Being Seventy: Seven
I'm nearly to the end of the bits that I saved from Being Seventy. Some of them have been sobering. This one, not so much:
Page 133: In how many different ways this business of growing old comes at one! Days go by when I scarcely think of it, days full of the usual — or unusual — activities, and then the thought springs up: but I am seventy!
I turned seventy-five last week. My hair is mostly gray. My face could stand a good pressing. My neck is no longer sleek.
Many of my friends dye their hair. At least one has had a face lift. Some do not care to share their ages. I'm none of those. I don't think that looking older has to mean looking less pretty. I'm fond of saying, "I don't feel my age. Except for my knees."
My role model. She's eighty-five. And gorgeous.