“I hope you find someone,” my daughter was saying to her son as she applied a coat of moisturizing lotion to his shoulders, “who cares enough about you” (slather, slather) “to put lotion on your back.” She punctuated “back” with a slap and pushed him on his way.
I can hear the singer Ray Charles’ mournful voice as I apply a coat of Eucerin Advanced Repair lotion to my arms: “Oh, it’s cryin’ time again…” Only I replace “crying” with “drying,” because all the moisture in my skin evaporates in winter. In the African-American community, we refer to our dry skin as “ashy.” This designation is derived from the way the dry flakes sit atop our skin, giving it a dusty appearance. As a former high school swim team member, I have spent a lot of time in chlorinated waters, getting my fingers puckery and my skin ashy. Foolish teen that I was, I eschewed moisturizing lotions, choosing to pursue the more manly course of outrageous itchiness. Of course, my young skin recovered its moisture quickly, so “outrageous itchiness” was saved for my later years. Like, now.
I spend a lot of time afoot, wending my way toward stores and bus stops, parks, and pool tables. When the weather becomes “bitey,” I bundle up, layering my body with long johns and sweaters, padding my hands with gloves. Wicked weather for me starts at 40 degrees. I have been ridiculed for wearing gloves in what for some, would be mild weather, but my hands remember the heartbreak of frostbite, suffered by me when I was a snow-shoveling kid in Pittsburgh. And as I told my neighbor, “I don’t like ICE, and I just can’t lie!” Nor cold, nor snow, and while the Indianapolis area has had little of those things, the new year has brought a resurgence of nasty weather. As this column is being crafted, the weather has climbed from a low of minus-3 degrees, to a lofty 3 (count ‘em) degrees. And inside my house, my skin dries.
An info-snacking moment on television brought me news that hot showers tend to suck the juice out of our skin. This bad news releases me from the daily dance of the shower-head heat adjustment. No matter how slowly and carefully I turn the “cold” tap, it always overpowers the “hot.” But nonetheless, when I exit the shower and dry my body, I neglect to see to the replenishing of my skin’s moisture. But lately, I have noticed that my hands have developed tiny little barbs. And my face aches.
My dry skin cries out for care, and I’ve ignored it. I need to add skin care to my daily dressing regimen. I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to decide if my socks will coordinate with my pants or shirt, a habit acquired from years of working in fashion as an artist and art director for retail stores. But perhaps I should remember the processes that the make-up artists used to ensure that the model’s skin was glowing and photo worthy. I need to alter my daily routine of shower, dry and deodorize; don pre-selected shorts, t-shirt, and socks; add coordinating pants, shirt, and shoes. I should add an application of soothing lotion, but I recently discovered that lotion should come after deodorant to avoid the slippery hands that cannot pull the top off the deodorant.
I’m dry; I’ve itched and scratched my way through the composition of this piece; as soon as I’ve put “fin” to it, I’m going to jump feet first into a tub of Aquaphor.
cjon3acd@att.net