the Car Wash of Life

My wife got this crazy good lotion from Whole Foods in Philly or DC on our last trip North. Kokum Something-Or-Other. It wasn’t quite a gazillion dollars an ounce, but it was way more than a non-metro guy would spend.

Thing is, it works really well. I just put some on after spending a half hour scrubbing pots. We had a big feasty feast; she made these fluffy “Grandma rolls” with seitan gravy.

She said, “Guess why I call them Grandma rolls.”

I said, “they’re Grandma rolls because they’re soft and warm and snuggly, like Grandma.”

“That’s not the reason I had in mind, but you have a point there.”

Anyway, I put this lotion on. I have to put lotion on every day in winter, when my skin gets dry. If I don’t, it cracks, which hurts. Part of the reason is the lingering effects of chemotherapy. Another part is heredity.

When I last visited my grandfather in the hospital, just a couple of days before he left this world, I noticed the skin on his arms was so thin and brittle looking, like the crust that forms on the surface of a pot of clarifying butter. Like any moment, it could tear, and take forever to close up and heal.

I look at my arms, and wonder if that’s going to be my fate as well. Why shouldn’t it? I’ve got his goofy sense of humor, his bunyons, his musical ability, his perfectionism. .. at least I stay away from cigars.

It’s the same thing–the skin issue, I mean–with bathing every day.

Every day, I take a shower. Afterwards, I feel brand new, glowing, reconditioned..

I wake up after the mini-death of sleep, re-animate my corpse with a few splashes of water, put on my lotion, and I feel like I’ve been through the car wash of life, like my motor is going to run much better now.

When you’re young, everybody looks good; they’ll never look better in fact. When you get older, the goal of cleaning and grooming isn’t so much to look as stunningly gorgeous as the law will allow but not to offend anybody. If we achieve that, we think we’re really on top of our game.