BODY Our Bodies, Ourselves: Medical Care at Middle Age
I woke up this morning and knew before I even moved—or tried to move—that it was going to be one of those days. My lower back plagued me already: The old rheumatoid arthritis was acting up. I bent my knees slightly to relieve the pain. I had slept with my arms over my head, so I could barely move them. Gingerly, I brought them down by my side, but not before fluffing up my pillow and placing it squarely under my neck, which sagged from the lack of support—just one more nuisance. Ahhh…finally, I could snuggle under the covers and concentrate on relaxing all my various creaking body parts before subjecting them to the onslaught of another day.

FAMILY And Then There Was One: Thoughts on Single-Parent Empty Nesting
Perhaps the first thing that we think of when we consider the single parent in terms of the empty-nest stage of life is that alone meanslonely. Nothing could be further from the truth. A single person whose children are grown has a freedom that is double the pleasure. If you’ve made sure to be home on time every night for the last 20 years of your life, not being on a schedule is a delicious change of circumstances. Add to that the freedom of not needing to be on schedule for a spouse or partner and your experience of life is doubly sweet. Nothing increases our enjoyment better than experiencing it after long absence. Of course, alone can quickly turn to lonely if you’re not getting out of the house.

PERSPECTIVE People I’ve Known and Loved: What Makes Them Special
I wanted to tell you more than the simple facts that John and I just came back from some of the best skiing we’ve ever enjoyed in Colorado, and that we’re going to visit his family and play some golf in Florida next month. So, sitting here staring at my computer, trying to decide what’s worth telling, I decided to write about three people I’ve known and loved, and four characteristics they have in common.

CULTURE The Gray Revolution: Is Your Head Next?
When I stepped into the shower one morning in early January 2005, I had no idea I would become part of a “gray movement” by the time I stepped out again to grab my towel. While washing my “brown” hair in the shower, I was listening to radio reports of the Southeast Asian tsunami’s human toll. The need for money and aid was astronomical. A question came to me from my conscience, unbidden, “So why are you wasting $1000 a year on your hair, again?” Suddenly, I knew I was going to go gray. It was one of those decisions that is made in a moment, when the metaphorical dominoes have been silently lining up and you knock them all down with the slightest touch of your finger. I once broke up with a high-maintenance boyfriend that way, decades ago, and after both decisions I felt lighter, more joyful, more . . . myself.