Nora Ephron feels bad about her neck
THIS WEEK’S WINNER
Gina Arboleda graduated from UST with an AB Journalism degree. For several years she worked in a bank, computer sales company and retail organization handling human resources development and management. She has six kids, ages ranging from 14 to 30. “I will always be grateful that I am blessed with a good husband. Reading, watching movies and traveling are my interests.”
I admire writers who dish out funny anecdotes and at the same time say something truthful and touching. This is what Nora Ephron of When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail is so good at. Her book, I Feel Bad About My Neck, is a hilarious and moving narration about life as a woman of a certain age.
Ephron’s concern with her neck begins when she has an operation that leaves a terrible scar just above the collarbone. She admonishes her readers: “Never have an operation without a plastic surgeon in the room to keep an eye out. Because even if you honestly believe that your health is more important than vanity, even if you vow to be eternally grateful to be alive and never to complain about anything ever again, I promise you that one day soon, you will look in the mirror and think — I hate this scar!”
Furthermore, she wryly comments, “Anything you think is wrong with your body at the age of 25 you will be nostalgic for at the age of 45.”
I am more than a decade younger than Ephron but I can fully relate to her sentiments and experiences in getting old. I used to have thick, curly hair in my 20s. After more than 30 years of marriage, six kids and several relax/hair coloring treatments, I now cannot leave the bathroom without picking up strands of hair on the floor — my precious hair! I have always been thin, maybe because, as my father told me, I did not eat well as a child. In high school, a friend was shocked when she held on to me and felt my bony wrist. With pride, I even told her I could put my hand up to my wrist inside a jar while washing it. At present, I weigh 10 pounds more than the maximum weight I should have had when I was pregnant with my first child. I have to constantly remind myself to veer away from clingy clothes as they will highlight unsightly curves. I still like what I see when I look in the mirror each morning although I understand now what they mean by gravity. No wonder the beauty industry is a huge business empire. I have aches and pains I did not get to meet in my younger years. I can still recall that time when I would wash the clothes in the washing machine after office. Washing meant pouring pails of water in the tub. Now I pick up something on the floor and I suffer pain in my lower back for days.
Nowadays, I order, more often than not, pinakbet in restaurants. This dish was definitely not on my radar in my 30s when slow metabolism and fiber-rich foods were terms we easily dismissed. Now I know that at a certain age, your feet crave comfort more than style. Unfortunately, the comfortable shoes are the expensive ones.
I wondered aloud to my husband, “What happened to my feet? I used to buy flat, nice-looking and cheap sandals but now they are synonymous with pain and consequently, inability for leisurely walks.” And I was given a curt reply: “Because you have certainly aged.” I noticed, too, that when I travel to new places, I make sure I visit the churches. I am captivated by the architecture of old churches and I feel blessed that I am able to commune with God in these places. A young tourist will not normally have this item on his itinerary. Perhaps, at my age, I am making peace with my Creator. My age has brought me a deep appreciation of life and the affirmation that a higher being made all these things possible.
The part on “Purses and the Kelly Bag” tickled me, for in my dreams, I also find myself carrying a Kelly/Birkin bag and treating it with such reverence. In real life, when a sudden downpour found me outside with my new bag (just a very tiny fraction of the Kelly Bag’s cost), I chose to shield it with my arms instead of putting it over my head.
Ephron is wickedly funny when she labels parenthood in three stages — infancy/toddler years, adolescence and adult years. She maintains that adolescence is invented to help attached parents to separate, in preparation for the inevitable moment when their children leave the nest. She quips, “When your children are teenagers, it is important to have a dog so that someone in the house is happy to see you at the end of the day.” Adulthood is that time she calls “the child is gone.” She suggests “never to leave your child’s room as is, it may encourage your child to return. You do not want this.” She found out her children as adults made her laugh, they made her proud, they survived each other. “Do not dwell on the fact that they are not with you anymore. The worrying is forever.”
Having six kids of my own, I am familiar with this parenting territory and the transformations that happen from one stage to another. I was delighted to take care of babies even if it meant waking up at dawn to feed them. I was fulfilled as I read to them at bedtime knowing I was contributing to their intellectual and emotional capabilities. I was confused when they became teenagers and they started to see me in a different light. I was upset when as young adults they made mistakes that completely altered their lives. I was relieved that despite our flaws and shortcomings they have turned out to be good persons.
Ephron is right: Parenting is a lifetime of worrying. You rejoice in every success and agonize over disappointments.
In “Rapture,” Ephron shares with us the state of bliss she experiences when she reads a wonderful book in which she is transported to another world. After less than 20 years in the corporate world, I became a stay-at-home mom. At first I could not imagine what I would do the whole day but as the years pass, you find out that 16 hours is never enough for all the things you need to do. There will always be cabinets to clear, clothes and stuff to sort out, and books to read. I would like to believe that my love of reading facilitated the adjustment from a career job to housekeeping. I am completely absorbed by the stories and magazine articles I read. I would rather curl up in bed and read than be at a party with people I do not really like.
In “Considering the Alternative,” Ephron claims she is still cheerful. Candidly, she states, “But the honest truth is that it is sad to be over 60. The long shadows are everywhere — friends dying and battling illness…There are regrets. These are dreams that are never quite going to come true and ambitions that will never quite be realized. I regret not wearing a bikini. If anyone young is reading this, go right this minute, put on a bikini and do not take it off till you are 34.”
Ephron shares that she is way past age shame. She is just happy to be here. She concludes that there are some things that are absolutely, definitively and entirely uncontrollable.
Like all things, growing old has its high and low points. Emotionally, I do not feel old. It helps that my children are young adults and a teenager. I find the music of Coldplay, Justin Timberlake and Black-Eyed Peas appealing and energizing. I dance and sing when I drive. What is tough to handle is the realization that life is truly difficult. Youth is primarily establishing yourself, going to college, getting a job, setting up a family. Old age is finding out things change. Relationships turning sour, careers ending disastrously, illnesses striking like a thief in the night. When I was younger, serious illnesses happened to other people, too far from my circle of influence. Now, it is my own relative, a few years older than me, a former co-worker who was once full of life and a good old friend whom I have shared many happy moments with. Suddenly you are confronted with that dreaded D-word. Like Ephron, I think hard about how I will handle this eventuality. Will I seize the day or save for the rainy day? Or will I, as the song goes, live like I am dying? Like Ephron, I will try to live as fully as I can, using wisdom to temper my desires and decisions with moderation. Like Ephron, when she used the $20 bath oil generously in the final page of her book, I will now use all the thick, fluffy, colorful towels I have kept all these years. I will overcome my hesitation to join a dance exercise in the mall’s town plaza. I will use all my charms to convince my husband to go slow on substantial savings and long-term sustainability and once again see the world.
As Ephron says, “You never know.”
