That Place You Love: Real People. Real Stories.
Round Up on CONFUSION & More COOKING... Next Up: REFLECTION...
I chose to wait until today to publish…
I changed up the timing on this FINAL PROMPT to give Contributors more time & word count to close out the year.
I’m also in the process of behind-the-scenes housekeeping & looking ahead to 2024 and thinking about how…
That Place You Love can be of service.
Now, I could have stuck to the Monday/Friday (sometimes Tuesday/Saturday) structure I established in January…
Purely to stick to the structure I established in January.
I would have been ignoring the NOW - December 23rd & 25th - days that very few Subscribers & Contributors are looking at their inboxes or social media.
At least I wasn’t looking at my inbox or social media (much).
I also had a screenplay deadline December 21st, which I hit.
The next day, our dog, who had been bitten by another dog, was coming off of his pain meds. We had no idea dogs have the Delirium Tremens like humans do.
Of course, he wasn’t going cold turkey off of alcohol.
It was an anti-inflammatory he took for 12-days after surgery.
Poor guy was experiencing the dark hours (reminded me of taking bad mushrooms or LSD and needing my best friends to see me through).
That was Friday the 23rd. (Ragazzo is fine now).
We were then blessed to have one of my best friends & her family visit for Christmas Eve & Christmas Day, so we were hosting LIVE.
Joy Joy!
I also used this time to REFLECT on this Substack and its value to me and anyone who reads & engages.
Round Up on Confusion. New Theme: Reflection below!
If you’ve missed a week or you’re starting to feel like you might have a story to contribute, click on a THEME LINK to write 150 - 200 words on:
I always include new posts with unique links in the Round-Up.
3 Contributors weighed in on Confusion:
I wrote about eating hot dogs at IKEA as a confused response to consumerism and a doctor & a vet trying to solve the problems of a dog & a person much to their surprise.
Carole D recalls a young student’s “my-life-is-over-if-I-don’t-get-what-I-want desperation” causing confusion about the real needs of adulthood: food & shelter.
Zig flashes back to 1995 East Berlin where gatherings & manifestations were tamped down by riot police & solidarity buoyed spirits amidst the confusion.
Intact Animal introduces his friend Paul who is 99% deaf & whose subconscious desire to be slightly confused & infuriated drives his romantic pursuits.
READ & HEART this week’s writers & SHARE your own story in the comments.
Hej Dog & Colonoscopy Cancel
Where Confusion took me… In Friday’s Round-Up on COOKING I wrote about a misguided trip to IKEA in search of a trashcan. There is nothing special about the trashcan other than we want to replace one we bought 10-years-ago that’s held together with duct tape.
Contributor Zig went back to COOKING to write about her mom’s delicious chả giò spring rolls & how the smell of fish sauce & garlic carried with her (too far).
Contributor Shirlé went back to COOKING to write about her trajectory as a personal chef & the many memoir-worthy experiences cooking in people’s homes.
(Click on the unique hyperlink to read their stories)
If you’re reading this for the first time…
And want to know more about the ZINE’s mission, go to ABOUT or FORUM on the Substack platform or read the introductory post I WAS AN EASY LIAR.
Next Up: REFLECTION
REFLECTION means more than looking back on a period of time (although I revisit every month on my agenda to remind myself of where I’ve been - mentally & physically - the past year).
I also look at my REFLECTION in the mirror - even the rearview while driving - and wonder, “Who the heck is that?”
The characteristics of my face have changed over the past 5 years… straddling my 40’s & 50s. There are signs of what I call “Post Traumatic Face”, basically a furrowed brow at all times.
For me, REFLECTION jump starts the process of LETTING GO.
Where does REFLECTION take you?
Read & Share in as many words as you want!
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Sincerely, for real.
Michelle
I was tired of looking at my reflection and seeing a face imprinted with worry, so it was with my tail between my legs that I entered the offices of Rocio X, a plastic surgeon, on December 7, 2023. I had known Rocio socially for a couple of years. I also trust her as a surgeon who helps people after cancer treatment & car accidents. She's not the Beverly Hills type.
Why was I there? I had a very small Dot on the side of my nose where my glasses pad rests. It bothered me to no end. I could see it in my vision, and I was obsessed with it in the magnifying mirror. After trying everything non-invasive for a year, I asked Rocio about removing it with a laser. During our appointment, which was more like a therapy session, I admitted that 2023 had taken a toll on me, and I couldn't get my worried brow to relax.
Of course, Botox was suggested. Botox would 'freeze' my middle worry lines (muscles) so that the other muscles on the outer sides of my face would engage again. The worry muscle was so strong, it overrode the rest of my expressions. Rocio showed me before and after photos of her clients. I noticed the Before's all looked like they had been through Trauma. The After's looked like the same person after a week of rest. That's how subtle Post Traumatic Face Syndrome (I made that up) is.
The magic of Rocio's consultation: the Dot has since disappeared on its own, and I have sought (still seeking) weeks of rest - incrementally - to smooth my PTFS brow. My reflection has altered slightly since I've made time to process the WHY of my trauma. The WHAT of my worry. Perhaps, acceptance is also at work....
I usually smile at myself in the mirror, much as I would coming face to face with someone else. I joke that having poor eyesight is a blessing at a certain age; I don’t have to see the lines the Anti-Aging Industrial Complex is warning me to fear.
Can I look in a mirror and see a familiar face, one that belongs to someone I’ve seen through the bright times and dark days, without fear or judgment? My refusal to get caught up in the way I look is a point of pride. And perhaps also a form of self-protection.
I like to think I refuse to adopt an actual skin-care routine because I’m truly not concerned about my appearance. But is it the feminist in me (as I claim) or the pretty-enough girl who would never be a beauty feeling relieved at the chance to bow out of the competition? I guess it doesn’t matter.
What if the only thing you knew about your face was the reaction of other people? I assume you’d figure out where you landed on the attractiveness scale. But without the details, would you be free from the desire to change things around? Would the joy you evoked in the eyes of your loved ones be enough?
I think we want to be beautiful because we want to be loved. Isn’t that at the root of most of our desires and behaviors? I live in a world that is obsessed with youth and beauty. I’m making my tiny stand against it by accepting my face as it is. So I smile whenever I see it.