Mirror, mirror

-"Once upon a time..."

-"Let me stop you right there mom!" my daughter replies.

-"Why?" I act surprised. "You used to love stories, especially in December."

-"Yeah, yeah: the bleak midwinter is the season for storytelling." she sighs.

-"That's the spirit" I happily exclaim.

-"You are a storytelling animal, mom." she jokes, "But please don't start with once upon a time, I hate stories that start with once upon a time."

-"Okay, no problem. You have your way." I come to a compromise, "If you can bring yourself to put down that eternal iPhone."

-"You have my full attention." she says in a deep solemn voice.

-"Long ago." I start.

-"How long ago?" she asks.

-"I do not know. A long time ago." I answer a little irritated.

- "Mother dear: I need a timeline. Otherwise, I cannot see it." she replies in a somewhat mocking tone.

I sigh.

-"You don't have to see it, just listening is enough."

-"Yes, but I have to be able to visualize it." she stubbornly continues.

-"Then close your eyes and surrender to the magic of my story." I say a little angrily because she keeps undermining me. "I am not here asking you to analyze a historical philosophical treatise. All you have to do is listen, and hopefully, also dream away among the magical sprinkles of the words of my story."

-"Okay," she finally admits, "Sprinkle away!"

"A very, very long time ago, in a land far, far away, there once sat a man in his mud hut rubbing his hands on obsidian." I start with exaggerated emphasis.

-"About what?" she interrupts me innocently.

-"Volcanic glass." I explain to her.

-"Never heard of it." she throws up, blinking her eyes.

-"Can I continue, or should you first ask some search engine for text and explanation?" I want to know.

-"No, go on: there was a man in a little house rubbing a stone or something like that." she says with a waving gesture.

-"The craftsman sat and rubbed the stone until it began to glow darkly, and he could see his reflection in it." I am finally trying to get started.

-"Remarkably interesting mom. He made a mirror." she really cannot help but throw something in between.

"If you keep interrupting me like that, I won't tell you," I say as seriously as I can.

my daughter sits up and shakes her head: "What happened to that mirror, or what has become of it?"

-"Do you know?" I pout, "Never mind, I don't feel like telling anymore."

-"No, mom!" she says in a high voice, "Please continue, I promise I'll keep my mouth shut."

-"Finally, archaeologists found that stone in a woman's grave." I try to resume.

-"Oh?" she asks cautiously. "The very stone that the man you told me about was polishing?"

-"Yes!2 I say gruffly.

-"And then?" she looks at her with wide eyes.

-"And then what?" I ask irritated.

-"Was that your whole story?" she asks stupidly.

-"God give me strength." I sigh. "Don't you find it fascinating that mirrors have been around for thousands of years?" I ask her sincerely.

-"Well..." she thinks for a moment and then continues: "I honestly never thought about that."

-"Well," I begin, "I think there's something hypnotic about mirrors, and they show us much more than we're willing to look at."

"Well, you have a point there, I must admit," she says bored, glancing at her cell phone.

-"Do you know that in Latin, looking in a mirror is called admiring oneself? To admire or to marvel, I'm not so sure anymore." I try to explain.

-"What you don't say, mom." she says while suppressing a yawn.

-"And did you know that mirrors were used as ceremonial items or to ward off evil spirits." I ask her.

-"For me, a mirror is an instrument to examine my face before, during, and after I put on my make-up." she points dryly.

-"If you ask me, a mirror for you is an instrument of fear and obsession." I throw back impatiently.

-"Oh mom, you're such a drama queen!" she begins.

-"Offensive!" I throw in quickly.

-"Admit it, you love your mirror too, you are no better than any other woman. So do not pretend that you have sole authority over holiness here.” My daughter bites back.

I think for a moment and then say, "Okay, I admit that my relationship with my mirror is complex."

-"Do not make me laugh!" she giggles, "I don't know any woman whose secret pleasure isn't to be able to hang out in front of the mirror for hours undisturbed. I'd like to know how many hours in our lives are taken up by our reflection."

-"I have no idea, but I'm sure your search engines will be able to give you an outright and correctly estimated answer to that." I say with wounded pride.

-"Ah mom, everyone loves her or his mirror. No one might dare to admit it, but it is true." she defends herself. "Do continue please: In ancient times, mirrors were used for sacred as well as profane purposes."

-"I've lost the thread of my story." I say in an irritated tone.

She looks at me with puppy eyes and pouts. "Go on," she says in a squeaky voice.

-"And manufacturing mirrors was also a toxic affair." I resume my story.

-"Who would have thought?" my offspring feigns interest, "Nowadays we all carry a compact mirror in our bag, and I have to admit that I prefer to use my phone as a mirror."

-"Well," I sigh, "when things get too mundane, they lose their shine."

-"Don't worry mommy dearest, my mirror is still able to hold my attention."

-"I do not doubt that." I tease her, "Did you know that the dead used to be buried with a hand mirror?"

-"Why? To check if their hair was right? What is it with you and mirrors today?" she asks curiously. "Looking in a mirror is the most normal thing in the world, isn't it? Even men are constantly looking in the mirror."

-"I'm sorry." I whisper.

-"Why is that?" she asks.

-"We have become so accustomed to the impulse of vanity that we have forgotten the feeling of looking. And seeing." I answer her.

-"Oh dear, we're getting deep." she sighs.

"Oh, don't be so superficial!" I respond angrily.

-"What?" she shrugs.

-"We only face our reflections with fear, never with joy. We look in the mirror with a sense of suspicion." I try to explain.

-"Don´t worry, not me!" she assures me, "I desire the knowledge of how the world sees me. And if you ask me, the misery you´re trying to map out here, all started with Greek sagas and legends."

-"You lost me." I admit.

-” Take Narcissus. Do you want to know what I think of that story?" she says seriously.

--" Do tell!" I encourage her.

"Well, couldn't it be that he was there by that pond admiring his -derriere-..."

-"Where is this going?" I interrupt her.

-"We everybody thinks that the fair youth sat for hours gazing at his pretty face, and wasted away from misery," she explains her point.

-"He drowned" I correct her.

-"Whatever! He was punished for his self-love. The moral of the story is that it is dangerous to think yourself beautiful." she defends her point vigorously.

-"Maybe it's a story about the power of reflection." I say casually.

-"Oh, come on, mother! What was in your coffee?” she cries out.

-"We're all attracted to our reflection. Aren't you fascinated by the image of yourself imprisoned in silver glass?" I ask.

-"I think it is important how I look. And you too, just admit it. It contributes to the quality of our lives." she argues.

-"The ugly truth is rather that those who fit the prevailing cultural definition of "beautiful" are judged to be of a higher value. It is almost a necessity for survival, these days; to see yourself, as the world wants to see you. You have to constantly fold yourself into every possible fold just to fit that definition." I exhale in one breath.

-"Can you wait a minute here?" she says. I can hear her sarcastic undertone. "Let me check if my mascara isn't smudged."

-"Perhaps that is why mirrors have been associated with magic for so long." I continue calmly.

-"Yes, because the mirror shows you what you can't see yourself." she says as she checks her messages on her iPhone."

-"Right!" I say, "Then maybe they can show you other things too: spirits, ghosts, or visions of the future. It is said that Nostradamus used a black mirror to collect occult knowledge."

-"If you ask me..." she begins.

-"Which I don't." I say quickly.

-"Just listen." she protests, "I think that psychic or fortune-teller or whatever he was, was looking at himself, trying to maybe comprehend his own mystery."

- "Anyway, we all still stare in the mirror hoping that we will succeed." I try to finish the conversation, but my daughter suddenly sits up straight: 

-"You know, I saw a commercial the other day about a witch in New Orleans who sells black mirrors for fifty dollars. I don't need that; I just need a mirror to see if my hair is all right and my make-up hasn't run."

-"Nowadays many mirrors are also used as interior decoration." it suddenly occurs to me. "The mirror replaces the theater of reflection and artifice."

"If you can't call that magic, then I don't know what will." she yawns.

- “I believe much has been stripped of the mirror`s magic." I counter, "Nothing matters anymore. The mirror is at best another trap. It is a tool for succeeding in a system that is broken, in a world that assigns arbitrary values, and punishes those who do not conform appropriately.

-"Let's be honest, Mom." she starts with a frown, but I could not stop talking and continue: "And that's the ugly thing about mirrors. What they show you isn't always attractive."

-"Mother, you are hopeless." my daughter sighs deeply.

-"When mirrors were associated with magical powers, we had more reverence for the power of the object. Now they stand for beauty and emptiness." I conclude.

-"Yes, mama, magic has been relegated to the margins, and replaced by vanity." my daughter adds.

-"A woman today who looks in the mirror, “I muse to myself, "sees only one thing: herself."

  "Oh, don't be so melodramatic." she suddenly snaps, "A woman standing in front of the mirror does so much more than just look at herself: she judges how others see her, and figures out how to increase her strength. A mirror is a necessity. Period!"

I look at her with a big look.

-"Yes, and make up a means of transforming the "Self" into whimsical and fantastical creations." I think aloud.

-"You see, magic after all. I believe we have uncovered the full potential of the mirror." she cries out victorious.

-"You act like what we see in the mirror is a complete picture that is truly represented. The mirror only shows what we want others to see. Mirrors only reinforce the idea that the value of a person lies on the outside of the body." I gasp irritated.

-"Come off your high horse, will you? As if you were exempt from the desire to be visually judged and found attractive." my daughter aggressively argues back.

-"You're absolutely right! When I look in the mirror, I see how others might see me." I defend my point, but she will not let me finish my sentence and spits: "You mean how you hope others will see you." And after a short pause, she continues: "and you know what else: t ´is perhaps the season to tell stories, but above all; this the season to be jolly!"

I burst out laughing.

-"I think you could use a little coffee. Do you know what, I will ask my iPhone, where they have the best coffee around here. First let us see if I still look presentable." she runs the tip of her tongue ostentatiously over her teeth as she investigates the screen of her cell phone.

-"So; now my digital mirror can tell me where they have the best coffee in the neighborhood. Mirror, mirror.... who has the finest coffee of them all?"