Thoughts on being 90 years old
By Phoebe Maurer
For weeks I have been anticipating the day I would be starting a new decade on the road to reaching a century.
My face has become a road map of routes that led me to cosmetic counters selling wrinkle free creams, erasure of satchels under the eyes, and tiny bottles that mysteriously erase age spots and sun damage. Do they work? Yes, on the photographed models that are under 40. Cosmetic companies grow and prosper while we see zero results and money, not wrinkles, disappear. My daughter said, “Mom, don’t be so hard on yourself, you never look your age.”
The morning of my birthday, I woke up feeling happy. I looked in the mirror, saw a 90 year
old woman, and roared, “I am an old lady!” Later in the day, my daughter and I had a lovely time together. She took me to lunch before going on a shopping spree for clothes we both chose, while I sat with my canister of oxygen, savoring every moment.
My children, that is, Herb and mine, are self achievers. They are wise and world traveled, and I respect and admire them. I watch and listen to how they react with their children. They certainly have more patience than I think I had, but maybe my memory is faulty.
I am 90 and savoring the day. I am an old lady, with an ageless spirit, looking for the next adventure.