but I am trying to get in the water once in a while, when I'm not dealing with some kind of respiratory bug that seems to attack me on alternate weeks, when I'm exhausted with running about from here to the East Bay and back again. Anyway, I digress...

My dear friend CC insisted I post this story, and I'm going to do it. After all, why should I pretend to have my act together? Heaven only knows that I don't, so why should I keep that knowledge from you, my faithful fellow swimmers? It's time to come clean...well, you'll see what I mean!

I had a scary thing happen last night--
When we came home, the house was as cold as a granite mausoleum. The pilot light in our gas furnace was off --the wind must have blown it out when the garage door opened when I left early in the windy, rainy morning. So my dear husband, being the man of the house, manfully attempted to re-light it. It had been a long day at work for him, and he had taken the BART out to the East Bay to join me in visiting his folks, and while we had a lovely visit with them, we were both hungry, cold and fighting grumpiness. It had been a cold and hard rainy day--in some respects we were both really tired out from it.

So, neither of us could bear the thought of being in the house without any heat. After some sincerely brave attempts, the pilot was still off. My hubby went upstairs in frustration, and I thought, OK, I've got to figure this out or we are going to have a miserable night.

So I asked for the Lord to help me--a half prayer--not realizing how stupid I could be in
poking about into something I had the theory for but not the experience with.
I had seen our handyman re-light this thing before--I just didn't remember that he had used a long handled match to do it with--that was my first mistake. Hang on here friends, it only get better...

I took the long handled gizmo we use to light the fireplace with (it's got lighter fluid in it and produces a flame at the end, but for the life of me, I'm not remembering what to call it at this point), I got it to light, (no easy feat, I tell you) pressed the button to turn on the pilot and put it where you are supposed to in order to light the thing up.
The pilot caught, and I removed the lighter, and twisted the dial and FOOM!
A big whoosh of flame came out, and I moved back fast as I could (I was on my knees).
It caught me in the face, and I heard a crackle.
Long story short, some of my hair in the front got singed off,
my eyebrows are singed off, and I feel like a circus attraction.
My sweet hubby was horrified that I had hurt myself.
My forehead, my eye sockets were bright pink.
The furnace was on again, but I was a mess.
I splashed my face with cold water.
I was shedding bits of burnt hair all over the sink!
I was in shock--I jumped in the shower to wash off all the burned smell.
I laughed, and then I cried, somewhat hysterically.
Oy, what a mess I am!
And I kept thinking--Lord, You are Sovereign, what are You trying to help me see that I need to see that I can't seem to get? I didn't think I was that vain, but walking around on our upcoming travels without my eyebrows seems daunting.
I found an old eye pencil in my makeup bag and drew some in a little. I felt just a bit better.
It didn't look as awful as I thought it would. But I'm no beauty contest winner, that for sure!

I remember that when I was in Junior high some of the girls thought it was the height of style to shave off their eyebrows and then pencil new ones in place. I thought it looked dreadful back then. Well, now that this has happened to me, courtesy of my own stupidity, I see that I was right all along about that!

My beloved knew that comforting and gentle words were called for. He looked me straight in the eyes, (his eyes never lie) and said, "Your hair looks fine, no one will notice it, don't worry, you look beautiful to me, you don't look like a freak." Then helpfully he said to me, "You have to go get some of your favorite body lotion anyway before we hit the road, so go to Nordstrom to one of those beauty counters and ask them to help you with what you can do with makeup till your brows grow back to normal."

Brilliant idea, right? So why do I have that crazy sinking sensation that I used to get whenever I would stand up to sing a solo in junior high choir and everyone was staring at me?
Oy, I am a mess! Why does presenting myself at the cosmetic counter in this hairless state make me feel nervous and unsettled and semi-miserable? Is it my pride making the idea of going to one of those perfect ladies from Nordstrom and asking for help my problem thoroughly abhorrent? Will they laugh after I leave or will they be unable to contain themselves and laugh in my face? And why in the world should I care about that?

My lovely daughter offered to drive all the way in today to hold my hand so I could do this.
I declined her generous offer--this is her errand day, and she's got stuff she needs to do.

My life sometimes feels like a chapter in the Perils of Pauline!

This is one wild, rambling post and if you have stayed with me thus far, you have more intestinal fortitude than most, and I am grateful.

When I think about it, I am profoundly grateful for another reason. It isn't lost on me that this little debacle could have been infinitely worse. I'm a bit singed but still here, and I'm still planning on swimming in God's love while I laugh at my own silliness and absolute need for His grace. Every day I get a fresh demonstration of my need for Him. There's actually a great deal of freedom in being able to post this whole mess here!

So, here's the deal--I wrote all about this to my dear CC, complete with my panic attack about the Nordstrom ladies and she came up with a different spin altogether. She has a delicious sense of the ridiculous and CC unfurled a scenario that I could picture as if it were a movie: "You go to the MAC counter, and some adorable gay guy with makeup brushes galore comes to your rescue. 'DAH-ling, what EVER did you DO TO YOURSELF' he croons at you in a silky voice. Suddenly, you are gorgeous thanks to his miraculous brush work, and you learn how to do this genius stuff yourself and are now going around splendiferous, all the time. Oh, what fun it would be to go to Nordies with you, to watch the whole thing happen!"

So now, you guessed it--I'm seriously contemplating driving to get CC at lunch-time, tomorrow, making the trip to the downtown Nordies and going for it. She says I should milk it for all I'm worth! I'm going to need to go out and buy a box of chutzpah flakes. I must be insane to be thinking of doing this. Or in desperate need of a good laugh. Or eyebrows. Or perhaps both! But my hubby gave me permission--even encouraged me to do this. Why not?

So, tune in next time for our next episode of "The Woman who had no Eyebrows." It's sure to be quite a wild one, especially if CC comes along to help make it so!