I recently spent a long stretch at Crescent Beach in an old one-piece, just kicking back in a beach chair and taking it all in. I love a good beach day — it’s immersive, makes every sense wake up and absorb the awe and beauty, and of course, the sun — which isn’t supposed to be good for us, but my motto is anything that makes me feel this good and alive could not be something to avoid altogether. So I embrace my inner Magda and just bask in it.

This summer I really noticed how my body has changed and how I have been bequeathed many of the physical traits I noticed when my mom and grandmother wore bathing suits so long ago. This is exciting to me! What used to be lean muscular tissue on my thighs is now a curtain of crepey, spongey, speckled skin visoring my knees and threatening a landslide onto the once-sporty calves and ankles below. And (yes, I know, because of my sun-loving) most of my skin is spotty and uneven and tough-looking — especially on my arms and hands. This is even more exciting because those are some of the physical features I remember most about my mom and grandmother.

My grandmother had darkish, wrinkly skin that was all kinds of spotted up.

She warned me about staying in the sun, that I’d turn into a “leather bag” like she did. Her arms were thin and crepey and demurely bedazzled at the wrist and they were such a comfort to me She had big knotty knuckles. I remember staring at them while we were watching “Dallas” on the couch or when we were sitting by the pool or at the beach. Those arms were beautiful to me. My mom had a tiny little frame and big hips and thighs — a trait known as the Biedenharn hips. She sure got some of those hips, she’d lament jokingly. When it was pool time, mom always wore a bathing suit with a skirt. In all the times I’d swim under her legs or watch her move during an after-dinner walk, I always thought how truly lovely she was. Never did I think, eeew or yuck or I wish she’d do something about those Biedenharn hips… I wish she would dye her silver hair so she didn’t look so old…I wish my grandmother would get rid of that baggy skin or tighten things up around her mouth. My thought was usually just, I love her very, very much.

It has occurred to me what a gift this is, to start seeing in and on myself the great beauty and realness I admired in Mom and Bobbie. It’s as if they’re becoming re-alived in the flesh — like, literally! — and I have the incredible fortune to welcome them back. To me, all this sagging and spotty-skin stuff and rippling and greying is their great re-entry into my life. It is an honor!

This awareness has gotten me super jazzed about what else is going to happen in my aging body journey. What other memories will be stirred? What other feelings of love and family will be reignited? Who else will I see in myself? And how can I pass this sense of beauty and awe down to the next generation of children who watch, develop confidence and discover the same legacy through their own aging bodies? This skin — sag and all — is cause for celebration IMHO!