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Looking at my reflection in the mirror doesn't lend a visual picture of youth anymore, but yet the vitality is still there. I see who I've always seen, but yet the wrinkles weren't there just a moment ago. I noticed they appeared miraculously overnight. Am I really, truly over a half century old?

My long, dark, straight locks are still long, dark and straight, albeit with a few of those wiry little gray rascals that absolutely insist on making an appearance. I suppose the lack of going totally gray has to do with my father's genetics, he only started graying when he was in his seventies. Remind me to thank him. Not long ago I attended a reunion (a good marker for aging) in which a colleague of mine couldn't believe I still had "Cher" hair. I didn't quite know whether to feel complemented or insulted, so I chose the former. Anyway, the hair is still the same, so I must not be quite over the hill yet.

I've always been the chunky doughy daughter, but those pounds have fallen off with ranch work. Now, instead of the oozing pouches of fat over the waist of my jeans, I find the curve inward that I had always dreamed about. I wouldn't call myself lean by any stretch of the imagination, just in pretty darn good shape. I find myself able to wear those cute little shirts that younger girls wear and look pretty good. Did I just say younger girls? Not good. When did I consider twenty and thirty year olds younger girls? This is the body I should have had all along, but it was destined for this time in my life. I suppose now is as good a time as any, but it sure would have helped my self esteem as a teenager to have been thinner.

While I'm generally happy with my current state of self image, I do have one little creeping reminder that my skin is not as elastic as it once was. The experts refer to it as cellulite; I call it as I see it, hail damage. Now that I'm thinner, how did this happen? When did the hail storm blow through and leave all this damage on my legs? I have muscled legs but the hills and valleys remind me of the dark side of the moon. I know I could go to the magic doctor and he could erase them, but it's just not that important, boots and jeans are a perfect solution. Of course wearing boots and jeans in the bathtub are kind of tricky.

Funny, my breasts have sort of withered and shrunk too. All of a sudden they must have been vacuumed, like that advertisement for space bags. Twenty sweaters smashed down to an inch, that's exactly how they look. I'm OK with that though; those pendulous breasts no longer get in my way. I'm sure if I decided to play golf again, I'd appreciate the fact that my back swing would be unimpeded.

Being a half century old isn't bad. In fact, I rather like it. The pressure is off. I don't have to wear makeup if I don't want to and I will dress any way I feel like when my feet hit the floor in the morning. There's still mischief in my eyes and mischievous actions aren't far behind. I don't feel aged, mentally my body stopped aging when I was twenty. It's still full steam ahead and what's next? I do know this. When I'm really really ancient, I still won't stop. I may be crippled and infirm, but in my mind I'll still be riding my horses, hauling hay and savoring every last moment in the sun.

Learn more about this author, Maureen Bordelon.
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