by Susan Ternyey, 2008
The earth and life are full of wrinkles. And so what that they are? Wrinkles are beautiful! From a fairly featureless molten globe, masses of stone coagulated on the surface of our earth, cooled and hardened into rocky mountains that collided as they rode the boiling undercurrents of lower layers. Such is the theory of our world’s beginnings. Without mountains, rain wouldn’t drizzle or pour, delicate crystals of ice would hardly have a chance to float and fly to us from celestial skies. The cycle of water that gives each life its turn is invigorated by those wrinkled, layered masses pressed up from ordinary plains by processes deep beneath the surface. Streams rush down, re-cycling rocks, bringing new earth and richness to the fields. Those same streams lend their mountain-made energy to man—once to grind the wheat to make the bread, now to churn electric power. Amid the mountains, hidden streams percolate, gather, concentrate the treasures of earth into ore- and gem-filled cracks and crannies. Mountain vents allow the earth to blow off steam and release built-up forces too hot to handle. Mountains grow under pressure, quake and tremble at their faults and slips, and bend their backs to support the flora and fauna of forests. They soar above the clouds and change mundane to spectacular sights. They take the grinding burden of glaciers wearing away at them year after year in dignified grace. Mountains are wrinkles, but oh, what wrinkles! Life has wrinkles—not just in the sheets and shirts, suits and slacks. Yet there’s no need to become wrinkle wranglers running manglers all the time. Lest we think our lives must be spent in straightening and ironing all to crisp smoothness, let us contemplate a moment why we impress creases in our dress pants and why we crimp and curl hair. Why did searsucker and other purposely wrinkled fabrics come into style? What about “scrunchies”, slouch socks, and the rumpled look? When life is too flat, it’s boring, stifled, uncomfortable. Maybe not all are attracted to the dogged looks of the Sharpei breed, but a certain looseness is not only a more relaxed fit, it’s critical. Why do elephants have wrinkles? Imagine how elbows and knuckles—even eyelids—would balk at bending if they had no slack in their little folds. There can be a time for straightness, but there can also be a cherished time of crumpling together in laughter at the wrinkles in and of our times. When life’s pressures and stresses seem to be wearing us away, cracking, breaking us down—eroding even what seemed most solid—it is thus that reveals our hidden layers, bedrock, and treasures from the depths of our souls, far below the superficial. Wrinkled raisins and walnuts are tasty little jewels we find in cookies, breads, and cinnamon rolls. Wrinkled icing decorates the cake and makes it special. Our senses delight in texture. Without bumps and bends, where would sculpture be? Two dimensions give us meaning and enjoyment, yet how often do we seek and simulate in them the depth of another dimension! We profoundly ponder that other side. We seek to see from many angles, many views. These all come from wrinkles and their cornered kin. Most beautiful of all are the wrinkles that give character to our countenances. What expressiveness and fun would we lose if we couldn’t crinkle our noses! How much more face has a wrinkled old sage than a babe! Experience has sculpted a masterpiece, to make fertile every field of man’s endeavor. Every life can enrich our own depths and gems of understanding. How many wrinkled old faces radiate hard-won wisdom! So I say, “Throw out those wrinkle creams!” Why should I be ashamed of my wrinkles and grey hair? I earned them. They express the search and finding of precious things in life. I love to see a wrinkled old face with twinkling eyes, and I don’t shy from attaining my own. Wrinkles are beautiful!
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