Some thoughts on older women

I'm feeling weary today, so taking the easy way out, I'm passing on a piece that janeway emailed me earlier today. It was supposedly written by Andy Rooney, but as janeway pointed out to me, it is actually based on an earlier piece by Frank Kaiser.

As I grow in age, I value women over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:

A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night and ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.

If a woman over 40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do, and it's usually more interesting.

Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it.

Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 40.

Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 40 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off you are a jerk if you are acting like one. You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her!

Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons.

Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart,well-coiffed, hot woman over 40, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year old waitress.

Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?", here's an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage!

Although I can see why the original was "improved", in some ways I prefer Frank Kaiser's piece, not least because it doesn't have the magic cutting off of youth at 40. From my perspective 40 is not old.

Apparently it is doing the rounds in emails, so please, if you haven't seen it before, don't send it to all your colleagues. Take it from me, your IT manager wouldn't be happy.

The Grandmother Project

The Grandmother Project is a non-profit organisation set up to develop strategies which explicitly and actively involve grandmothers as active resource persons for their communities. In most non-western countries, older women play an important part in their communities and in bringing up families. Many development programmes focus on women of childbearing age regardless of the fact that young mothers will listen to their own mothers and their mothers-in-law.

The role of the elderly, and in particular grandmothers, has been changed in sub-Saharan Africa by the prevalence of AIDS. It is estimated that 40-60 percent of the estimated 13 million AIDS orphans live with their grandmothers who often struggle with little or no support. The 'Grandmothers to Grandmothers' campaign was launched to "twin" groups of grandparents in Canada and South Africa, to the benefit of both groups.

In Swaziland, where the average life expectancy has fallen to 31, the over 49s are taking on an increasingly vital role because they are largely free of HIV. In spite of this vital role, they often slip through the safety net of humanitarian organisations.

Greetings cards come of age

Some months ago (prehaps more than a year) I had to buy a card for a colleague who was retiring. He was a very active man, looking forward to doing even more with his retirement, so it was with horror that I saw the types of cards available. They all seemed to be rocking-chair-by-the-fireside types and totally unsuitable.

So today, which was otherwise unremittingly awful, there was a bright interlude when I found this card. Please take note anyone out there who wants to send me a birthday card - this is the sort of thing I want!

And here is one I am going to have to save for six months, though by that time I will have forgotten all about it and bought another which I won't like.

Growing old gracefully?

I don’t watch a great deal of television but yesterday I happened to see The Weakest Link because I was too lazy to do something else until the next programme started.

For those who aren’t familiar with the programme, the contestants introduce themselves, saying their name, where they are from and how old they are. I’ve often wondered about that last item. How relevant is it and do people find that a problem? Do people tell the truth?

Well, there last night was this attractive woman who said she was 50. After a suitable pause, Anne Robinson asked “And how many times have you been 50?” Various shrieks and protestations followed, but I don’t think we ever got to the final answer though it was obvious she was more than 53 (and that after a protracted effort to remember her date of birth).

So on the one hand we had an most pleasant 50-something woman and on the other we had Anne Robinson who is apparently 60-something but, thanks to the expertise of medical science, looks younger by the day. Frankly I thought the contestant looked better.

I’ve met three people in person who have had facelifts. Two of them are only assumptions, but what else can have given them the look of wearing a mask? One was a famous British author and the other a director of a very large firm, so they weren’t short of a penny or two i.e. you could assume they went for the best available.

The third was the English wife of a Frenchman. He apparently told her that it was time she was thinking about a facelift. My jaw dropped. I couldn’t think of anything polite to say.

Strangely, my husband, not normally afraid to voice an opinion, has never suggested that…..

Wearing purple, or what?

When is it that you cross the line from middle-age to elderly? I cannot, cannot, cannot accept that I could be described as elderly, but I do remember my horror when a doctor referred to a 37 year old patient as middle aged: I was 37 at the time. It must be getting close.

As a woman you seem to become invisible as you grow older. For the second time in two days a man assumed I was not the person in charge. The first said he had an appointment to see someone called {my name}, and to be fair, when I said that I was that person, he hardly missed a beat as he said hello. His eyebrows shot up though. The second addressed all his remarks to the young man standing behind me when explaining why all our systems were down.

How sad it is though, that anyone feels they have to have cosmetic surgery to be attractive (and/or employable). If you have a facelift, you don’t look younger, you look like someone who has had a facelift. You *can* be older and beautiful but in order to be beautiful you have to be real. Surely your face, your body tell a story, the story of your life. Your beauty should come from your personality, character and, yes, sensuality. When you’re my age you're pretty much expected to be asexual as well as invisible. Can’t people accept the idea of an older woman as a sexual being. Why ever not? They seem rather better at that in France. Article in French.

One alternative which almost has some attraction is to grow old disgracefully. The first couple of lines of the poem by Jenny Joseph quite appeal on first sight: “When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat which doesn’t go” but on reading the rest of the poem I’m not so sure. It just seems very sad. Are we all so repressed that we think these are outrageous ways of demonstrating freedom? Are there not better ways?

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick the flowers in other people's gardens ...

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

I’m determined to steer my own route and grow old in my own fashion, and I’m lucky enough to have a man who likes me the way I am.