Short Hair, Glasses and a Turkey Neck

If you were to ask me what sixty-two years of age feels like, I would say a lot like fifty-two, but I go to bed earlier. There are days I feel like forty again, with a spring in my step and a mischievous gleam in my eye.  The very next evening my feet will hurt and the laugh lines around my eyes will bring me down-down-down.

Some folks have guessed my age at ten years younger than my birth certificate, and I give all the credit to a good gene pool and mineral make-up.  These same kind folks don’t have access to my medicine cabinet full of hydrating lotion that softens and smoothes; facial peels in a jar; sunblock with vitamins A,C, E; and my trusted apricot scrub to renew and firm.  Do you get the picture?  Do you get my drift?  It’s all mirrors and magic.

Looking good in middle age is no easy chore, and I state this loud and clear, “Maintenance is the key.” Big sun hat, expensive tanning lotion, a wonderful firming cream, and those important peptides for the raccoon-like dark circles.  You can spend hours on skin care (and dollars too) but your attitude needs to be clean and upbeat. How many women have you met that are drop-dead gorgeous, sport a diamond larger than your current one, drive a new car – then open their mouths and you think OMG what happened?  If their mood and language is bitter-angry-resentful; full of “I want” and “I need” this is not the middle aged role model for me.  I will admit there are times when my hormones are out-of-whack or seemingly non-existent, the scale added 3-5 pounds overnight, I’m suffering night sweats, lost my house keys for the third time that day, and forgot to take the damp laundry out of the washer.  At those particular times I am bottom ugly; look like a shrew; sound like a seagull.  It’s not pretty and my husband will agree I am one mean cougar.

Most of the time I aim to be pleasant; personable; humorous and hopeful. I try hard to be more forgiving than forgetful. Ah, to be forty again and fresh as a newborn kitten.  To experience forty-five one more time, full of energy and good vibrations. I’d even like to go back and re-live my Big Six Zero before I’m too old to remember.

Age is one number, or two, or three.  Age is written on paper or posted in the local newspaper obituaries. It’s not who we are.  Age can be clearly seen on some people’s faces, and camouflaged on others.  It is attitude, it is hope and acceptance; it’s your daily reality check.  I just want to get on with it.  I will continue to pluck and defoliate – will move forward with vitamins on my face and in my tummy. I will continue to pray, exercise, and eat in moderation.  I will welcome change in my life simply because it makes a brain work harder and smarter. I want to smile like I mean it – walk with a purpose –welcome each new day and praise the Lord He didn’t decide to take me in the middle of the night.

And to the jerk that recently said "Female writers usually sport short hair, glasses and a turkey neck" you are one ignorant young man. Your mother should slap you silly or wash your mouth out with soap.

In closing all I have to say is I’m ready to get this party started!