Mirrors

Mirror, mirror on the wall

At what age were you the fairest of all?

Perhaps the memory is captured in a photo.

Proud parents snapping away with that old Kodak.

Early reflections from a mirror on the wall – little girl of about five, with red Shirley Temple curls.

Growing older, a tall, gangly girl looked back at me. Hair remained red and curly, but gone were the Shirley Temple curls.

Noted in photos: fashion changes through the years.

Later years, there was a big fuss about the length of our skirts. Schools became very strict!

Now, any length goes. Mine are certainly below the knee.

The mirror on the wall showed me dressed in a blue eyelet dress for my eighth grade graduation ceremony.

Do they still have eighth grade graduation ceremonies?

High school graduation came around.

The mirror on the wall again showed me in a blue dress, worn under my gown.

Another milestone in life, after years of hard work and studies; now graduation from Deaconess Hospital School of Nursing.

A proud, young woman looked back at me from the mirror.

White, starched uniform, and cap with black band. Draped over the uniform was a navy blue cape, lined in bright red.

Following not too far in the future, a wedding.

The ceremony was in a small chapel.

We had our choice of a formal wedding with a beautiful bridal gown or a car from my parents.

You got it!

Herb preferred the “blue” Ford car.

My reflection in the mirror that day showed a happy bride in a trim, powder blue suit, black heels and a hat. Hats were proper attire back then, when we got “dressed up.”

But in the years that followed, who had time to stare into the mirror on the wall?

I took just a quick glance as I dressed in white for work, then home, to pull on something that was always covered by an apron. Aprons are still a part of my wardrobe. It is a habit I inherited from my mother and grandmother.

Now, when I gaze at that mirror on the wall, what do I see?

Surely that’s not me!

Gone is the red hair. It looks white to me.

My beautician assures me it’s blond, and not white.

Well, I’ve always heard, blonds have more fun.

When does the fun begin?

I’ve heard many people say, the face in the mirror now looks like their mother or father.

I’m not sure at what age I was the fairest of all.

I believe my proudest and happiest reflection was as a young woman, dressed in white, with the navy cape, lined in red.

Each reflection over the years has showed changes.

Age does that to us.

But memory can slip us back in time to all the special occasions when we gazed in that mirror.