Real Life

I am reading Anne Lamott's new book, Grace (Eventually). I am loving it and I knew that I would. She is one of my favorite authors and has been for awhile. I knew that she had a new book coming out but I wasn't really paying attention and then Ann talked about it and then Mike blogged about it....so.....I bought it this week. I should've been grocery shopping but Mary Kate and I went to the bookstore instead. Where do you think my priorities are?
I love these next passages....they are not my absolute favorites...but I am being discriminating and was afraid that some might be offended by my very favorite so far.
So, here is some amazing insight from Anne Lamott...

Joy is the best makeup. Joy, and good lighting.
If you ask me, a little lipstick is a close runner-up.
I know women from every place on the makeup continuum: some who wear none; some who wear a lot, who spackle it on, who could play Shakespeare in the park as soon as they drop the kids off. I know some who wear a lot, and look wonderful.
It's only when you think you need to be concealed, because you're unacceptable, that makeup causes harm. Skin does get rattled with age; wrinkles and hectic color do not contribute to an impression of the dewy calmness of youth. But some makeup, while perhaps not simulating dewy youth, acts as a kind of airbrushing. It restores balance to the face. It makes you look less terminal.
Also, it distracts from the melatonin mustache.
And pretty lipstick makes you look so much less tense and mean. Left to their own devices, lips pucker with the purse strings of age; lipstick can make them soft and more relaxed again.
I wear tinted moisturizer, light blush, and lipstick. It gives me a face I am happier to bring into the world. I look less scary. I'm very glad to claim the crone who is coming to life within me; I just don't want her to screech so loudly that she silences the little girl who is still around, drowns out the naughtly teenager, or mutes the flirtatious middle-aged woman.
Here is my theory: I am all the ages I've ever been. You realize this at some point about your child-even when your kid is sixteen, you can see all the ages in him, the baby wrapped up like a burrito, the one-year-old about to walk, the four-year-old napping, the ten-year-old on a trampoline.