All our blended five children returned home to celebrate with their broods, plus nieces, nephews, and wait, who was that guy? Maybe it was the policeman who someone called to the scene! I think he decided to eat with us. Not sure.
We are well past time to transition from a cowboy to a spaceship economy. As seniors, we cannot afford to do less than will make us proud to tell our grandchildren.
According to my calculations we number almost 28 million (2010U.S. census), and yet we go about our daily lives without a cultural tag. And personally, I'm feeling a bit resentful. What kind of legacy is this to leave to our children and grandchildren, otherwise known as the Xs and the Vs, and possibly the Zs?
It would be nice if the talk shows would cover important issues like age spots, drooping flesh, flabby thighs and age-related cowlicks. What’s up with cowlicks anyway? TV should devote an entire week to women of a certain caught-in-the-process-of aging.
I had a better chance of hitting the Mega Millions Lottery where your odds are about 265 million to one of winning, than both of us being propped up on some mantelpiece in a bulging urn.
I’d like to deliver a message to the media, and I am serious. Don’t call me elderly! In fact, don’t call me anything at all. If you must state my age in your story, it should not require a modifier.
I have no desire to have a facelift. Growing up seeing all the "beautiful" people become more beautiful certainly influenced me to want to look my best. Seeing my mother-in-law go through something so devastating for sheer vanity, also had its influence on me.
I endured an entire childhood without ever once wearing a protective helmet or floatation devices for any activity – indoors or out. I even survived after eating food without washing my hands in antibacterial soaps (or any soap, for that matter).
Today’s news isn’t about life-changing events or political suicide. It isn’t empowering or encouraging. Today’s news is an annoying reality TV show and wet weathermen.
Not only am I too old for such a costume – I mean, whatever would I look like wearing a pair of slim-fit jeans resplendent with holes, rips and zips meant for youthful girls without the slightest clue what cellulite is (not to mention that these designer rags cost $60), but are women my age really buying such things? I can’t be the first to object to wearing outfits that look like Madonna’s discarded tour costumes.