She is strong; she is invincible; she is woman.....

Sixtysomething

It seemed that she had rached an age where various body parts and internal accessories were starting to show some wear and tear. In her fifties, this was cause for taking offense, as she had been informed on numerous occasions, gently and apologetically, by various members of the medical profession, that  "it's just a part of getting older".  And to add to the indignity, such phrases were usually delivered by those considerably younger than her - although she felt that just about everybody on the planet was younger than her these days - and so she would think to herself..."Just wait, haha, you'll get there too". 

Faced with the onward march of time and its effect on her mind and body, she tried to practice what she called constructive denial. Constructive denial, she felt, was different from the basic generic dysfunctional denial, which can impact life in a serious, negative way. But constructive denial could have a positive influence on things, and she liked to practice the simple homily that if you're going to do, or not do, something, one reason was as good as another!

She had no interest in behaving like her sixtysomething age , so she was willing to take some measures to try to avoid actually appearing as the typical grandmother that she (happily and gratefully) was. Occasionally - actually only once - on a good day, a Doctor uttered the phrase "I can't believe that you're sixty-seven years old", and it  made her want to give him a puppy, or at the very least, to take out her voice recorder and get it down on tape, available for playback at critical times in her day.

But something was amiss with her chronological age, an age when most women, if they had been prudent, serenely transition (she loved that word) into retirement. She, although she had kept her mind honed with crossword puzzles, sudoku puzzles and episodes of Jeopardy, had not, unfortunately, been quite so prudent, so her latest foray against the overwhelming downward march of gravity was to practice 'facial yoga'. She had read that this was now the 'cutting edge' but she tended to think that the whole point was that there was no cutting - no muss, no fuss and, as well, no downtime and no unexplained absences from any social activities as there would have been had she chosen the option of cosmetic surgery.  A few twists of the lips, furrows of the brow, and voila, she was done. And not only that, she didn't have to suit up in spandex yoga wear!

She thought that she preferred sixtysomething to fiftysomething. Fiftysomething, to her anyway, just sounded old, tired and washed up on the sandbar of life, without the experience and knowledge to provide that certain character and stature. Sixtysomething, on the other hand, sounded redolent with riveting stories and edgy anecdotes, a state of mind worthy of respect and admiration. And, of course, for all her fiftysomething friends, this was meant in the nicest way possible. She just wanted them to  know that it would be coming for them soon enough and that they should, in the meantime,  enjoy the moment.