Who wants to be a little old lady?

Today I will be participating with Bonnie Lyons and Deb Field, the writers/interviewers of Wonderful Old Women,  in a panel discussion at Gemini Ink's weekend of writing workshops and panels.  I wish all the women featured in the book would be on the panel as well--because it's the women themselves who make it interesting.

As I was driving down Austin Highway this morning, I was musing on Old. I'm in the decade when some of my contemporaries have been diagnosed with illnesses or taking care of parents or partners who are. The mortality cloud hovering over Sixty-Plus is real.

We're doing what we can to delay dying, disease, and death--while not caving in to the stereotypes that go along with Old.

When Janet teasingly (but truthfully) pronounced my former sofa fabric as looking "little old lady," we both knew it had to go. A small swatch of it was cool; a whole sofa of it was too much to be cool.

Who wants to be a little old lady?  By most standards, we are--let's face it--old.  But we're not little, most of us--though as women we prefer "small" to "big."

"Lady" suggests prissy, proper, prim; we prefer to be called "women."

People often add the diminutive "little" not to suggest physical size but to dismiss the importance of a person--as in that "little Mexican man" or that "little guy."  Size matters, especially to men in this culture and  "little" is disparaging, sometimes inflammatory to them.  If I had a dollar for every time Trump says "big" or "very big"  or "huge," I'd be as rich as he is.

Women are usually okay with little, but not when it's paired with "old." Just as some men build huge things to reflect their largeness, or desired largeness, we women choose clothes we hope will disguise our bigger parts.

People in the know about home decor advise hanging your "window treatments" high and wide to make your house look bigger.  I did that for many years, then I realized: this is a 932 (or thereabouts) square foot house with eight-foot ceilings.  It is what it is.  I don't want to make it to look bigger; I actually want it to look exactly like what it is--a little house.

But I don't want to be dismissed as a "little old lady." Little old lady drivers, little old ladies holding up the line, little old ladies past their prime--these stereotypes are what Bonnie and Deb wanted to smash when they interviewed interesting, vital, smart, creative, beautiful women over 80.  Women whose faces--though  etched with markers of their years--reveal intelligence and grit and a sense of humor it takes decades to acquire.

We admire patina and cracks in vintage furniture, yet as a culture we often consider age an affliction, not a badge of honor for living seven, eight, nine or ten decades.  We went to "look younger."  We want to iron out our creases with creams and surgeries, and we cover the gray in our hair with golden--until one day we decide to let the coloring go and embrace gray.

I heard on the news that an "elderly" woman had been hit by a car.  I listened carefully to get her actual age.  She was 60!

My taste in decor often leans toward what marketers of products call juvenile--bright Crayola colors.  But then, it just as often veers into what's associated with the taste of aging women: lots of flowers and birds. I love both--maybe because inside I am both.

As teenagers, we wanted one minute to be kids, the next to look, act, and be perceived as "adults."  We didn't quite fit in either camp, so we felt awkward in both worlds.

As women of a certain age (say sixty or above), we sometimes feel the same way: Does the clerk think I'm trying on clothes that look "too young" for me?  Do 30-Somethings secretly think I'm a doddering antique relic who's hard of hearing?  Is that tattooed pick-up truck driver honking his horn in my direction (with his third finger raised) spewing insults pertaining to my gender and age?  Have I suddenly joined the Invisibles due to the number of years I've lived on the planet?

The women interviewed for the book are role models.  They are busy traveling, writing, making art, and enjoying their lives and friendships, not sitting around in rocking chairs waiting to die.  They inspire those of us a decade or two behind them to live vital lives all the way to the last chapter.