Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
“When you see me in February, I will look brand new.”
My dear friend said this to me not long ago. At the time, we were dining on croissants and some kind of sugar bun—one of the many holiday feasts we had recently consumed—but soon, he promised, it would be time for famine.
“I think you look good now,” I said.
“You are old and blind and deaf, so you can’t really see me,” He replied.
“I just heard you say that I am deaf. I HEARD that, but I’ll give you old and blind. You’ve got me there.”
On the advice of his masseur/healer guy, my pal will be spending January refurbishing the goods. He will abstain from alcohol, gluten, and sugar while adding copious amounts of exercise to his regimen.
I have never been a great giver-upper of things. I once swore off of Chardonnay for Lent and was thereby forced to drink champagne for weeks on end. That is more of a hardship than it sounds if one does not love a bubble, but I made it through.
I work out and try to take care of myself, and I have been pretty consistent regarding a diet/fitness regimen. Sometimes people ask me what the secret is. Why are so many people in my business in good shape?
It is my job. That is literally part of the job. Failure to keep it up is not an option.
That said, with the holidays in full swing, I am absolutely going to indulge here and there. This is the time of year that all of the rules are meant to be broken. There is definitely a box of See’s Candies Nuts and Chews out there with my name on it!
I confess I saw my doctor recently, the fellow who helped me get my jawline well … in line. Everybody in my business does that. If you work in front of a camera and plan ever to turn sideways, you are at some point going to need help with your sagging profile. I had not seen him in years, but thought it time that I stopped by. I was hoping to get a suggestion for a little in-office procedure or some such. A bit of a refresher—that’s what I was looking for. He examined me quietly and carefully, then gave me this advice:
“I think you need a full face-lift.”
He may just as well have said: “Well, Beth, the only thing for it, really, what we will have to do, is set you on fire.”
The thought of doing it just makes me want to cry. I mean, I found the jawline thing to be more than a bit of an ordeal. I got lucky with that one. I insisted that “less is more” and said that I could always come back and repeat the whole thing, if need be, thinking, of course, that this would never be necessary. I guess I thought the whole aging process would just stop right there.
It is the opinion of the good doctor that it did not. I have a mirror; I mean, I look at my face, and I see his point. The skin has slackened some; the wrinkles deepened.
I am just struggling to work up the energy to care. I mean, who are we fooling? I work in front of cameras constantly. While watching one of my recently released movies, I noticed a shot of my hand as I reached down to take a cake out of the oven. In art, as in life, I spend a great deal of time moving things in and out of ovens. The hand looked knotty and pale, and it looked old. It looked like the hand of a 65-year-old woman….
I AM a 65-year-old woman. At a certain point, I’m going to need to be okay with that.
January is the time when most folks in the business of show get their repair work done. They go in for surgeries, chemical peels, liposuction, and the like. Their cover story is most often the claim that they are touring Europe.
I just do not have the bandwidth for a “trip across the pond.” It sounds like too much damned time and trouble at this moment in my life. I do, however, need to make an appointment with the brilliant esthetician Lucy. She is attempting to keep me somewhat on track. It’s always a bit harrowing as she scrutinizes my face, looking for sags and bags that can be diminished or a bit of symmetry that has gone awry.
She has a coterie of tricks for this occasion that includes Botox and a variety of fillers. She has warned me that I am due for some kind of new-fangled peel: a CO2 treatment that is supposed to require five days for recovery. I am a bit on the fence about that one.
I had a full chemical peel years ago, and I looked like hell on wheels for a month. When I finally recovered, my skin looked great—not a freckle to be found. Then I opened the door to let the dog out and looked up at the sky, and every damned one of them came right back.
Point, please?
How about I change every light bulb in the house to 25 watts and just get on with it instead?
LIKE A FINE WINE.
I will see my “brand new” old friend in February. He is gorgeous, and the buffing and burnishing will only make him more so—and bravo to that! We are all doing what we can, all hoping to outsmart Father Time and retain a youthful essence.
That said, it is also important to enjoy getting older.
Aging is a privilege not afforded to everyone. A little gratitude is in order.
I got my Medicare I.D. in the mail last year. I’m thinking of it as a sort of “Get Out of Jail Free” card. It is quite liberating to no longer be teetering on the edge of it, but to be undeniably and properly old.
So, I am going to hold off on the whole redo for now. I look okay for an older gal, and I feel great. I am going to ride that for at least another year. For the foreseeable future, I am going to enjoy being “old” old me.
No promises, though. That doctor is brilliant, and this kind of thing weighs on me. Should I or shouldn’t I? In my profession, there are no easy answers to that question. So, if next January, you hear that I have gone “overseas,” y’all should definitely be on the lookout for a “new” old me.
No matter what, I will still be old and still be me, and I am good with that.
Wishing you all a safe and prosperous New Year!
On we go …
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