The number is a FACT to contend with

A recent photo: I'm the woman in profile listening to the enthusiastic younger woman. It's the left profile, I wish it were the right profile -- not from a vanity point of view but because I have a streak of blue in my hair on that side and people remark about it frquently. The streak is a bit of rebellion and happened because of my granddaughter which has been the impetus of the few other white haired women who add bright color to their hair. At my birhday my grandaughter gave me a pallet of chalky one-use hair colors. The blue got used up quickly, and the green too, the red did not. I went to a costmetics store and  purchased tubes of blue and green semi-permanent color. I've enjoyed it. And I'm feeling pleased that I'm influencing a few others.  One woman who has short, very attractive white hair asked about my hair dresser, saying she would like to ask hers to color her hair.  "I do it myself" I said but told her I know someone hair like hers who mentioned thinking of lavender in the front. Lo and behold! I saw this woman  a few days ago.  She has a halo of lavender  around her face and looks wonderful.  It make me happy to think I've inspired someone else to enjoy "playing" with her white hair.

 A reader responded to my previous post. I don't believe I answerd her question about coping with being an older woman but I did admit that the Big 8-0 was a stunner because I never contemplated being this age. I think of it now as having found myself at a railroad crossing where the signal lights are flashing and the barrier bar is slowly descending. There's a train coming even though I can't see it yet. Obviously, I don't want to be on that railroad when the train arrives although it WILL arrive.

I've been reminded of the dangers these first weeks of the year. First I was hustled to have a pacemaker implanted because my heart was skipping occasional beats. It didn't seen especially important to me, but the cardiologist thought I needed this super-digital gadget put under the muscles on my clavical. It's a bump that is barely there, the scar is barely noticable. But apparently the heart is not missing a beat these days. As I told the MD, I am not older than the women in my family lived to be, and they all died of congestive heart failure. They didn't have modern care, and they knew little about diet and exercise which I have known for quite a long time. I had a stent placed about 15 years ago and have taken the recommended drugs.

If one lives long enough, these days, we wind up with an accumulation of foreign objects keeping us going. Most people I know have had cataract surgery as have I. Many have knee or hip relacements; my titanium hip "ball" was the result of an impulsive leap I didn't make, not a matter of over-used joint. Of coures we've all got foreign matters in our mouths with filings and crowns and many have implants. I have internet friends with litanies of very nasty physical disabilities that come with age.

Then, too, two people I care about have died just recently. A long, long time friend in Florida who was ten years younger than I.  She was overweight most of her life and I think that contributed via diabets. And a poet-teacher who had a six-month struggle with liver cancer which he handled with dignity. He wrote a poem saying "Don't cry for me, I am a lucky man" and that many of his later years were "gravy." (A quote from poet/writer Raymond Carver who died at a younger age.) I think it's okay to mix metaphors  at this point, forget the railroad crossing, and think about gravy and maybe add in chocolate bonbons too. Being 80, so far, is a very good thing despite the various warnings.