Well, we can escape it, but being dead doesn’t seem like a good alternative to me. Wondering what the hell I’m talking about? Come on, think about 
it for a nano second:
Aging.
Getting older.
Watching the years go by.
Blowing out the candles.
I have written about this subject before, but there have been a trifecta of ‘events’ in my life recently that have compelled me to write about it again. Sometimes the Universe sends you such strong Continue reading
Getting older is not something I dwell on. I can’t entirely avoid it like I could even four or five years ago, but it’s not constantly on my mind. Thankfully, because if it 
was I probably would have stuck my head in the oven long ago. But yesterday Michelle, over at The Green Study wrote a thought-provoking post on aging.
She was talking about some changes she’s noticing. Not that she’s old, by any means. But like the rest of us, time’s marching on.
I’ve got to say until the last year or so I didn’t really notice myself getting older. It’s amazing what we can block out of our minds, isn’t it? Well, okay, I agree, it’s hard not to notice some things. Like menopause. But I know young women with crow’s feet and laugh lines. And even grey hair.
Look at Anderson Cooper. Yes, I know he’s a guy. But he’s still young and his hair is pure white. That’s my only point here.
Where was I anyway? Yeah, there comes a point when your memory starts to go. DON’T PANIC. It doesn’t Continue reading
Even as a child, I wasn’t crazy about my birthday. Unlike most kids, I was never wild with anticipation as THE day got closer and closer. Not even the prospect of gifts particularly 
excited me. Or parties. Or cake and ice cream. I have no clue why. Ridiculous, I know.
Maybe even at three years old I wasn’t crazy about the idea of time marching on. Who knows. Bet a therapist would have a field day with this one. All I know is, nothing’s changed.
Unlike my mother, who celebrated each and every birthday she had. Yes, she celebrated each and every year she was blessed with ‘living’. Not that she liked getting old. Staring her mortality square in the eye. She just didn’t dwell on it. What I’m about to say may sound like a fragrance commercial or a Hallmark card, but I’m saying it anyway. Because, in my mother’s case, it’s absolutely true (as anyone who knew her can confirm). It defined her and all she stood for:
She defied it. When she looked in the mirror she saw a woman much younger than she really was. She saw a woman with the spirit of a forty year old. And the energy. And the enthusiasm. A woman filled with the joyful anticipation of what each new day could bring. Would bring. Because she willed it so. She’d tell you how old she was, before you asked. To her it was an accomplishment to be proud of.
Vain as she was (and I don’t mean this in a bad way), she NEVER shied away from saying “I’m 75”. Or 80, or 84. I think she
365 And Counting 