My church friend said, “you look like a teenager!”

I’m 70 years old. How is such a statement a compliment at my age.

I admit I was flattered. Maybe I do, I thought, from the rear view, in winter sweater, jeans and my long hair. My posture is pretty straight, thanks to the urging of my mother for most of my life.

However, from the front or side with my naturally grey-streaked with white and remaining light brown hair, the age-related relocation of my boobs, shoulders, neck jowls and facial features – well let’s just say no one would mistake me for a teenager, no one indeed. Even with my face mask. Maybe especially with my face mask.

Im ok with that, actually. There’s a measure of satisfaction in it. I earned those land scarps. Scarps. Perfect word.

I am grateful I’m very mobile and able, physically and mentally and emotionally. Oh sure arthritis hampers my strength and sometimes my artistic capabilities, but overall I am fully engaged and enjoying my life, looking for good in my future.

Very, very aware of the reality that I’m living the last 1/3 of my life, or less. Roughly 10,000 days left if I live to be 100. Which is both likely, considering my self care and family longevity and nutrition and medical care, and unlikely, considering the law of averages.

So, regardless of how I look to myself or other people, it’s up to me to see that I do as I’m able to live and feel my best. And, though realistic, I am both grateful and hopeful.