May, 2026
Laugh Lines | From My Journal...
Disclaimer: This month’s newsletter will be a little longer than usual because I’ve added a page from my journal. So, grab a coffee and relax.
Laugh Lines
Back in the day there was a commercial for Oil of Olay moisturizer and the “young, fresh-faced” model declared, “I don’t intend to grow old gracefully. I intend to fight it every step of the way.” I wonder where she is now, and what she looks like. Also, once I heard that influencer, Kim Kardashian, (who’s expressions are most often amatory or evocative), refuses to smile because it may cause her face to wrinkle. Well, I don’t know how true that is, about Ms. Kim, but I think about that every time I see a photo of her without a smile. And I feel sad for her. Imagine, being so conscious of retaining our beauty that we can’t fully enjoy the fun or pleasant things in life that makes us smile.
My husband and I share old jokes sometimes that, we’ve laughed about some of the same ones so often that, now, we bust out laughing even before the joke is finished. Finding an occasion to use a word or phrase that our son said when he was a child is cause for a chuckle. Or, if he comes toward me with fingers pointed, and I know he is about to attempt one of his tickle raids; again, we will both laugh at just the suggestion. He knows I can’t take a tickle. Oh, and now, he’s learned how to send me something funny via Instagram.
I was looking down at my phone the other day, about to take a selfie. I look very much like my grandmother here. But there it was: a turkey neck. It’s been there for a minute, but this time it was well pronounced. There were also frown lines, and crow’s feet—the ones you always hear vain white women complain about. Only now, I have them too. But it’s too late to stop smiling to avoid them. Life has been too good to me.
There’s an Instagram page that I follow, legendary_glamma, which features the mid-80-year old, Zambian, fashion icon, Margret Chola. I wish I had as much style in my pinkie finger as she does. I am inspired by Ms. Chola who wears a t-shirt that says, “Wrinkles Are Receipts”. Indeed, they are. They are proof that we have been here, proof that we have lived a life—have seen some things, been through some things. And come out on the other side. We are here to tell the story of how we got ova’.
If you can get through this life, and still be fortunate enough to have something to laugh about—embrace all the lines, the cracks, the turkey neck, the bumps, the moles, the double chin, and yes, the laugh lines that come as evidence of the joy you’ve experienced.
You’re one of the lucky ones.
From My Journal…
Here, on Substack, I only post brief pieces and send it out at the beginning of the month. But, in addition to working on a novel, I finally began keeping a journal of my daily (near daily) life. I’d intended to start writing it as soon as we arrived, but life— be lifing. I may, from time to time post an excerpt from my journal here. I use my journal to free write—I don’t edit. Otherwise, I would never get anything written down. So, there may be occassional typos, misspellings, and punctuation faux pas. You will forgive me this, won’t you?
April 7, 2026
Sleep, didn’t come easy last night. I started taking ashwagandha to better relax in the evenings in order to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. Although I generally like staying up late—it is quieter in the house, anything that needs to be done has been done, or can wait until the next day. But, here in Panamá, the night time is very quiet, but early mornings are cooler, peaceful, relaxing, and you get the see the sunrise over the hills. You hear a variety of birds announcing the day. There are people getting their morning exercise in before the temperature rises, and children going off to school. It’s nice—if I can wake up early enough to enjoy it.
I used to wish that I was a “morning person”. Some folks naturally wake up early, but I never have. I had to wake up early for years in order to go to work. In the states, in order to get through the traffic and be on time, I had to wake up in the dark; and if it was in the fall and winter months, I came home in the dark. I hated it. I enjoy it when I am able to wake up on my own, when my body tells me to. And if that happens to be at 6 am, then so be it. But that’s not usually the case. There is no honor in waking up at the crack of dawn if you don’t find pleasure in it. I’d set my clock to wake up about 8, because that would be the only way I’d get up. But last night, sleep didn’t come easy. I woke up, again, around 5:30am to go to the bathroom—feeling wide awake. Dawn was just beginning to break. So, I just got up.
I opened the windows to allow the remainder of the cool air to flood the apartment. Turned on the tea kettle and put some tea to steep. I lit a couple of sticks of incense, turned on the laptop, played some Indian flute music, and resumed my neglected yoga practice. I stopped to make a cup of tea, gunpower green and spearmint. (I didn’t want to wake up at 5:30 just to crash at 10.) I went to the balcony to breathe in the fresh, morning air. One of the reasons I chose this apartment was because it was on the first floor, which is actually one floor above the ground. It is situated on the back, left side of the building, and there is a small tree that reaches up to the balcony that gives us just a small bit of privacy. Mornings are serene, save for the sweet song of the birds and children on the scooters leaving for school.
This morning, about six-thirty, I was sitting on balcony, sipping my tea, trying to capture the sound of the birds on my cellphone, and I saw my neighbor walking past on her morning walk. She’d moved here from Florida nearly a year ago, but was born and raised in St. Croix. Having been married to a Trinidadian for 26-years now, I sometimes feel a kinship with West Indians. Besides, Francine was the first person I met in my building who speaks English. Her daughter and grandson, live close by in our community, and shortly after we met, her son-in-law, installed the hooks for our curtain rods. Her son-in-law is Panamanian, so her grandson came to translate. Following that, she asked me to water her plants while she accompanied her daughter and grandson on a trip to Calgary for a college tour, as her grandson would be graduating soon.
As she walked by, unaware that she was passing my balcony, I spoke out and said, “Good morning!” I’m not sure what Francine’s age is, but I’m guessing she’s older than me because when she asked my age once, and I told her 63, she said, “Oh, you’re still young.” She is walnut brown, and her hair is parted down the middle, with two plaits on each side that reach just below her ears. She is petit and sprite-y. But we had a short, friendly chat. She recognized that I was up unusually early, and asked when I would be joining her on her morning walk. This, I thought, was the reason I chose this apartment. It was low enough to see my neighbors and the children as they passed by, and have a friendly chat. This, I thought, made waking up worth it. I couldn’t promise her when I would join her for the walk—this, sighting of me after all, was a fluke.
She went on her way, I finished my tea, and came back inside for a banana—and sat down to write.
“Whatever you can do, or dream you can-begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”
~Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe