Destination: Jimmy Durante

Yesterday I ran across a discouraging article.  It pointed out that whereas most parts of the human body have stopped growing when an individual reaches adulthood, there are two uniform exceptions to that rule: your ears and your nose.

589dbf1913f52__george-burns-and-jimmy-durante(FYI, apparently fat cells around the midsection are not considered a separate “body part.”)

The article explains that in most parts of the human body, growth stops because cells stop dividing — although the cells themselves can expand or shrink.  The ears and nose are different from other body parts because they are soft tissue encased in cartilage, and the soft tissue cells keep growing, and growing, and growing — forever.  And when I call up the mental images of the two of my grandparents who lived well into their 90s, I realize with a start that they did end up with pretty big schnozzollas, now that I really think about it.

This is discouraging news, because I don’t know of anyone who desperately desires to have a bigger nose or more prominent ears.  The nose is already one of the dominant features of the face.  It’s not exactly an attractive, expressive feature, either.  If a facial feature has to continue to grow, why couldn’t it be the eyes?

And, if like me, you already have a considerable, if noble, nose, and ears that look like the twin handles of a Roman vase, you wonder just how big the darned things might get.  I’m afraid I’m ultimately headed to Jimmy Durante territory.

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Looking Older

Russell will be coming home for a few days later this week.  It will be good to see him — and to subject him to the initial parental once-over.

IMG_3183If you’re a parent, you know what I mean.  When your children leave home and you see them only once in a while, you can’t help but give their familiar faces some careful scrutiny the next time you see them.  The passage of time always brings a fresh perspective.  Usually my reaction is:  they look and act so much older, like the adults they have become.  The chubby cheeks and white-blond hair of childhood are long gone, replaced by the visage of a mature, functioning twenty-something who is in control of his life.

With this visit, though, I suddenly realize that the tables may be turning.  When I was a twenty-something living in D.C. and came home for a visit, I remember looking at my parents and thinking that they were the ones who were looking older — a bit grayer, a bit more lined, a bit more stooped, and a bit more deliberate in their actions with an occasional wince as they rose from the kitchen table after dinner.  When Richard and Russell come home for their occasional visits these days, will they now be checking us out and seeing those telltale signs of age?

I’m going to have to pay more attention when I look in the mirror this morning as I get ready for work.