I may not love my wrinkles, but they are part of me. I don’t want to erase them. Like Vogue did with the cover models on the September issue.
I’m thinking that we all need to stop worrying if we’re acting our age. And just get on with whatever pleases us.
High Heels in the Wilderness readers have spoken. Here are their hair stories. Their tales of emerging shades of grey. Or white. Or whatever.
When family dynamics change family relationships can suffer. But this week I’ve learned that my sister support network is alive and well.
Time passes in chunks for me. And every few years I realize that a big chunk has gone by. And that is always a huge reality check.
After my latest sojourn in New Brunswick, I’ve come to the conclusion that love and laughter are the secret to growing old with equanimity.
Turning sixty-five last week felt like crossing the Rubicon. And entering the country of old age. But maybe I’m overthinking again.
Are we ever too old to wear leather? Nope. I had a friend who wore red leather pants at age almost eighty. And she looked magnificent.
We get knocked down, but we can get up again. Hopefully. With lots of love and support. And guts and determination. And a great sense of humour.
I’m at my mum’s this week. And our best laid plans have fallen apart. All because of a couple of silly choices and a bad back.
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