I used to relish what I interpreted as a compliment when someone looked at my driver’s license and said, “No, way!  You don’t look your age!” And I’d feel all warm and fuzzy and say, “Oh, yes, that is my birthdate.” And they’d say, “Well, you could have fooled me!” (or something to that effect). And I’d walk away, smiling—grateful that the crows’ feet at the corners of my eyes or the slowly deepening wrinkles on my face didn’t yet scream out, “Get thee to a plastic surgeon fo

When a friend and I were talking—I’m sure I was whining about my back or the flab on my arms or something my husband said the other night—she looked at me and, not in a patronizing tone but in one of acceptance and understanding, said “My forever self.” “Write that down!  It’s a perfect title for a book—maybe my next one.” Dutifully, she found a piece of scratch paper and wrote “My Forever Self,” as if it were already a book or magazine article on her shopping list. Okay, wha

If you’re 50+, trying to get a reasonable life insurance policy is a frustrating, expensive task.  As far as the insurers are concerned, you are two steps away from the grave.  (Well, maybe three.) “Age is the most important contributor to both term and whole life insurance rates. How old you are plays the biggest role in how much you’ll pay to purchase a new life insurance policy.  The reason every year inches up the cost of term life insurance is simple math. Every birthday

I’ve earned the right to say whatever I want . . . well, almost.  As a friend said recently, “You’ve made it to 70 and should embrace your age and good fortune.” Okay.  I’ll take her congrats at face value and “tell it like it is.” Example:  A few nights ago in my contemporary dance class, a new song had been added to the prescribed routines.  I can’t the remember the name of the female singer and don’t care to.  She sounded like a sap singing an even sappier song about love

How fortuitous.  This blog posted in the New York Times earlier this week. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/08/09/fashion/im-too-old-for-this.html The author must have listened in to the phone call my cousin and I had a few days earlier.  If she didn’t, then this is further proof that, for women, aging has its challenges but also big time perks. Dominique Browning, a babe at 60, has found her voice and the relief of thinking and declaring, “I’m too old for this.”  She is, she writ

Boy, did I have an “age jump” day yesterday!  Up until now, I’ve “suffered” physical age jumps: a new wrinkle here, more grey hair there. But my memory stayed in tact.  I’ve learned a new language (Spanish), finished New York Times crossword puzzles (well, Mondays are my best), played Scrabble against the computer and won more times than not, and peppered my book club discussions with coherent, insightful comments. But yesterday’s age jump scared the bejesus out of me.  I saw

Maybe I should have known that “OMG, I’m Turning 70” would burn up my Facebook and Twitter pages with tweets, “likes” and visits to my web site blog. The comments were encouraging, funny, and flattering: “Rock’on Sistah, you have many decades ahead of you.” “Get over it. You lived turning 30.” “You’ve got some stellar company.” “70 is the new 50.”  (Now, have many times have we heard that one, adjusted for each decade?  “40 is the new 30.”  “50 is the new 40.”  And so it goes

When I turned 50, I was delighted.  It felt like I was joining an elite group of wise women (and men . . . well, kinda, sorta).  It was the beginning of Act II.  If I played my cards right and fickle fate went my way, I’d have another 50 years. When I turned 60, I wasn’t as excited.  Yet I had both social security and Medicare to look forward to.  And I’d qualify in no time for senior discounts at the movies, on airlines, at restaurants and hotels, and a lot more.  Not such a