Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

It’s Tuesday and it’s me ... minimum maintenance Marcia, coming to you from my desk at the York News-Times. I’m having a “jeans” day because I felt like it and a ponytail day because I could.
I can remember back when I was a bit (actually a lot) higher maintenance than I am today. I think I was 15 or 16 years old at the time. Like all tweens and teens, it felt like all eyes were on me. Everything I “suffered” through was magnified. There was lots of drama, small pimples were treated as major eruptions. I choreographed every step I took, went home sick if I chipped a nail and would nearly “die” of embarrassment if, heaven forbid, my mascara smudged. I shaved my legs twice a day, re-washed my hair at noon and never went out of the house without matching shoes and purse.
I remember trying to explain to Heidi just how “un” important all of these seemingly life-altering occurrences were in the scheme of things to no avail, as a teen she was similarly afflicted. The day I fell up the west stairway at the old York High School I wanted to run far, far, away. Of course I had tripped in front of three of the most popular guys in school, and of course I knew how they talked, and of course I ripped a giant hole in my hose, and of course my books went sailing through the air, and of course my hair was a mess, and of course I wanted to cry but couldn’t because I was already late for Nebraska History class.
Being high maintenance was stressful ... but I got over it, obviously. Now I’m just plain old minimum maintenance me and I’m comfortable that way. I am who I am and I guess I just expect folks to understand and respect that fact.
Believing hair clippies are great, Birkenstocks-r-me, a light coat of powder will do and perfume is for special occasions does not affect my ability to do my job, be a loving wife, mother or caring friend.
It wasn’t until Heidi went to college she figured all this out. At university, away from (mis)perceptions she finally allowed herself to just be Heidi. The label on her jeans no longer mattered, scrunchies became part of everyday life, her hairspray bill drastically decreased. It was great, she developed a style of her own which in no way affects  her ability to do her job which is being a loving wife, mother and caring friend.
I guess what I’m trying to say (or demonstrate) is that there have been times in my life when the fact that I didn’t own a business suit mattered to some people. When the fact that I wasn’t in heels or perfectly coifed meant missed opportunities — but the way I look at it, I wasn’t the one who missed the opportunity, others were. They passed up the chance to have a super person like me around. A person who treats others with respect, cares about the planet, is a loving wife, mother and caring friend.
Being minimum maintenance is a gift I gave myself so I would have more time to spend on valuable things like my marriage, my children, grandchildren, parents and friends, volunteer work and my home. This isn’t rationalizing ... it’s a way of life ... it’s just me allowing myself to be just that. Minimum maintenance Marcia.
And now for the chorus, “I’ve got to be me .... What else can I be but what I am?” (Aren’t you glad this is newspaper and not radio?)