My God! His Haircut Even Trumped the Beatles

What if he had lived...I will always remember the day our beloved President was shot.  I know where I was, at the end of my childhood as an innocent and naive twelve-year-old.  I grew up in Miami Beach, Florida.  This is a second home to millions of Cuban-Americans.  On that horrible day, tears streamed down their faces in the halls at Nautilus Jr. High School.  Nothing could be changed, it was a permanent scar etched in our hearts forever.

This week, I sat motionless in from of my television set, feeling emply and lost looking at the images of a man that was so far ahead of his time.  My God! even his haircut trumped the Beatles!  He was a first on so many levels; he fought for human rights, women's rights, and countless other issues.

We couldn't afford to loose a man like John Fitzgerald Kennedy.  But we did.  I don't feel we have actually lost him when I look at those fresh images of himself and Jacqueline.  They looked so happy, so young, so eager to face life head-on.

I think back on the Kennedy history. It is not lore that tragedy has struck this family.  It has been said that the Kennedy's were risk takers, but; it is no accident that so many Kennedy's lost their lives at the prime of their lives. 

Was it a curse? or just dumb luck? 

We might never know.  I just can't stop thinking of all the senseless tragedies this family incurred.

I can't tune out the images and reflecting on this man; what he was, how much more he would have become, had he lived.

It just wasen't meant to be.  It just wasen't meant to be. I say to myself.  I feel cheated, and angry but can't reconcile the truth:

There are monsters among us that are determined to take away the great people in this world.

Still I feel privileged to be able to look back on the cherished two years he was with us:

"The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.'

The Law of Gravity


It was Christmas time, filled with glee and the promise of a new year; I always want to contact friends, especially those that I haven't seen in a long time.
I imagine what they look like if I haven't been in touch. How they've aged, if they are heavy or thin, healthy or ill, what hands' life has dealt them.  It fills my heart with joy to hear their voices, because whether or not they have aged 'gracefully', they remain the same to me. 
A close and long-time friend told me she had lunched with a mutual friend. "Denise, you would never recognize Dean, he is all bent over." Yes, I was saddened to hear this about my dear friend Dean, but you know what? When I spoke to him at Christmas, he was the same, funny man I remember in his youth. Still witty, charming and fun. Nothing had changed, we could pick up on the phone where we left off 37 years ago. 
I am not convinced one can actually age 'gracefully'. 
There is no doubt this is my personal goal, but I can't control the gene factor. For example, how to control a sagging neck, or how many smile lines will etch my face. Whenever I catch myself being vain, (pulling on my neck to make it smooth), I always stop myself and think:

Geez, how lucky I am to feel wonderful and have my health. Yes, I know it is a cliche, but so true. 
I live in an apartment complex with Section 8 people, some critically ill - most younger than I - with chronic illnesses. One neighbor confided: "You know, when I was diagnosed with MS, I found out at work. I remember getting up from my office chair and walking out." 
Apparently, so shocked and saddened by this horrible news she made her exit and never returned. 
As far as aging 'gracefully', is it overrated? 
I suppose if I were independently wealthy, I might have the nip and tuck done here and there. We can never control other issues. For example, what about my hands? Anybody can look at hands and usually tell the person's age. You can't hide it for long. Those lucky enough to have completely smooth and youthful hands may be stricken with arthritis. 
Americans' are the vainest of all countries. No country in the world puts such a huge premium on weight and appearances. Could this account for all the depression, anxiety and neurosis we have? 
While I don't want to look like 20 miles of back country road, I am going to make an honest effort and look at myself in the mirror and repeat my new mantra: 
"The old gray mare ain't what she used to be" but she ain't bad looking at all!