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A Woman's Journal


When You And I Were Young Maggie

By Maggie Turner

November 30, 1999

When You And I Were Young Maggie

The snow on the ground stayed with us all day today. I did manage to get out into the cold for a brisk walk; the sidewalks were slippery where passing feet had beaten down the wet snow. Just a few errands needed to be run in "The Village". It is nice that most necessities can be obtained within walking distance, even if the item's cost is slightly higher. The trip took me to the drug store for stamps and to the local branch of the city library to pick up a book ordered via telnet. It is quite convenient to use the computer when putting books on hold and requesting library transfers. I haven't browsed through the shelves at the library for months.

It occurred to me that I might live well into my ninetieth year. What an odd concept it seemed to me. I feel so very old at times and yet I may live as many more years as I have already. Here is a list of what I would like to do in my ninetieth year:

- wear a bikini on a crowded beach and imagine that all the stares are a result of my beauty and flare for style
- play with my youngest descendents
- bake cookies and eat them with wild abandon, without a moments thought for fat or calories
- feel smug when young people fear aging, it only happens for those who are lucky
- listen to my children talk about the good old days, and since I was there wonder how I missed them
- look at pictures of me as I am today and wonder at how I thought I was old then!
- nap

When I first thought of putting this journal online I considered it a possible link to my descendants. Thinking about my own golden years I think that this journal might also be a source of entertainment for me in my old age. When everyone around me forgets that I am more like them than different, I will have myself for company.

Writing here provides me with the conviction that I am here, alive and kicking. Reading the journals of others provides me with the conviction that I am not alone. There are several journals that I read each day, visiting with cup of tea in hand. Being invited into the lives of others, I myself have opened a door here.


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