Maybe it's because I'm turning 40 in 3 weeks' time, that I am thinking about this. Or maybe I have just been astonished by the beauty of older women around me.

I met a woman just before Covid, who was all hippie. Long, silver hair and a dozen bangles. I looked at her and thought I wanted to look like her when I'm slightly older. Turns out she thought I was quite beautiful, too. We've never met again, but I still think of this woman in a long black dress thinking about me the way I did about her.

There is a woman in town who must be pushing 65 years. She will talk your ear off if she can just get you to stand still for a moment. She has short dark hair, with one of those little mouse tails in her neck, dyed purple. She only attends church if someone has died, including her elder son. He died of HIV, and his brother is sick too. When she attends the funeral, she wears a leapord-print dress and boots. She simply adores hubby. She would leave him long, rambling voice notes about her sorrows, but by the end she would have talked courage I to herself, and she would end by saying she hopes hubby is as blessed as she is. She has every right to be sad, but she isn't. She is amazing.

I met a woman this weekend, and I've never seen someone with so many wrinkles. And yet, after a minute or so, all I could see were here bright blue eyes and her lovely smile. Somewhere in her 70's, she was one of the most lovely and beautiful women I've ever met. Should we end up moving to that shitty town, she will probably be my only friend - and it might just be enough.

I have a friend who defied her hubby to ask me if I were okay the other day. Also early 70's, she looks like a warrior viking. Too many high heels has ruined her knees and back, but she still stands proud and tall. She can endlessly build puzzles, and, in fact, built one of mine I truly hate, and then arranged it in neat little baggies so I could figure it out easily. I will never see her again, and my heart breaks at the knowledge.

A slightly younger friend has vitiligo around her eyes and mouth. She wears lipstick and mascara, but never tries to hide the bright white patches. She raised a daughter with some genetic problems, manifesting in sterility and short stature. I have never seen my young friend sad about her I fertility, because her mom taught her to love her body, regardless of its shortcomings.

My grandma was addicted to Valium her entire adult life, ruining her health. Yet she always tried to be the grand lady, doped or not. So she wore these elaborate wigs, and had a magestic girth. When she was older, she lost weight, but it was hard for her to lose the wig. One night, at my uncle's house, of all the weird places, we were sitting on the carpet: me an idealistic student, she an od lady with whispy hair. Shy, like a teen, she asked me if she looked okay with just her own hair. Truthfully Iold her I have never seen her look more beautiful. What I should have added, was she was beautiful, because that was the first time I saw her.

I have a friend, who is dying. I will never see her again either. Pushing 90, she was diagnosed with cancer. She has outlived 3 husband's and a daughter. She has lips as dry as parchment that she can make a perfect line of disapproval of, or a perfect 'o' of surprise. I have always loved visiting her. She is beautiful.

They are all beautiful. Being old is not losing your worth or beauty, but we can make a transition into something so much better than the skin-deep fantasy men are selling us to be. I dream of being as beautiful as these women, because their beauty is that of the soul. And it shines.

I am crying now, even though I know this is some very sentimental drivell. UT I just wanted to get it all out: the way older women can be beautiful not in spite of their age, but in defiance of the world's beauty standards.