"Wisdom is scar tissue in disguise"

old cows

Well, I am proud to say that I celebrate the addition of three new & spectacular scars this year; adding them to a plethora of more seasoned and weathered ones that have attended the day to day of life with me. These junior scars are almost comic, forming an upside down face on my belly. Looking up at me, from the doughiness of my midsection, is a curvy little 5" nose ( partially circling my navel) akin to a question mark..while father down are two lazy eyes, looking more like caterpillars, or a bad day with the mascara wand. They are a little unevenly squinting back up at me. The face itself seems a little concerned, as the double intertwining scars from cesarean sections knit their thoughts across the span between the caterpillar mascara'd eyes. I think it, this cartoony face, is really just wondering what's going on outside of my shirt..perplexed by the sounds of daily life…or maybe jealousy driven by the knowledge that most of my other scars get to see and experience life firsthand every day. The others aren't shroud under tee shirt veils; hidden beneath a one piece bathing suit, something I never used to wear, a long long time ago. Within the hierarchy of my multitudinous collection of these markings, the most envied, and coveted by the others, is the scar across the front of my throat. When I got that one, some 27 years ago, my friends and I decided we could exploit the black garish stitches poking out of my lumpy red swollen skin. Rather than be dismayed by a large scar across my neck why not spend an evening with friends gluing big silver nobs to each side of my throat & coating my face and neck with a light green eye shadow & then debut the look at the local 7-11?! In truth, since it was still rather painful, we declined to go through with the evil plot. Yes, there was beer to be had, and so it shouldn't surprise anyone that we thought we were really funny at the time. Ahhh… Time and age have faded this particular scar to an almost see-through silver strip, barely noticeable to passersby. Yet it is still sitting in the best seat at 'the game'. Now, of lesser notoriety would be the scar over my eyebrow, the one below my lip, and the almost invisible one on my cheek – that is only to be seen when my face is pink from the sun. These each have a story. But they are simple and humble scars & no one talks about them much any more. ~ Now, majority rules as such, so the most popular and avidly -or maybe extensively is a more suiting descriptor- collected works can be found on my right knee….all 12 of them. There are three almost invisible pin point scars there too, but I don't count them, in an effort to protect their innocence. As I hobble around, with constant aching, straining on malformed muscles, and against tightened ligaments, I ponder how they, my knee scars, are truly a badge. Like the kind we earned as Brownies and Girl Scouts. The only difference being that these puppies exemplify the battle of having 4 successive knee surgeries; to which all have failed and at least one more biggun' is yet to come. In truth, I wait anxiously for that day. All along knowing that my scar collecting days could possibly be over, and that it all might be bitter sweet. Having collected so many, for so long, has become a gnarly little road map of succinct points in my life. A map that is tattooed across my being. So, the idea that I may not get any more brings me a little pause. Does that mean I will stop truly living my life? Alas, I won't really know. Though I doubt that will ultimately be the case, you know, being that I have been such a dedicated 'experiencer of life' and all…bbbuuutttt, ya' know…that joint replacement scar is gonna be a bute'! My piece de resistance! So, wanna hear about the scar between my toes? That scar has the best story, sure to make the squeamish wriggle!

🙂

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