MISSING, NOT LOST

I m not quite right, I ve known for a long while, almost since grade school. Maybe it was the baby blue, cat eye, glasses with ruby rhinestones I insisted on when it came time to pick out my first pair of glasses. I was forced to wear a patch over my right eye for a couple weeks in second grade. The Optometrist was adamant the patch would make my lazy eye, strong. It never worked, but Patsy felt horrible that I had to wear the patch and gave into the artsy glasses, she even bought me some white, calve high, walk n boots, like the ones Nancy Sinatra wore when she sang These Boots Are Made for Walking.

I never travelled with the masses. Months, years, and even decades went by before I truly accepted myself. Having recently arriving at fifty, I thought it was time. Now, when I am looking over my shoulder at the past I shudder when I spot those periods in my life when I tried to be part of, fit in, look like, and be everything I wasn t. Of course, one size fits all is a misnomer; something always gave me away, almost like my tail was poking through my normal costume.

In the seventh grade, it was the story I wrote about the gypsies. In High School, it was because I knew every single Dean Martin song by heart, and just knowing Eddie Fisher was married to Debbie Reynolds saw me banished to the loser bench during lunch times. The 70 s failed to seduce me, instead, I traveled back. In college it was reciting Edgar Allen Poe s The Raven when I was stressed I never realized this was an audible event. Marti, the Dorm President, suggested while we were standing next to one another in the communal bathroom and brushing our teeth, that maybe, I might want to find a different poem to recite while studying in the group room. She had a point.

In my corporate life, it was my clothes. Investment Banking had a dress code, blue and black, shades of grey and white. I never wore white silk blouses with my blue, pin, stripped suits. I ve always thought navy and fuchsia made a handsome couple. Of course, with the corporate salary came the discovery of other, more, luxurious treats, like hair color, red shoes, exotic purses made from vintage fabrics, books, music, travel, and, boutiques. Life s march continued forward, as did my own evolution. Both competing for attention, neither followed a straight line, nor kept to plan.

Somewhere along the way I got married, had a couple of kids, a boy and a girl. My girl is me, only in THX, and Kodak only wishes they could capture her Technicolor I will be ashes in the wind when she figures out what I finally did. I know when I am walking the halls of her school the other Mom s give me the once over, some do a reasonable job of hiding their disapproval, others don t. It s part of the Mom game I guess. I took a Lover along the way, we lasted five years - it was a good run. Those Moms who cast their disapproving stare in my direction wouldn t approve of that choice either, but, as the Joe South song goes, Walk a mile in my shoes .. Life is an event, is it not?

Turning fifty was a surprise to be honest. At fifty, I am still wearing my hair long and chemically enhancing its tones. It s not to hide the grey that is weaving its way in, it s because the bronze and golden highlights are a striking contrast to the Cadbury s Bourneville chocolate natural hair color I was born with. I continue to shop at boutiques as an alternative to big box department stores. I can t see my curvaceous form in floral colored Capri s. A noticeable and noteworthy change in my shopping habits, I buy better bras these days. What I do share with women across the globe, is my body s battle with time. I fret over the shape of my body. A decade or so ago it occurred to me that no woman, whether she is a size 0 or a size 20, is truly, completely, 100% happy with the body she is putting in her jeans. It was a grounding moment, the mirror and I struck an accord.

At fifty, I ve accepted who I am and that something is missing, but it s not something I ve lost.

Brenda Moguez is a native Los Angelino, with a medium size stint in the UK spanning years. She survived one major and two minor bombings by the IRA, discovered real cheese that for her was a big deal as for years she thought it came in a box, wrapped in foil. She went mad for the Marks and Spencer’s knickers and West End theater offerings. Brenda also lost her Latin olive coloring and became pasty British white – she refers to this period of her life as her English Stepford days. Brenda now resides north-east of San Francisco, has two kids, two cats, two cars and several pairs of ‘one size fits all’ pantyhose she bought in a fashionable London Department store that stop half way up her ‘bum’. She figures when she can pull the ‘one size fits all’ hose over her bum she will have body perfection. Secretly she is betting the odds against this red-letter day. Brenda is working on her first novel, and has countless short stories under her belt. She found writing to be a cure all for most if not all of life’s aliments. She writes passionately in her journal to a fictional character serving a life sentence in Changi prison. Dear Diary never worked.

Email: Brenda Moguez

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