I am one of those women who believes I will never grow old. Never, ever, ever. Mind you, there is absolutely nothing in my personal life experience that should lead me to this delusional conclusion. My mother died when she was only fifty-five years old. My father died when he was only sixty-seven years old.

Well,now that I think about it, perhaps that has something to do with my twisted thinking. Still, there is a qualitative difference. It is not that I think I will die young. It is just that I don't think I will ever grow old. And I should think that I will grow old because there is a history of growing old in my family. There. That's what I was trying to say to start with.

Longevity does run on my father's side of the family. His mother lived until she was seventy-eight and all of his aunts lived well into their eighties, some until their nineties, and one until she was one hundred and two! They were all active old broads; active, of course, being a relative term. My maternal grandmother died when she was eighty five years old. She was still very active and living independently and I thought she would live forever.

My father's mother was an older mother. She had her last child when she was forty-two. I was born when she was forty-four. My maternal grandmother was also an older mother. She had her last child when she was thirty-six. That was old "back then." The story was often told that she was devastated to learn that she was pregnant "at such an old age." My mother and her brother were eighteen years apart in age.

Both of my grandmothers went against type in terms of aging. They would have fit right in with today's grandmothers who lead active full lives and who seem to be decades younger than their driver's licenses reveal. They were both sharp dressers and sometimes drew attention and snide comments about not dressing their age. I have the neatest picture of myself flanked by the two of them dressed to kill each wearing fashionable boots. I think they were both in their sixties when the picture was taken.

My paternal grandmother taught me how to roller skate when she was in her fifties. Again, that was old back then. My maternal grandmother was a party girl when she was younger and she was a partying old broad. Enough said about all of that.

Continued....