ME and CARA NOME (or how I became addicted to makeup)

          Actually, it began with Pink Tinge lipstick by Avon.  It was the summer of 1950, between sixth and seventh grade.  Although some of my friends had been wearing makeup since the beginning of sixth grade, my mother thought I was too young.  Sometime during that year, my Grandmother Miller began selling Avon products to earn extra cash to supplement the money she made taking in sewing jobs and doing alterations for the Cook's and Conner's clothing stores in downtown Clarinda.

As an Avon representative, she had a large black bag filled with all sorts of wonderful samples of colognes, powders, and lipsticks and cards with color swatches to show anything available that she didn’t have in her bag.  I was especially fascinated by the tiny tubes of lipstick samples. 

Although I wasn’t allowed to use any of the products, Grandma let me carefully take the caps off the tubes to look at the perfectly shaped sharp chiseled lipsticks, and we would talk about my favorite color.  I often begged to have one of the miniature tubes, but my mother was resolute in her determination that I wait until high school to begin experimenting with makeup.

During the aforementioned summer, however, while mother and two of her sisters were having coffee at Grandma Miller’s apartment, I was at my usual occupation of looking through Grandma’s sample bag.  I could hear them talking in the kitchen about my fascination with the samples, and I heard Grandma say, “Why not let her have a lipstick sample.  Most of the girls her age are wearing lipstick and rouge.” 

My mother gave the usual response, “I think she is too young to start all this makeup business.”

Aunt Rena and Aunt Vi piped in almost in unison, “What difference does it make?”  Aunt Rena said, “You have been wearing makeup since you were her age.  Or have you forgotten.”

“No, I do remember, and that is exactly why I don’t want her wearing makeup yet.  Girls start wearing makeup to attract boys.  She is too young.”

Grandma Miller was not one to continue an argument, but she expressed how silly that notion was because, as she came to believe in dealing with her Avon customers, most women wear makeup primarily to feel better about the way they look.  “If it makes KK feel good about herself, why not let her use a little lipstick.”

“Humph,” Mother  muttered, “I don’t know.  She has plenty of time for getting herself all gussied up.”  All this seemed to be delivered with a note of possibility in her voice which I saw as a perfect time to tune in with begging again.

“Please, please, Mother.  I will be very careful with it and will only use if for special occasions.”

“Like what special occasions?” she questioned.

“Like going to church or birthday parties or when I get to go shopping with you in Omaha.”  I tried to think of other times I would want to wear lipstick, but thought it might be wise to place limits.  “Please, please.”

Mother exchanged glances with Grandma Miller who sat quietly listening to this interchange, and with Rena and Vi who were having trouble concealing their mirth.  Grandma raised her eyebrows in a questioning way, and mother relented.  “Oh, OK, but you have to use it for only special occasions, and I don’t want to find it smeared on anything but your lips.  The first time I find it on clothing or furniture or anything else, it goes in the trash.  Do you understand?”

“Oh, thank you, thank you.  I understand.  I will be very careful.  Can I choose the color?”

“Grandma started to say, “Yes, of course,” but she was interrupted by mother who insisted that I could only have a natural color, which at that time, in 1950, constituted nothing more than lip balm, or a light pink color.

“Light pink is fine with me!”  I already knew which shade of pink I wanted, having gone through Grandma’s sample so many times.  “I choose Pink Tinge.”

Grandma retrieved the small sample tube from her bag and handed it to me.  I was as elated as if I had been crowned with a rhinestone tiara.  I was going to look like a princess with my new pink lipstick, and knew it was time for me to start acting like a refined young lady.

That tube of lipstick had a profound effect on me.  I began to take more interest in my overall appearance.  I combed my hair several times a day, and shampooed it more often than mother thought was necessary.  I didn’t have to be reminded to brush my teeth any longer.  Why put lipstick on a mouth that hadn’t been cleaned inside and out?

I read every article in my Seventeen magazines about applying makeup and took note of movie star’s makeup in the movie magazine that piled up in my room.  I wanted to do it just right, but I could never get it to look as perfect as the photos in those magazines.  I didn’t know about photographer’s magic tricks to achieve that perfection.

So…that’s how it all started.  Eventually, I convinced mother to let me buy some Maybelline mascara with my baby-sitting money, then blush and powder, but I never purchased or wore makeup base until I was out of school and working full-time.  Even then, I rarely wore it because I still had young almost flawless skin.  Hard to believe when I look in the mirror now and see the ravages of time on my face.

Through junior high I wore the Pink Tinge lipstick with little concern whether it matched the outfit I was wearing.  I was just happy to have it.  By the time I got to high school, I had several lipstick selections from which to choose, and I wore my mascara, blush, and powder often.  Not every day to school, necessarily, but whenever I performed with the band or chorus, when I did solo work, when I attended Rainbow for Girls meetings, and when I went to church.

Going into the work world as a Teller at Citizens State Bank in Clarinda, I dressed up every day and my makeup became an everyday ritual.  The first thing in the morning I put on my makeup and the last thing I did at night was to remove it.  From that time on, I was never seen by anyone, other than Bill, without my makeup.  I was truly addicted.

Even when I became a stay-at-home Mom after our son, Craig, was born, I still went through the daily ritual.  It seems a little silly now, but makeup had become such a part of me, that looking in the mirror without it was like looking at a stranger.

Through the years, of course, many things changed in that regard.  During times of sickness or recovery from surgery, I let it slide.  I still didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, but weariness let me believe it was OK, but only temporarily.  As soon as I was up and on my feet again, the ritual began anew.

Being involved in community theatre and other entertainment venues all of my adult life, I found it necessary to go heavier on the makeup when on stage.  Stage lights bleach out any semblance of color in one’s face, especially my pale complexion and light, thin eyelashes.  I became quite adept at applying eyeliner, false eyelashes, coloring in my brows, and applying lipstick, using a lip liner pencil to better define my lips.

After each performance run, however, it always seemed to take me several days to tone down the amount of makeup I used.  The false eyelashes always went immediately back to their case, but I continued to use eyeliner and wore my lipstick and blush a little too heavy for everyday use.  By the week following each performance, I usually reverted back to giving a light touch to my face each day.

Now, then…what does all this have to do with Cara Nome, you ask?  Ever since December 1992, when my mother died, I have had her box of Cara Nome face powder either sitting on my bathroom vanity, or in one of the drawers where I keep all my makeup.  I see it every day.  It is a constant reminder of being young, resenting a parent’s ideas on age appropriateness, and the feeling of elation when boundaries are lifted.

That little tube of lipstick changed me.  The next hurdle I had to overcome with my parents was shaving my legs; but that’s another story to be told at another time.

Now I am at a stage in my life that I feel makeup is just a bother.  It takes too much time.  It costs too much money.  I long for days when I can just stay at home with a clean face and not have to do the daily ritual.  In fact, now that I am retired, I often do what I would occasionally do during my working years, by having a ‘jammie day.  A day when I stay in my pajamas or nightgown all day long, I and never touch my face with anything but a washcloth.  It is so freeing.

An acquaintance I met in Albuquerque in the early 90’s told about parties she used to go to put on by a friend of hers.  Her friend called it a “Come Clean Party.”  It was always a breakfast get-together and rules were you had to bathe and wash your hair before you left your house to go to the party, put on clean pajamas or other night wear, wear absolutely no makeup, and come to enjoy coffee and conversation, leaving all cares behind.

Now, I like that idea.  In fact, I would like that to be become my daily ritual in place of putting on the makeup.  Will it happen?  Probably not.

 

CHASING BOYS

            It was the evening of the last day of school 1951, the beginning of summer vacation

between our 7^th and 8^th grade years.  Phyllis was having a slumber party at her house after

a movie at the Clarinda Theater. 

At this point in time, I do not remember who all went to the movie or even who went to the slumber party, but en route to Phyllis’s parents’ home on East Garfield, Kelley, Janet, Peggy, Dorothy, and I walked around to the Southeast corner of the courthouse square and walked east on Main Street down toward the Junior High building on 13^th Street Boulevard where it intersected with Main. 

When we were within a block of the school, one of the other four thought she saw several boys from our class walking south down the middle of the boulevard in the same direction we would go once we reached the corner.  Being typical, giddy, boy-crazy girls, we went gaga with an opportunity to interact with the opposite sex.  This particular evening was no exception. 

The minute Phyllis yelled, “There’s LeRoy, Keith, and Allen,” the rest of us squealed and took off running like greyhounds after a rabbit.  By the time we rounded the corner, they were well out of sight. 

Thinking they might have gone down to the track at the football field, we crossed over the boulevard on 13^th running down the easement on the east side of the schoolhouse.  It was a dark night.  No moon.  The lights from the lampposts on the boulevard cast shadows that gave me a false sense of my surroundings. 

Running in a jagged line down the grassy area between the street and sidewalk, with Dorothy, Janet, and Kelley in front of me and with Peggy following.  Phyllis was at least a quarter of a block in front of us.  We shouted our ideas to one another as to which direction we should go to find the boys. 

When I turned my head to pass the word to Peggy, I didn’t see that I was about to run into a utility post guy-wire.  I hit the wire full force, connecting with my rib cage just below my left breast.  The impact sent me into a full flip around the wire, landing me on my flat on my back. 

The sound uttered forth brought Kelley and Peggy to a dead stop and they shouted to Dorothy and Janet to come back.  They helped me to my feet asking if I was OK.  It had knocked the breath out of me, and as I gasped for air I told them, “I think I cut my tit off.”  They laughed like crazy, but I was serious.  I lifted my light green cotton camp shirt and felt along my bra line.  The small appendage was intact, but I had an obvious abrasion under the left breast. 

A seventh grade, soon to be eighth grade, girl doesn’t let a minor accident get in the way of a boy chase, though, and we continued our pursuit, giving up in the next block when it became obvious they had turned another direction.

Ah, well, that was just one of several stories of my ridiculous behavior during my school years.  More later. 

CHANCE ENCOUNTER (a story)

The story below is primarily a fictional.  Although I was at a roller rink in

California on New Year's Eve 1952, the rest of the story is created

from what I saw, what was shared with me by a friend,

and a helping of fantasy.

 

They met at a roller rink.  It was New Year’s Eve 1952.  He was 18 years old, a young airman just out of Basic Training.  She was only 14, a high school freshman.

 

          He came to the roller rink with buddies from the nearby air base.  She was there

 

with family friends and friends of friends, all near her same age, but none of whom she

 

knew very well.  After succumbing to their begging to “do something fun,” her father and

 

one of the other fathers drove the girls to the local rink to see in the New Year while their

parents played Gin Rummy and chatted the evening away.

She sat on the benches reserved for skaters just behind the railing that encircled the skate floor, observing the large number of skaters, trying to get up enough nerve to test her skill.  It had been a couple of years since she had been on skates and she was apprehensive.

She watched the group of airmen playing tag with one another.  They were the reason she hesitated to go out on the floor, fearful of their fast skating, weaving in and out of the crowd, although they did so with great agility.

          When the tag game ended most of the group headed for the concession stand, but the young airman, who was lagging at the tail end of the group, exited the stile near where she was sitting, stumbling over the feet of a skater sitting three seats to her left, he plopped down, out of breath, on the bench next to her.

          Her first inclination was to take this opportunity to enter the floor while there were fewer skaters, but before she could get to her feet, he said, “This is my first time here.  How ‘bout you?”  Her second inclination was to pretend she didn’t hear him.  She knew he had to be several years older than she, and who knew what his intentions might be?

          But, when she realized he was apologizing for what he thought she might consider rudeness for his abrupt appearance, she chose not to be rude in return.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I hope I didn’t startle you when I came rolling over here at breakneck speed.  I just needed to catch my breath, and didn’t intend to be so clumsy in my exit.”

          “That’s OK,” she said.  “I am getting ready to go skate now anyway,” and she started to make her exit.

          “Oh, don’t go yet.  Won’t you chat with me a minute or two?”

          “Err…a…I guess so.”  She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to talk with this stranger.  She knew with absolute certainty her parents would disapprove, and she wondered what the girls she came with (those friends and friends of friends) would think.

          Their conversation wasn’t at all what she expected from an airman.  She had heard stories of girls who had gotten involved with some of these guys, and she had a preconceived notion that all airmen were alike.  She hesitated to continue the conversation.

          When the announcer called for a Couple’s Skate, he asked if she would do him the honor. The song being played on the organ was “You Belong To Me, a popular song of the day, and one of her favorites.  It took only a second or two for them to synchronize their skating pattern and they seemed to float around the rink.

          He sang the words of the song in her ear, and she could feel goose bumps rise on her arms.  She hoped he didn’t notice.  How embarrassing!  She didn’t really know this person, and yet she felt a stirring unfamiliar to anything she had ever experienced.

          He was quite unlike the guys in those stories told to her by her friends.  She thought she needed to steer clear of anyone in the military until she was an adult, but he seemed different.  He had a gentle easy way about him, and yet his strength of character showed through in the usual get-acquainted questions he posed, never being too inquisitive, but showing interest in who she was and curious how she ended up at this particular skating rink on New Year’s Eve.

          Without even thinking she spilled out her homesick feelings, telling him she had only lived in the area for six months, and although she had developed a strong friendship with two classmates, she longed for the multitude of friends she had left behind in her hometown.  He commiserated, having just received his first assignment, and he, too, missed not only his friends, but his family, as well.

          The two had so much in common.  It was incredulous how fate had allowed these two lonely young people to meet on this particular night.  They continued to skate the rest of the evening together.

          A few minutes before midnight he suggested they take a break to avoid the hoopla that was bound to ensue on the skate floor.  He ordered a Coke for each of them and they sat back down on the bench where they started the evening together.

          While sipping the coke and glancing around the floor, she became aware of the romantic behavior amongst the couples on the floor and she was very uneasy.  She wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment.  She nervously looked around the rink trying to find her friends.  She saw two of the three over at the snack bar eating popcorn and chatting with a boy she recognized from school, and the third friend she located on the skate floor in a Conga line doing the Hokey-Pokey. 

She knew the three girls had observed her spending almost the entire evening with this stranger, and worried about what they were thinking.  They really did not know her that well, and she hoped they didn’t have the wrong impression about her - that they didn’t think she was “fast.”  How was she going to explain this to them?

          When the 10-second countdown to midnight began, he picked up her hands and held them tight as he nervously asked, “May I kiss you.”  She felt her face flush, and she dropped head down, as she always did when shyness set in, but she lifted her eyes long enough to look into his face, and there was no question it was going to happen.  All the worries of the moment disappeared as she felt herself melting into his arms.

          She always wondered what that first kiss would be like.  She always wondered what love felt like.  She always wondered who would be the first boy to kiss her.  Now she knew the answer to those questions, but she also knew she would never see him again.

          A few minutes past midnight, the three friends with whom she had come to the rink were yelling at her across the rink to get her attention to change into her shoes to be ready when the fathers were to arrive shortly after midnight to pick them up.  The rink would stay open until 1 a.m. 

“Stay longer,” he said.

Of course she could not.  She impulsively gave him a quick kiss good-bye and skated over to the other side where she had stashed her coat and shoes.  As soon as they exited the rink, her three friends began to quiz her about the guy with whom she had spent the entire evening, asking his name, where he was from, if she was going to see him again, if she was serious about him; and then, what are your parents going to say when they find out, won’t they be upset that you let a strange guy kiss you, isn’t he too old for you, and on and on and on, until she yelled, “Just cut it out, will you!”

She was not only angry about all their dumb questions, but now, away from the situation, she was confused.  She knew the consequences If her parents learned what had taken place.  They said she could not date until she was 16, and here she was at 14 ½, letting someone almost four years older take advantage of her.  But wait, she allowed it to happen.  It was her fault.  They might be angry with the young man, but they would be even angrier with her.  She vowed her three friends to secrecy.  They must not breathe a word of this in front of her parents nor their own.

          When the two fathers came to pick them up at 12:15 a.m., the four girls had their coats on and were waiting at the front door.  The young airmen were getting ready to board the bus taking them back to the base.  As she climbed into the car, he came running toward them yelling, “Wait, wait! I need to talk to you.”

          Her father asked, “Is he calling to you?

“No,” she said, and they drove off.

 

For years after, whenever she saw a young man in an Air Force uniform, she thought about him.  Whenever she met anyone who had been in the Air Force she always inquired where he was from and if perchance he was ever stationed at that particular air base.

She wondered if he ever thought of her again; if that chance encounter meant as much to him as it did to her; if that kiss was as special for him as it was for her.

Though their paths never crossed, she knew he was her first love.  You never forget your first love.

(Word Count 1587)

Karen McClelland

February 4, 2006

 

BUTTON, BUTTON

big button

small button

round button

square button

oval button

custom button

white button

black button

red button

blue button

silver button

gold button

metal button

glass button

clasp button

frog button

shank button

covered button

push button

pull button

start button

stop button

pause button

hold button

cute as a button

button up

lost button

belly button

button your lip

panic button

button, button,

who has the button?

 

Karen McClelland - 11/12/2007

All I love tonight

All I love tonight,

the glow and warmth of embers

as we sit around the campfire,

laughter and chatter of friends,

deer standing watch from the woods.

 

All I love tonight,

will be gone by morning light.

Writing Class

Alone, exposed.

Unknown place, unfamiliar places.

Trespasser in a world

not my own.

 

Words, words, words.

Exposed.

Thoughts, feelings,

disect my soul

tearing at my heart

begging for paper and pen.

Give Me Back

Give me back my beautiful daughter.

Give me back my wonderful child.

Give me back days full of laughter.

Give me back secrets

shared between us.

 

But a secret undid my bright little girl.

Afraid to reveal what had happened,

she carried the secret for six long years,

till it wore her mind and body near death.

 

Damn the torturer!

Burn him in hell!

I will never know who you are;

but if we should accidentally meet,

God spare you from recognition.