A couple of weeks ago I watched a very interesting TV programme but found that I was at times distracted by the presenter's face. Such a crumpled face! This was an older man, but by no means an old man. I felt sorry for the owner of the face, as I always do feel sorry for people with crumpled, 'quilted' faces. I think how difficult it must be to wash the face, to clean each wrinkle and furrow, each soft, wobbling line. I wondered why the fellow's face was so crumpled: it could not simply be that he had been out in the sun too much most of his life.
A few days later, by strange coincidence, I came across a possible explanation. Strange, because in all my life I had never heard about it before. The likely answer seems to be GLYCATION. - Go on! - Look it up using your favourite search engine! - It seems that glycation can occur when protein and sugar combine in the body. The Advanced Glycation End products (AGEs) that result are undesirable signs of accelerated ageing, which can include wrinkles, cataracts, peripheral nerve damage and many more. So if your poor face has started to look crumpled, or you'd rather like to prevent it ever starting to look crumpled, perhaps you'd like to cut down on the sugar and sugary stuff you eat. Stay as sweet (and young and beautiful) as you are by avoiding the sweet stuff! And reduce your risk of type 2 diabetes...
Showing posts with label faces. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faces. Show all posts
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Saturday, 10 February 2007
FACES - Short Story by Margaret Wilde
Faces
It was his face she would recall. His faces. Always.
She had opened the door to him that first time and her heart had lifted at what she saw: the smile, the slightly quizzical lifted eyebrow as he checked that this was the right place, the right person. They had talked for hours that had sped oh so swiftly.
The next face she remembered was his dejected look. She realised she had unintentionally caused it and swiftly remedied that and it never returned.
The first face – his kind, gentle, smiling face - was the most frequent one.
She was frightened when he became cross because his face changed utterly and he ended the conversation and went to his room. Later he drew himself to his full height and stood ramrod-straight so that she had to bend her head back to see the stern, unsmiling look as he made clear his feelings.
Another time his face crumpled up with tiredness and she wondered if he would start crying.
Yes, it was his face she would remember, rather than his final words. - “I am a cold person,” he said. “Don’t touch me! - You have driven me away.”
Margaret Wilde © 2007
It was his face she would recall. His faces. Always.
She had opened the door to him that first time and her heart had lifted at what she saw: the smile, the slightly quizzical lifted eyebrow as he checked that this was the right place, the right person. They had talked for hours that had sped oh so swiftly.
The next face she remembered was his dejected look. She realised she had unintentionally caused it and swiftly remedied that and it never returned.
The first face – his kind, gentle, smiling face - was the most frequent one.
She was frightened when he became cross because his face changed utterly and he ended the conversation and went to his room. Later he drew himself to his full height and stood ramrod-straight so that she had to bend her head back to see the stern, unsmiling look as he made clear his feelings.
Another time his face crumpled up with tiredness and she wondered if he would start crying.
Yes, it was his face she would remember, rather than his final words. - “I am a cold person,” he said. “Don’t touch me! - You have driven me away.”
Margaret Wilde © 2007
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