[I wish I had written this one, but I didn't... It doesn't make it any less meaningful, though :-)]

The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.

Old Age, I decided, is a gift.

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt.

And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?

I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.

They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be.

And I shall eat dessert every single day (If I feel like it)!

I'm trying to compose a poem in memory of September 11th, 2001.

Trying to convey the shock, horror, and disbelief of that day is almost impossible. And, I wasn't there!! Just watching it on television was traumatic. (Yes, I can't watch a lot of what passes for programming these days... it's simply too violent for me. But that's another post.)

This is one time that being telepathic would be useful. The emotions that rise within me are turbulent & overwhelming, even today. I don't feel that I have fully processed what happened.

The constant media coverage of the event was not a substitute for spending time alone, thinking about what happened, and what it means to us, both as individuals, and as a nation. I know, that today, trying to tap into my feelings about it, I remember the CEO of a firm on the upper floors breaking down on national television from the loss of so many employees, coworkers and friends.

This feels like a wound that only scabbed over, and never fully healed. And now, in trying to write this poem, I've caused this wound to begin bleeding. If I try to think about it, I start crying.

On some level, I know that I *have* to think about it, to put it behind me. But it has changed everything... physical , personal, political, and emotional landscapes are in some ways, no longer recognizable. Wiped as clean as Ground Zero.

I was born and raised in NYC, and only in the past several years relocated to South Carolina. So, seeing the carnage of places that I used to travel, hang out at, and work near, brings back memories.

I remember walking through the open space in front of the buildings, and going up to the observation tower, and shopping in the mall under the buildings. The towers were such a part of life in NYC, even the subways ran through there... I remember calling everyone that I had numbers for, because if they lived in NYC, they could have been there when it happened.

My best friend works in Jersey City, and lives in Brooklyn. And she saw the second plane crash into the tower. Thank heaven that she had enough sense to go through upper Manhattan to go home. Even though it took her over eight hours to get home, she was ok. So were my parents, and my husband. Everyone that I could get in touch with was okay, but I still felt that all those people who died were connected to me... it still hurts to think about it.

I am shaken by the strength of my feelings about this, after so many years have passed.

[Taking a deep breath] I'm getting chest pains... Thank heavens I have a few days to work on this poem. I don't know how professional writers do this. Separate their feelings from what they have to write about, I mean. Well, I'll write more blive, and maybe later I can do this without crying.