growing old

I was on my way to buy a bacon sandwich earlier when I met an old woman along the corridor. She had mostly white hair, a pale kind face, a dowdy (in my 33-year-old opinion) blouse-and-pants outfit, and flat brown sandals. She was wearing a retiree's ID, and as she passed me she smiled.

It suddenly occurred to me that I, in my short dress, braided hair and three-inch heels, would one day look like her.

I too, would retire from work. I wonder what I'd be like at 60. Of course by that time I'd have given up my high heels (oh, the prospect of it breaks my heart), but I'll still wear pretty shoes. I'd still like to wear dresses, but perhaps by that time I'll discover the wonder of slacks and tailored pants. The credit cards in my wallet will be replaced by snapshots of my grandchildren.

Here's what I'd like to be when I grow old:

I'll have a library that I'll open to public school children. I'd like to have children around me who can argue whether Tom Sawyer was smarter than Huckleberry Finn. Unlike my mother and my mother-in-law who are so fond of plants, I cannot grow gardens. Even a cactus withers under my care. So my retirement home will probably be a condo with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

I'll have a cat, of course. Maybe not a Siamese cat with an attitude, but something clean enough to bring to bed and behaved enough that my husband won't kick it out.

I will have travelled to other places, other countries. I would like to see cherry blossoms bloom in Japan, go to a safari in Africa, eat crepes in Paris while visiting my friend Monette. I wouldn't want to climb Mount Everest or ride the world's biggest roller coaster, but I'd like to have tried things that I dreamed of doing when I was in my 30s and writing blogs. He he he.

And I'll write lots of stories. By 60 I would have learned enough of the world to write about it. When I write I will leave the city; I will go to a beach, sit under an umbrella, and write with my toes in the sand. Then I'll go back to my condo and publish what I wrote.

One last thing: I will decide to like being old. Most of us (especially women) desperately fight old age. Our weapons are cosmetics, loud clothes, juvenile behavior. But that's inevitable; the wrinkles will win anyway. The important thing is to welcome each day as if you'd live to be a hundred years old, to not forget to have fun, to surround yourself with people and things you love. Because, you see, Mark Twain was right. He said, "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."