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.

All this despite the usual, and some more than usual, efforts to hold off the ravages of time. I've exercised virtually every day since my late 20s and know all about healthy eating -- in fact, my identity thanks to my 4-year-old 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...........