Welcome to my lament for the fading of the light.
I turned 60-freaking-four this fall -- with McCartney's jaunty little tune playing repeatedly in my head for weeks on end -- and my dear heart mother died a year and a half ago. I had heart surgery (4 stents later, thank you very much) in 2010 and a painful gum graft two weeks ago.
My boobs have morphed from a manageable C-cup through at least my 40s to a DDD top-heavy monstrosity that makes sweaters highly problematic items of clothing.
And the wrinkles, OMG. Fair skin, probably too much sun in my youth, inherited a million fine lines along with the heart disease from my dad's side.
blog, a magazine column and contacts in the local dining/cooking scene is "the healthy foodie."
I'm not fat -- thanks to all of the exercise and vigilant eating -- and I guess most would say that I am fit "for your age."
But there's the rub!
I don't know whether anyone will read this, but I welcome comments and discussion about aging -- whether you want to dispute my "negative" tone or pile it on because you feel it, too.
Let 'er rip...........