I
must tell you that the name of my blog is sort of a tribute to a gal who wrote
several wonderful books, and had a newspaper column called Midlife Musings. Frances Weaver
was in her 50’s when she started to write her column, and many of the pieces
found their way into a book of the same name. I had a short and lovely round of
correspondence with Frances when I was buying her books directly from her. Not much internet or on-line ordering then – though you can get her books through Amazon now – just
letters out with checks in them, and chatty letters back along with her books –
autographed, to be sure! The title of
one of her later books, one that I’ll always remember, was one she got from one
of her granddaughters: Frances was
heading out to lunch, and the little girl, when told that her grandmother was
going out with the girls, replied “oh, the girls
with the grandmother faces.” I’d like to have snatched that one for my blog’s name, but I’ll use it just for this
posting. 
I must admit that at the (over) ripe old age of seventy, I see relatively few
Grandmother Faces. I’m sure it’s all a
matter of perspective. When I was young the grandmothers dressed differently
than the mothers, their hair styles were different too. I know that my Mother wore slacks, my
Grandmothers? Never! And around home they wore housedresses. My Mother wore
open shoes; my Grandmothers wore black lace-ups. None of my friends and acquaintances dress
much differently than their daughters do.
I
suppose the Grandmother Faces do have more wrinkles. Here in Sun City Carolina Lakes we’ve gals
from fifty-five to over ninety, and few are wrinkly.
My
Grandmothers, both of them, were fifty-seven when I was born. As a child I
never thought them old and wrinkly, but I guess they were. Children don’t judge their loved ones by
their dress or wrinkles – unless, little pitchers with big ears, they think of
and retain comments they’ve overheard.
But
I wouldn’t trade my Grandmother Face for all the tea in China.
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