A few days ago, I heaved my ass out of the house earlier than usual. When I walked into the locker room at the Y, I encountered a horde of grey-haired, old ladies. Seriously, it was like the rec center at a retirement community. Yes, I have grey hair. Yes, I have been qualified to join AARP for 4 years. But that’s not ME. I don’t belong with these people.
Do I?
Is this what the kids at the barn see when they look at me?
Then, the shortest, oldest, most wizened of the women turned around … and … holy crap, I want arm muscles that look like hers.
Judge not.
(Why does judgment have a negative connotation? “You are wonderful.” is as much of a judgment as “You are horrible”. Yet when we say, “Don’t be judgmental.”, we mean the latter. But I digress.)
Do you agree with what you see in the mirror?
Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott
Virtual Brush Box 
I now see my mother looking out at me when I look in the mirror. Which is weird.
I don’t see relatives in the mirror, but I see my grandmother in my hands. Yeah, weird.