Imagine Beauty

Beauty tip one: smile, it's free and makes you look beautiful.

 Deep in thought I stared outside, the sun warming my wrinkled face and lightening up this rainy Sunday. Big grey rainclouds slowly drifted away, leaving a nice blue gap without a cloud. Finally I could see the planes, so high in the sky again. It had been raining for hours now.

 The old tattered paper in my hand, looked frail and the blue ink was almost unreadable. Sunrays made the old paper look even more frail than it already was and I was waiting for it too just fall apart, like a dying flower, losing its petals.

It was the only piece left from my old diary. The diary I once wrote when I was a young woman, no a young girl. Now, I’m what most people would call old. And even though I don’t feel old, not at all I still feel the same as that 17 year old who thought deeply about beauty, I guess 69 is classified as old. Outer beauty doesn’t count anymore at my age, all beauty I need I find in my children, and of course their children, my beautiful children.

If I think about it my life was quite extraordinary, most definitely different, thrilling and wonderful. Sure I had my share of heartbreak and pain. After all nothing’s perfect, but considering all the good things that sprouted from the pain, I guess it was worth it all. My life has been very interesting. I bet that, if I wanted, I could write a book about it.

I chuckled softly at the thought of writing a book, maybe I would write it, just to prove I can.

The sun made my garden sparkle, every raindrop reflecting the light, make the grass look like one of my granddaughters threw a glitter party. It was a pretty sight. The trees in my lawn slowly moving in the wind, dropping even more glistering rain drops on the soft, wet grass. It was almost as if Tinkerbell herself came to make my garden sparkle.

A little, chubby hand touched my arm, making me jump up a bit.

"Grandma? What are you thinking about?" Little Mary asked me, her high voice slightly shaking, like only the voice of a child can. Almost as if she wasn’t sure she pronounced all her words the right way. Her little hand slowly went towards my hand, were she grabbed it tightly.

I turned around to face her big blue eyes, her mother gave her and the brown curls, that could only be from her father. Her bright smile could make the sun back away in shame, not wanting to be confronted with such a bright light. Mary was always the one that could melt everyone’s  heart, to such extent she was probably the most spoiled child ever. But what else could you do when you saw two of the cutest dimples appear whenever she smiles?

"Nothing sweetie, just about long forgotten stories, and a school for princesses." I chuckled as her eyes widened.

"There’s a school for princesses? Where? Can I go there?" Her eyes looked at me expectantly , an excited grin flashing forming on her lips. Her cheeks showing those small, cute dimples, the same I had. Gracing above her dimples was a rosy red color from her excitement.

My little princess wanted to be even more of a princess. I smiled down at her, but that smile slowly became sad. Remembering the day the school was destroyed 53 years ago. I still remembered that day like no other. I actually cried, when I heard they closed the school and destroyed the building.

I admit I hated that place, I hated it’s high towers. The towers without an elevator. I hated to walk those long, high, stairs every single day, I hated the preppy, snobby, bitchy girls in that school, I hated the mean and strict teachers, I hated the whole purpose of the school, I hated the reason I was send there. I hated everything about that place.

But that place has played such a big part in my life, it changed me, hurt me, helped me, it threw me of my feat, learned me the lessons of life, it made me, me. And eventually I came to love it. But not without a fight. My love of that place comes from the persons I met, the lessons I learned and the memories buried there. Never will I love its purpose, or its opinions and I still dislike the teachers from that time. I don’t think I will ever be able to like them. Or forgive them.