I Have To Admit It's Getting Better. It's Getting Better All the Time.

Looking at Michael Jackson -- sadly -- I wonder: at what
point does working on yourself result in a caricature?

Variations on that theme are women "of a certain age" who
hang onto to what they feel were their best years WAY past
the sell-date.

The blue eyeshadowed, darkly liplined, collagen and/or
silicone-enhanced, rapunzel-locked, gray-rooted babes of
yesteryear who just can't give up the fight.

The fight for what? To be sexually viable? To be appealing
to the barrel-chested, balding Lothario in the recliner with
the remote? To appeal to their current fantasy of
male-at-the-top-of-his-game, maybe Bo Bice (!)?

What, who is the fight for?

What about a graceful acceptance of who you're facing in
the mirror?

I'll soon be 54 and life has only become richer for me. I
receive much affection and give much. I have more of a
sense of who I am as a woman and am acknowledged for,
and gratified by, my femininity and my sexuality ...

I had always thought European women had the corner on
this market: the woman coming into her prime. The Anouk
Aimees, Catherine Deneuves, Melina Mercouris et al. But
now I see that American women can become just as
fulfilled in this time of our lives ...

I am more discriminating in all aspects of life ... resulting in
much more benefit to me. Because I am much quicker to
open my hands and set free those things that dissatisfy
me.

So why such fear about aging? Can it not only get better?

Today's fragrance: clearing's Mireille Green Rose, today bittersweet at first, softening down to a beautiful soft rose. Once again, thanks, C.