Archaeological Inventory

I must report that a pair of ones have taken up permanent residence between my eyebrows. My Elevens*, I call them, although to be technical there are actually three lines so I really should call them my One Hundred and Elevens. Soon it will be 1111.  It's okay, I've earned them: deep listening, hikes under the sun, worried concern, utter confusion, tunneled concentration, baffled irritation, baby birthing, and animated storytelling have slowly, gradually carved out these hieroglyphics on my forehead. 

I like them, kind of. I have compassion for them.  If nature's going to do a number on my face, I'll take elevens. And the parentheses around my mouth are fine, too, hinting at my lifelong affinity for good company and lots of unabashed laughter.

4-up on 2013-09-18 at 17.24 #5.jpg

It's the surprising, singular hairs setting up overnight pop-up shops in odd locations that puzzle and annoy me. 

And if the corners continue their gravity-droop on my naturally frowny mouth, I will scare small children and certainly be labeled the neighborhood witch in future decades. But at least Halloween will be great fun!

Getting older is weird. But I'll take it. 

. . . 

*Not to be confused with elevenses, of which I am also a big fan.