Reframe your own thoughts on aging. What are you telling yourself about where you are on that Ladder of Years?

Beauty and value do not disappear as we age - they are redefined.

Be where you are. You are beautiful, you are wise, you are the Queen! (or King).

I think I recognize the eyes and the hair. Is that my friend Beth behind the N95 mask? (One of the all-too-familiar new brain tasks in our Covid-19 world.)

Yes, it is Beth, and we carefully hug each other hello (faces pointed away to avoid germs, sheesh) in the supermarket aisle. It has been way too long.

I really miss seeing people’s faces and hugging without fear. Sigh.

Last week I experienced my first panic attack. Ever.

At least, that’s what the internet says it was.

All I know is: my body took over my brain. My heartbeat was too fast, too loud, too strong. My limbs were trembling. My mind and my heart were both racing; nausea took over my digestive system. I was one step away from asking my husband to take me to the Emergency Room – but I had no idea what they could have done for me. I would have voted for temporary oblivion.

68. And a half. That's my age number, and I'm proud of it.

Or at least I'm working on it. Constantly.

My little grandkids will announce my age number loud and proud to anyone in line at Stop and Shop - so why does part of me cringe when they do?

I had a day on Sunday. You know, where I just couldn't shake my sadness the way I usually can.

Ever have one of those? (If you say no, then you may want to check your pulse.)

As a "happier" writer, and the person people seem to seek out when they want a more optimistic perspective, it isn't easy to fall into the occasional hole of a less-than-stellar mood.

Well…is anything ever really complete? (*sighs* started with a disclaimer…no-judgment zone)

As you may be aware, this year I opted out of New Year’s Resolutions (okay, opted out again) and chose instead a try-and-see approach simply by choosing a word for each month, no pressure, and seeing what might happen.

Ten years ago, I auditioned to play a role I’d performed twice before: Nancy in Oliver. I didn’t get cast (it had been a long shot, age-wise, but hey). The role went to my friend Amy - who was, to be fair, much more suited to it. Not only was Amy 30 years younger than I am, but she actually looked the part of the underfed, abused waif that Dickens’ Nancy probably was.

Why did Amy look so thin?

Word of the month for March:

Art.

Why?

Because I'm not an artist - at least, not a visual one.

Why do it, then?

Screw New Year’s Resolutions. Especially this year, unless the resolution is to just, well, stay alive. (Stupid Covid.) I can’t remember the last time I made a resolution, anyway, since my higher self knows they only make it until mid-January at best. Then it’s another whole 11½ months of Oreos buttered popcorn, and guilt until we “resolve” again.