Mirrored Images

I have taken for granted the reassurance that comes from a daily glance in the mirror.  I have never been a person to spend time daydreaming, critiquing or vamping in front of a mirror. Rather, I practice an efficient use of a mirror. I brush my hair, I apply makeup in five minutes or less.  I make sure my slip is not showing or some other wardrobe malfunction might be problematic.  With the cursory role a mirror plays in my life, I wouldn’t have guessed that I would miss the feeling of being grounded that comes from an occasional reflection of myself. Walking through the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, I saw so many images of myself that I felt fragmented and broken.  In my present surroundings, mirrors are not readily visible.  In the absence of mirrors, I find myself freed from the need to - involuntarilycheck that I am neat, that I am put together.  I have also forgone eyeliner and blush.

For the past four days I have seen my likeness twice, and both times I was surprised.

The first time, just last night, my son, 140 miles away,  asked me to use Facetime on our iPhones.  This feature allows us to talk face-to-face.  Inadvertently, I had the camera turned on myself.  I was flabbergasted by the woman I saw with a deep furrow between her eyes, just noticeably behind her glasses.  The second viewing was this afternoon. I found a small mirror while sorting though some framed pictures and paintings. Slowly, I brought the mirrored glass up to my face.  I was startled by the person looking back at me. She was older, plainer, and mousier than the image I hold of myself. I put the mirror back among the framed pictures and paintings.  I prefer not to be greeted by any more such surprises.