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."
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My role model. She's eighty-five. And gorgeous. |
Comments
xx, Carol
When working, I was a nurse in ER and later worked in surgery. That's another job where there is no room for error.
Judi Dench is a favorite of mine, too, and despite problems with her vision, she doesn't seem to let it get her down or slow her down.
Someone said "Age is mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."
A belated Happy Birthday to you!
Hugs!
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