I’m turning 71 later this month, and my advancing age is an ever-present indicator of just how fast time goes by.
When I started writing this column, I had two little grandchildren: Tilleigh, now 16, and Evie, 13. I now have three more: William, 11, Charleana, 6, and Misha, 4. These children are the loves of my life, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Their love is a daily boost of energy that keeps me young at heart.
I’m super-active, and a lot of it is because of them. However, I do feel aches and pains after an active day. And, like most people my age, the telltale signs of aging have been creeping up on me. I feel it, and I see it in the mirror.
My red hair is now white, for example, and I’m finally OK with that. But it’s the changes around my face that I notice the most.
I’ve always said I would grow old gracefully. Cosmetic surgery was something I’d never consider because I’m a coward when it comes to surgery. I know many women who have had nips and tucks and Botox injections, and the outcome was wonderful. Still, none of it was a consideration for me.