1957: Kathleen Eulalie, Widow
My lipline's retreated since Tuesday. I'll toss those Hazel Bishop reds, (lipstick on shriveled lips rattles men, scares little children) skip Woolworth's cosmetics counter, save backaching, ankleswelling pondering of powders, rouges, Max Factors or Revlons; sally forth with my own eyebrows and naked eyelids; spend my mad money on good causes, books of poetry, a decent handbag; carry on with less flounce, bounce, and better girdles; forgo fuschia; choose smaller hats with conservative feathers. (My Harry said I had panache when it came to hats.) If I've gotten through the Depression, two goddamned wars, the death of a child, and Harry's stomach cancer, I can damn sure get the hang of being old. I'll pray to St. Jude. And I'll go to confession.
This voice makes me want to hear more of it.*
*, Nonnie. Such a good use of imagery to describe her coming to terms, preparing her.
"... I can damn sure get the hang of being old."
Glorious character and voice. She's got it covered!
Lady still got spunk. I'd ask her to dance. *
Beautiful snapshot.*
Agree with Chris. The voice makes me keep coming back to the piece. Good read.
We become so accustomed to our twenties and thirties...
A loving tribute that artfully avoids the maudlin through the panache resonant in this voice.*
*
Getting the hang of getting old is not as easy as you'd think. *