BEING 70

The following are exerpts taken from an article written by author Barbara Holland, author of "When all the World was Young" (Bloomsbury, 2005). It has put into words better than my own, my own feelings and musings.

"My 70th birthday didn't feel as breezy as my 60th, not half as cocky and capable. Face it, 70 is old. For a woman, the only plus side is that we can stop worrying about how we look: we look old, and suddenly there's not much use spending time, money and energy on our looks. Just try to make sure our clothes are buttoned and zipped and our hair is combed before we go out. Forget all those creams and colorings. It's a relief, in way.
We accept limits. Limits are always nasty, but we hold our noses and swallow them anyway. Meeting challenges is said to be good for us, but how often must we meet the same challenges, overcome the same obstacles? How often do we have to climb Everest? Is it time to look for someplace easier to live? Admit limits?
All of us, waking up in the morning, forget for a moment where we are and decide to paint the living room ceiling or go pony trekking in Iceland. By the time we've brushed our teeth we remember that we'll have to be content with ceilings already painted and treks already taken.
They make good musing. I know we aren't supposed to dawdle around in the past, they tell us it's healthier to live for the moment, to look to the future. But the future shrinks:how will our great-grandchildren turn out, what will happen with global warming? We'll never know. One of these springs, and then for many more springs, the wild rhododendrons by the chimney will bloom and I won't see them. (In my case, it's the lilac bushes outside my studio window.)
It's annoying.
The past, though, expands, and what we've already done improves the view. It lifts us up a bit higher every year. Great granite building blocks under us, all those people and places, summers and winters, everything we've learned and the songs we remember, all solid to climb up and stand on for a grand view of our world. Our personal, hand-made world. All happy people have self-protective memories, but if we'd rather be miserable, we can choose to haul along with us the tears and betrayals, missed chances, and lost loves. We can remember not the happy trip to Mexico with a friend and the margaritas we drank, but only that the friend is now dead and the margaritas now give us heartburn.
We can do what we like with our past. It's ours, and we've earned it. We can stand on top of it, taller than most, and admire our view."

Hello out there to women of all ages. I hope you are as happy as I am when you reach this part of your life.
Phyllis