The Beauty of Aging

I can no longer say I am approaching old age. I have to accept I am old and getting older. There I admitted it. It isn’t so bad. I feel more confident now then I ever did and am having more fun than when I can remember. I hear from people that I don’t look my age but in my circle, I don’t know anyone who does look or act their age. We are active, dance up a storm and love life. It is all relevant to who you and who you are comparing them to.

As a kid, I thought my mother and other relatives her age were old and looked it. I think most of the mothers during the 1960s did look old not because they were but because they didn’t dare try and look younger. I never saw my mother or other female relatives in pants, always skirts. When at home, they wore unflattering housecoats with little flowers on them. I am sure my mother wore a bra to bed. Not that that made her old, it was just a funny thing to do. Not all females of the 60s dressed like that. Just the ones in my family. I think they thought showing skin was being risque.

I don’t look so bad for my age but I wish I took more care of myself in my younger days. In spite of what I did, someone must have looked down upon me and choose to allow my indiscretions without having them hurt me too much. I smoked cigarettes until I was 30 – a habit I am so glad didn’t stick. I drank cheap wine , sometimes too much of it, that came in a basket, or in a jug with labels like “Blue Nun” or “Cold Duck“. My friends and husband would consider my humble beginnings of wine education a stretch from the snob I am now, rejecting bottles in restaurants for being too alcohol-y. And don’t get me started on all those days at the shore I sat without sun screen trying to get that even glow of a tan. When they came out with the SPF ratings, I found out my lotion was a 3.

I have survived these and many other reckless behaviors I care not to admit to. They may come out in other posts when I think no one is looking. As I look in the mirror, I see little by little the lines in my face appearing as a natural sign of years gone by that no miraculous, age defying cosmetic will ever eliminate. So be it.

There is a dear friend of mine who I’ve known for about 10 years. I knew she was older than me but never knew by how much. I guessed her age now to be around 70. This week, I found out she is celebrating her 79th birthday tomorrow. She looks fabulous, always smiling, and is active in many ways including dancing up a storm at every church dance. Age hasn’t stopped her and I want to be like her at 79 and beyond.

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