Well, here I am, procrastinating, again. I have an unusual evening off, and so I thought I'd be a good student and get a jump on tomorrow's homework (which is gonna take me hours to do, as it is.) But...

Little Sir 3-Year-Old needed to get out of the house, after being cooped up all day with a sick father on a rainy day, and I had to go to the library anyway, and I miss having time with him, so...why not do it together? Took a textbook and a notebook, the little boy, and off we went. Spent a lovely time getting started on homework, while watching him play with the puzzles, go through The Very Quiet Cricket a couple of times, explore the selection of Curious George books, and go through the entire puppet box. Delightfully unrushed for once, he had a wonderful time (except for the frustrating moments when he tried to be friendly with another little boy who was JUST NOT INTERESTED! He doesn't get it that not everybody wants to play with him.) I actually did get some work done, and he was very cooperative while I looked up books for an assignment. Together, we picked out some appropriate videos (newer generation ones I don't know so well, like Blue's Clues, and some oldies-but-goodies...I say, it's time to introduce him to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!)

Well, that accomplished, DH has him in the tub, and I'm at the computer, supposedly working hard at being a good student. Nothing's coming to me. Blank screen. I don't wanna do this. Not another dissertation...blah blah blah.

I keep remembering the way my day started out, at 8 a.m. With a mammogram. Ugh. I know it's the responsible thing to do, keeping tabs on my health and all, but really. Some women-hating sadist must've invented this particular torture device. I understand what it does, but when they take an x-ray of my teeth, the dentist doesn't feel the need to first run a high pressured rolling pin over my face, squeezing the absolute life out of me. Sonograms aren't excruciatingly painful. Imagine if they photographed scrotums that way!

And then the technician kept asking me if I was ok. "Well," I smiled, grimly. "This
is not the most comfortable experience I've ever had." I guess she could tell by my facial expression, as she bent me all over, like Gumby, trying to stick half of my chest in the squeezing device, without any of the other side of my chest getting in the way. How does Dolly Parton manage this???

And on that note, I'm getting back to work.

I had something nice just happen tonight, and I have to write about it.

I'm back in college, adding some more letters after my name, and trying to juggle everything well. I always feel like I'm not quite cutting it...my papers are not researched quite well enough, not proofread carefully enough, my presentations not interesting enough...and then, there's real life...the house not quite clean enough, not spending enough time with DH, my dad, and each of my 3 offspring...not exercising enough, not remembering to take my vitamins often enough, blah blah blah.
(can I add not sleeping enough???)

Well, tonight I had a presentation to do...the second of 3 students who were to present. The first young woman got up, with perky little handouts, looking like a perfectly groomed executive. The one after me introduced a guest at the conclusion of her speech, who blew everyone away.

And there was me, sandwiched in the middle. Dressed nice, but feeling dumpy...awkwardly stumbling over my words, as happens when I get nervous...forcing myself to make eye contact, and always looking at the WRONG person (someone yawning, or whispering to their neighbor, or looking like they were textmessaging.) I got through it, just like I always do. "Endure to the end!", that's my motto.

Well...after class, the professor asked me to stay for a minute. My heart started pounding. Oh no. What did I do wrong? Did I research the wrong topic? Say something off color?

She turned to me and said, "I just have to tell you, that was an excellent presentation. Your research was so thoroughly done, and everything you said was so interesting! I really enjoyed it."

Wow. Well, knock me over with a feather. I managed to smile, and politely say, "Thank you," before bolting from the room. Wow!

Just thought I'd write it all down, and savor the moment, before I tackle my next chore. Studying for tomorrow's Phonetics exam. Ugh.

I heard an interview on the Diane Reahm Show awhile back. I don't remember the name of the author or the book she'd just published, and I'd missed the beginning of the show, anyway. What did make a big impression on me, however, was her exhortation to a caller to "love your neck". She asked her if she'd looked at her neck lately, and the caller, said, ashamedly, "No." Apparently, the author had been awoken one day, quite rudely, with the reality of her aging, which was particularly apparent on her face and neck.


I've watched, unhappily, the increasing lies around my eyes, and the appearance of some new creases in my skin that hadn't been there before this summer. My neck looks okay, I guess ... so far... but I did notice a new crease, right by my mouth, today. When I smile, I have an extra smile line on the left side of my face, that's not matched on the right side...and when I stop smiling, it's still there.


Now, I've invested in Arbonne's all-natural age-fighting regime, and I'm pretty faithful about using it (in the morning, at least...at night, I'm just too tired to do too many steps.) I'm careful to use sunblock and not get too much sun exposure, and I drink a lot of water, and eat healthily. But the clock keeps ticking, doesn't it, and the pages on the calendar still keep needing to be flipped.


I've pondered, what is it, exactly, that I want? I'm not into the whole routine of many I've seen who get injections of serums meant to preserve, or renew, youth...and those into Botox and all it's relations. Age is inevitable, and I don't want to look fake with a 20-year-old face on a 60-year-old body one day. (I saw a lady like that once in Southampton that nearly scared me to death. Her face looked at least 40 years younger than her hands. It was creepy!)

But I do want to age gracefully, and be active and peppy and intelligent to the day I die, with lots of energy to do all the things I love. I've watched women who are 40 years older than I, and more, and found ones I particularly admire. There's one who's recently taken up the flute, another who still goes dancing every night, and another who's always busy in the garden cross-breeding and experimenting with different soil pHs, still trying to get the perfect tomato. There are two in their late 80's, one's a music teacher, and the other an ESL teacher, who still teach and have a passion for it. They seem to be perfectly comfortable with who they are, and the place they've come to.

Today I talked with a gentleman who's well into his 60's, who has a respected law firm with many younger partners, as well as older ones. The younger ones wanted to know at what age he was going to put in a policy of enforced retirement. He said "Never." His elder colleagues were still practicing law, using their experienced edge to run circles around the younger ones, and were very happy doing it. Why should they stop?

They say "50 is the new 40, 40 is the new 30," etc. I think we have a new view on age today, than perhaps we did 20 yrs. ago. While age is not respected as it once was, or is still in some societies, it is also not viewed as obsolescence. I remember an ad that said, "Don't lie about your age...defy it."

So what do I do? I'm back in college, with many other ladies older than myself, going through a career change. Some of my fellow students are over 55, and are planning a whole new career, having already completed one. That takes guts, and I have nothing but respect for them.

I'm gonna keep coloring my new grays, keep putting the age-defying potions on my face, keep beating my body into submission with exercise, keep forcing my brain to tackle new languages and new concepts...and I am not going to quietly retire, an old woman, at 55. Who has time for that? I'm too busy, at 43, to even think of it.