Archive for the ‘observations’ Category

What Happens If Your Mother (Not Your Favorite Reality Star) Has Plastic Surgery?

Saturday, February 6th, 2010

Delia Ephron

Delia Ephron

Screenwriter, Playwright, Author

Posted: February 3, 2010 01:13 PM in HuffingtonPost.com

I haven’t been watching many reality shows lately because of the crying. There is simply too much of it. Last season on Project Runway, Christopher cried because he was sure that he was the only person in the world who would design a dress inspired by a rock (something I am sure he is wrong about). I have no idea how much crying there is on The Hills, since I was never a fan, but it did catch my attention in People magazine that Heidi Montag, star of the show, cried after she had ten plastic surgery procedures in one day. Heidi, I know from a quick Google search, is 23, although since her plastic surgery she looks 33. Which is actually something to cry about.

I have been interested in and done research on this subject spun slightly different: What happens if your mother (not your favorite reality star) has plastic surgery? This is the subject of my new novel for teenagers, The Girl with the Mermaid Hair.

If, as a teenager, you spend hours in front of a mirror deciding, say, whether one nostril is larger than the other or worrying whether your breasts point in different directions (typical teenage obsessing), do you outgrow this madness or make more radical choices if your mother comes home with larger lips, a smaller ass, a new chin, a different nose, bigger breasts? How do you feel if your mom suddenly doesn’t have any expression in her face? Or if you look into your mother’s eyes and no one is home?

Your main job as a teenager is to learn to love yourself. How can you do this if your mother hates herself?

In my research, what was so startling was how aware all the teenage girls were of their mother’s fear, or, more accurately, their hatred, of aging. One girl said, “Every time I wrinkle my forehead, my mother points it out and tells me not to. Even if I’m in the middle of a really important conversation.” Another spoke about “competitive dieting” with her mom, how she couldn’t help but engage in it even though she thought her mother’s obsession with fat was “crazy.” There is a study out this week from the Girl Scouts of the USA telling us what we already know, which is that the fashion industry and its use of ultra-thin models is making teenage girls too obsessed with being skinny, and distorting their body image. In my more limited unscientific research, the mothers are as strong an influence. Going on shopping trips with mom, usually a bonding experience, became all about hearing moms moan about their fat and rolls. Or seeing your mother trying on something, look in the mirror and say, “”I look ugly.”

I have vivid memories of my own adolescence when the main purpose of shop windows was not to see the clothes in them but my own reflection, when hours could be spent in front of a mirror deciding if my eyebrows matched. Emotionally, teen life is no different today, but now you can act on your own insecurities. You can fix them.

A lot of healthy acting out occurs in the mirror, as my research showed. Singing and dancing and even telling off people who hurt your feelings or trying on new identities. But there was also a lot of obsessing about body image. One girl got dressed using four mirrors, running from one to the next: one had good indoor lighting, one was a “skinny” mirror, one had natural light, one she could get the closest to. “If something is wrong with you,” a teenage girl said, “the mirror magnifies it.” Another said, “If I think something’s wrong with me, like my thighs are too fat, when I look in the mirror that’s all I see.”

God knows, I am not advocating growing old naturally, just to remember what a tender fragile time adolescence is. In my research, one teenage girl confided, “Seeing my mother after her surgery scared me to death.” We need our moms to be stable and secure. I have so many friends who will tell me with surprise, when looking at photos of themselves when they were younger, “Hey, I was really cute. I didn’t realize it.” No one does. You have to get older to realize it. Imagine if you got older and realized that you’d destroyed your younger self. You had operated it away.

Now that’s something to cry about.
Books & More From Delia Ephron
Frannie in Pieces (Laura Geringer B…
The Girl with the Mermaid Hair

Posted in Health, Humor, Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized, ickiness, inspiration, inspiring women, observations | No Comments »

Autumn: I Hate this part

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

IMG_1787This Fall has been the most gorgeous I can remember, her colors the most brilliant and varied. Wednesday (two days ago) the sun shone brightly, increasing the vividness. It was warm, almost balmy, with an autumnal breeze.
Then the inevitable happened. Yesterday, the big fat wind came, accompanied by wet cold. The leaves fell like flakes in a blizzard, leaving trees half bare and swaying.
Thank Goodness I was out in that glorious day, sucking it in like and athlete’s breath! Thank goodness I didn’t put it off even one day.
Life’s like that, isn’t it? It’s NOW. Here for the taking, living, loving.
‘Not a dress rehearsal’ as my dad used to say.
So- though the fleeting beauty brings with it, for me, a wistful sadness, I embrace it! Yes, I hate this part. And thank Goodness for each and every (gorgeous) day.

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bodservations of an aging woman

Monday, March 24th, 2008

This morning, while doing my first stretch class in a long while (years), I got some funny, unexpected extras.

For example, as I stood, legs straight and stretched apart, arms up toward the sky, then  turned to the side and stretched down toward my foot i felt the loose skin (where did THAT come from, and WHEN?) on my arms and face cascade down with me. (Isn’t that freaking lovely?)
Then, I was on my back with legs straight and extended up to the sky (really- this class was outside!), lifted up and back over my head so I was face to face with the tops of my thighs. The skin was hanging down (just a bit), and the texture was kind of like the outside of an orange rind. ‘Connective tissue’ has never been my strong suit.  Reeeeeally pretty. Lovely, again!

My son says how fat I am and grabs a handful of my middle. I explain to him that it’s skin he’s holding, not fat.  (Heck, I’m 5 foot 9  and only weight 133lbs. Even I know that’s not exactly fat. )He tries to process the information. He’s eleven.

On the other hand, I am healthy, as far as I know. I so enjoy my daily run, even with jiggling body parts. Everything works, well.

And, as I said in the beginning, all this body shifting adds up to free entertainment, among other things.  And, the entertainment is always there for the enjoying.

Lucky me!

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Smile, please.

Wednesday, September 19th, 2007

I’ve been thinking about this for months. When I make a conscious effort to smile at everyone I see, there are great results. Even the grumpiest faces smile back. And seem transformed. Then, I feel great. It generates positive energy. And if one or two people are uplifted, so is the world.

So, this post officially kicks off the HardWorking Woman Smile Initiative. The idea is to consciously smile at everyone we see. Especially the ones you don’t want to smile at! (Then the payoff is even greater.) Whether it’s people we know or not, walking by or driving by. In the grocery aisle or on the sidewalk.

And, in honor of the initiative, HWW presents a new tee shirt:

Check it out in the HWW store.

And, from me to you:  :)

Posted in General, Humor, Personal, Uncategorized, friendship, good works, observations | No Comments »

will life last longer if i move to san diego?

Sunday, July 22nd, 2007

We had another one yesterday. One of those blue-eyed, blue-skyed, warm and breezy, low-humidity days, so unusual in the midwest. And so especially precious. I wanted to hold onto it.. keep it. I  know in the blink of an eye, this day will give way to night (as gorgeous as it may be); summer will be over. Ben will be going back to school, they days will shorten.
I remember when time seemed to moved painfully slowly. When I was little, a week would take a month. Now, an entire season passes in a moment. sometimes i feels sad and even angry about it.
STOP! Slow down, at least!
So, i figure if i move to San Diego where (i’m told)  weather like this is every-day constant, at least i wont have the changing seasons to remind me of the speedy passing of time. Racing toward the end of my living in this world.
Not that i haven’t always loved the changing seasons. So much that even as i am saddened to notice the passing of one season i become elated at the becoming of the next one. It’s just that now, it all happens way too faster and faster.
Like toilet paper near the end of the roll.
Of course, even in San Diego,  though I might not have the changing seasons to remind me, I’d have to avoid calendars and my awareness of them.  Memorial day giving way to Halloween, and so on.
Guess i couldn’t watch the TV news or read the newspapers either. I wouldn’t be able help  my 11 year-old son with his homework anymore. the work is arithmetic one day, then filling out college applications the next.
I’d have to get rid of the mirror. So i couldn’t see what used to be my face, and what it is now. And now. and now.
Now is so— now. Fleeting. Instantaneous. Not the same as a moment ago. Unique.

And, I guess rather than moving to San Diego and avoiding mirrors, I could just enjoy the now that i have. With my son. And the other beings I love. With the sun. Or the rain. With myself.

Posted in General, Humor, Personal, observations | 2 Comments »

in memory of one hardworking woman

Saturday, July 21st, 2007

Political cartoons

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am i working?

Saturday, July 21st, 2007

Work vs. Play
sounds like a face off. or a competition. at least, two opposites? mutually exclusive opponents?
Work=hard, gotta, have to, what one does so, and before, she can play? wouldn’t do it if i didn’t have to? Not play. Big.
Play=effortless, fun, want to, what you do after work is done. not work. Little. Inconsequencial.
It is said ‘play is the work of children.’
When does that change? when mom starts making you clean your room? Is sharing-your-toys your first job?
At school, they sneak work in. In those earliest years, ya think it’s all play. You don’t even realize you are learning. Then the learning becomes more formalized. and, for some, less fun. Work.
Some people are lucky enough to love their jobs. ‘I can’t believe i get paid for doing this’ they say. Some would rather work than play.
Sometimes work looks like play. Like taking little ones to the park. Someone elses’s little ones. for some, pushing little Jenny on the swing is work. Or, just on some days it feels like work. but not on others.
If it feels like work is it work?
Golf is a game. People work on their game. Is practicing a sport work?
Momming. some days it’s work, others not. some hours, some moments it’s the very hardest work.
work (wûrk)n.
1. Physical or mental effort or activity directed toward the production or accomplishment of something.
v.intr.
1. To exert oneself physically or mentally in order to do, make, or accomplish something.
Hmm. when you put it that way, work sounds pretty darn good. and fun. it could include knitting a sweater or baking a cake. not just balancing the checkbook or writing an expense report. it could be telling a joke– making someone smile. It could be giving a hug.
2.a. A job; employment: looking for work.
b. A trade, profession, or other means of livelihood.
npw, there are jobs and there are….jobs. there’s taking out the garbage and making a pot of tea. There is researching to find a cure for cancer.work, in fact, can be important or trivial, joyful or painful, of one choosing or something one has to do. it can bring many rewards, including a paycheck. but it doesn’t have to. it can feel like nothing comes of it. work can be noble. righteous. or at least make the worker feel that way.
sometimes work, or play, is more a state of mind than anything. the same activity can be work for one and play for another. or at different times, for the same person.

another definition:3.a. Something that one is doing, making, or performing, especially as an occupation or undertaking; a duty or task: begin the day’s work.
like taking a bath? locking up before going to bed?

here’s a good one: 4a. The part of a day devoted to an occupation or undertaking: met her after work.
b. One’s place of employment: Should I call you at home or at work?
what is someone’s ‘occupation or undertaking’ is not limited to a particulat part of the day? what if her place(s) of employment include “at home.’ (hence the hww tee shirt: 9->5=24/7)
ON THE OTHER HAND—
play (pl)
v. played, play·ing, plays
v.intr.
1. To occupy oneself in amusement, sport, or other recreation: children playing with toys.
Ah. so, for it to be play it has to be recreation? as opposed to the accomplishment of something? Can one work and play at the same time? what is play for one is work for another?

Then, there is just ‘what we do.’ No matter what label is put on it. productive, somehow, even if for our own heart, or soul. Profound or trivial. all worth celebrating during this short life, while we have it.

Posted in Career, Humor, Multitasking, Parenting, observations, unwork | No Comments »

‘as if’

Sunday, June 24th, 2007

i think judith would have chosen this place to sit, early in the morning, in the yard of the apartment building she lived in, to rock gently as i am doing now.l she’d told me how she loves to just be– in nature. to feel the sun on her. and the wind.
i came out to read (j would have loved this book about raven behavior) but there are too many distractions. the birds, mainly, walking flying persching talking. singing. to each other and to no one. there is a giant elm tree hosting many of them. and other trees and buildings all around doing the same. the lawn of this great city yard mingles wildflowers (weed, to some) and grass, and the way the weeds looks improves the beauty of the whole thing. the breeze is cool and lovely mitigating the early burning sun.
still, 10 years later, whenever i look out what was, for a short time, my mom’s bedroom window, i can not help but see as if i were she. from the bed. seeing the beauty of the maple leaves against the sky. Moving, sunlit. Thinking about the thoughts she may have thought. or not thinking.
thinking what others think, feeling what she feels. being a particular person in the light of her. no wonder it feels as if a part of me dies when she they dies. because it does.

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