old-lady

I would like to be like Rome when I am an old lady.

The waitress scuttles away, and I make a shooing motion at the old couple who__e still glaring. __on__ you have something to better to work on?_ I hiss. __ike golfing or eating prunes or dying?_ The old lady looks shocked. __kay, sorry, not dying. But seriously, prunes are good for you.

When I was suddenly thrust into what everyone calls menopause (Orchids) earlier than my body planned, I decided someone needed to take charge on so many levels. It was time to not only change the vernacular, but to speak up and say "Hey! This isn't an old lady's disease! We aren't old! We are strong and dammit, we are beautiful and sexy too!

Communication by touch is not for every old dutch.

She (my mother) could still recite them (the poems) in full when she was lying helpless and nearly blind, in her bed, an old lady. Reciting, her voice took on resonance and firmness, it rang with the old fervor, with ferocity even. She was teaching me one more, almost her last, lesson: emotions do not grow old. I knew that I would feel as she did, and I do.