Gracefully Aging

My daughter told me recently that I am a part of the "gracefully aging" club. She intended this as a compliment.

It came about when I was helping her choose an outfit to wear to junior high school. Because we werein the midst of spring, I suggested that she put a cardigan sweater over her t-shirt. "Mom," she sighed. "No one wears cardigans in my school. Except, maybe, the old teachers."

"What? They're so cute! I wear cardigans," I insisted.

"Well...they look good on you," she said, back-peddling quickly.

"But aren't they only worn by older teachers?" I pushed. Ever the diplomat, my beautiful and much younger offspring replied, "Yes, mom. But you look great. You're part of the gracefully aging club."

Sigh.

I am in my mid-forties. Actually, later mid-forties. I am only three short years away from the dreaded AARP application arriving in the mail. There are things I would want to wear that are definitely too young for me.

It is true. I'm aging. We all are.

"There is a new sense of beauty
in your 40s and 50s and beyond."

As a middle aged adult, I understand now the conflicted feelings women have about growing older. I know that we don't want to stay young forever. I'm glad I'm past the awkward years of acne and angst. But I also understand now a comment my mom once made when she said she felt like she'd slipped too quickly from feeling awkward to being older. Why can't we stay perfectly in the middle?

Actress Demi Moore made news earlier this year when she collapsed unconscious in a state of physical depletion. The 50-something actress is known for looking like she never ages at all - and apparently avoiding growing older is one of her main goals. Her second husband, Ashton Kutcher, was much younger than her. She reportedly drinks Red Bull and eats next to nothing in an attempt to maintain her youthful figure. And, the efforts are killing her. Friends are concerned that in Demi's efforts to avoid growing older, she might be killing herself.

I don't want to be young forever, but I wouldn't mind aging gracefully.

A few of my favorite actresses qualify in that category: Audrey Hepburn, Dianne Keaton, Meryl Streep. My mom is another. She has always seemed younger than her actual age, and has always looked beautiful to me.

These are women who weren't afraid to change. Their bodies and faces no longer looked like they did in their teens and twenties. But, rather than strain to falsely replicate what they had, they retained their beauty and actually took on the years with grace and dignity.

There is a new sense of beauty in your 40s and 50s and beyond. It might be wider at the hips. It may be sprinkled with gray. But it can also be more confident and less self aware. There are fewer people to judge you and more of life to enjoy.

You can wear a cardigan or flared (not skinny) jeans or a one-piece bathing suit or lower-heeled sandals because you want to and because they make you feel great - not because Seventeen magazine declare it to be the new fall trend or because you desperately want to fit in.

You can chop your hair short or quit dying it to cover the grays. You can realize that your weight may no longer be what it once was. You can enjoy a good walk at an easy pace and a cafe au lait (yes, please, to the cream).

What did the poet Robert Browning say so well?

"Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be."

Mary McLeod Bethune: She Has Given Her Best

I first heard about Mary McLeod Bethune when I was a student at Moody Bible Institute. She was an early graduate of my college - and an African American woman. I knew she had gone on to become one of the greatest women in our country. She was so well known that she earned the status of being featured on our postage stamps. But I didn't really know much about her. As I researched Mary McLeod Bethune for my book, When Others Shuddered: Eight Women Who Refused to Give Up . I learned a bit more about her remarkable life: She was the 15th of 17 children, born to former slaves. From an early age, she hungered for education. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute with a desire for missionary service to Africa - an opportunity she was denied because of her race. Undeterred, she started a school for African American girls in Daytona Beach, Florida, that went on to become Bethune Cookman University. She was asked to work with Franklin D. Roosevelt and led many African Am

Pacific Garden Mission: A Bed, A Meal and the Bright Light of Hope

In 1877, a woman named Sarah Dunn Clarke and her newly-wedded husband George started a rescue mission on Chicago’s south side. They were wealthy, but their hearts were broken by the men and women who struggled to survive on the city’s streets. The Pacific Garden Mission is the 2 nd oldest operating rescue mission in the United States. Now located on 14 th St and Canal – just south of Chicago’s loop – they offer shelter to as many as a thousand men and women on any given night. As part of my book research to understand how the work of Sarah Clarke continues today, I visited the mission with my friend Dawn Pulgine. Entering through the side, we felt a bit out of our element. Men, black and white, old and young, clustered near the doorway. Some carried bags of personal belongings. Others were working the desk and security. It was mid-day at the Mission. We were given a tour by one of the “program men” – residents who choose to stay and live at the

Your Roots Are Showing

I'm older. I know that. But, honestly, I still feel pretty young. Well, most days at least Today I received a not-requested senior discount at Einstein Bagels. It appeared as a $1.03 credit on my receipt, along with the cheery explanation. And if other people don't tell me I'm older, my body definitely does. I traveled to and from Chicago last week with my daughter and her friend. Being the self sufficient woman I am, I helped the girls boost their luggage into the airline's overhead bin. Later that day, I felt my mistake. My back has not been happy ever since. I've been putting those sticky heat patches on it, Ben Gay rub, ice, heat wraps, you name it. And still when I turn incorrectly . . . ouch. There are other signs too. I wear glasses now . . . all the time. It started with readers, and then progressed to progressives. And I HAVE to color my hair now. Those pesky roots keep reappearing in an ever-shinier shade of silver. I (briefly) considered embr

Jamie Janosz

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