People everywhere are fascinated by sex. I am not the first to say so. We wonder what other people do and when and what it means to them. And some wonder how long it continues.

When I was in my 20s, I naively thought that sex was only for the young. It simply did not occur to me that people over 40 continued with such activities.

This was nothing to do with any connection to child-bearing, but simply to the assumption that only the young had an appetite for – or interest in – sexual relationships.

As we age, we learn more – about this as well as everything else. There is, of course, much more research now.

Surveys will tell you about the extent of sexual activity at different ages. But few of these involve people over 70. And we are often reluctant to raise the issue with people we know.

The Story of My Parents

Of all the stories I tell about my family, the one which always gains immediate attention is one about my father.

My parents lived in an independent apartment in a retirement community in central Pennsylvania. They moved in when they were both roughly 80 and died within three months of each other, 10 years later. That was nearly 20 years ago.

After about five years, my mother developed vascular dementia. This is, of course, every married person’s worst fear. The husband or wife is no longer what they once were, but you are still married. And it is harder and harder to cope with the sheer physical demands.

My mother remained in the family apartment for well over a year, with a caretaker having been hired to help with her daily needs.

But eventually, it was too much for my father to manage and it was agreed that she would move to the Assisted Living section of the community. She was looked after, but he could pop in several times a day to see her.

He rarely complained, at least to me. It was just something that had happened.

An Affair Begins at 90

In the meantime, his eyesight had worsened, and he was losing one of his great pleasures – reading. He listened to a lot of audiobooks (and complained that there was no easy way to find the place where you fell asleep).

He had a friend, a somewhat younger woman, who came in to read to him. He was terribly pleased about this and talked about it – and her – quite frequently in our regular phone calls.

I should have seen it coming. When a man starts mentioning a woman (or vice versa) quite often, it tends to mean that something more than friendship is involved. But it just didn’t occur to me.

My daughter suggested that it was a possibility and I thought, no, that is unlikely. Not because the thought upset me, but they just seemed too old.

I went to visit around the time of his 90^th birthday, when we were holding a party for him. Soon after I arrived, he sat down and clearly wanted to communicate something to me.

He had never sought very intimate discussions, but this time was different. He mentioned the name of the woman, who I had not yet met, and said he wanted me to know that they had become ‘an item’. I remember thinking the word was odd.

He was very clear. This was not ‘simply kissing and cuddling’, it was the real thing. Indeed, he said his doctor thought it was terrific for his health. There was no mention of love, but that did not seem important. The key thing was that he was happy. And he was. He was then 90 and she was 83.

I was surprised, but also delighted. Whatever my views about fidelity in marriage, they do not extend to the time when one partner is effectively no longer there. I made this very clear and could see him visibly relax.

He had wanted me to know but had been frightened of my reaction. He said his worst fear was that some other resident would tell my mother, but it did not look like that had happened. He still continued to visit her as before.

My father and his lady friend never moved in together, although perhaps they stayed in each other’s apartments when I was not there. I did not press for such details.

She continued to be a regular presence in his life until he died. Indeed, the night he died, she went to the hospital and sat with his body for a long time.

When Do People Stop Having Sex?

I don’t know when – and if – people stop having sex. I suspect there is a lot of it about. Certainly, in the retirement community, it was common for couples to spring up quite quickly after the death of a partner.

But I do know about my father. And when I tell this story, I have never heard a reaction other than “what a wonderful story” or “so, there’s hope then”. I’m sure he would be delighted for you to know.

This post was originally published with a different title on sixtyandme.com (see https://sixtyandme.com/the-taboo-topic-of-older-people-having-sex-lets-not-hide-from-the-facts)

An old friend and I were chatting recently via email. She had sent me a photograph she had taken of me earlier that day. I replied that it made me notice how very white my hair is and that I needed a haircut. It also reminded me that I am not as slender as I used to be.

She replied immediately to say I was “beautiful.” Which I am definitely not. I suddenly realised that she thought I was one of those women who don’t much like their own body and was seeking to reassure me.

I wrote back to say I have never felt ugly nor beautiful, but “pretty enough,” and it was not an issue for me. And she replied, “A rare and precious quality – being happy in your own skin.”

This stopped me in my tracks. Am I truly “comfortable in my own skin”? Do I feel happy about myself? Is it, indeed, a rare quality?

Of course, this has many meanings, but let us start with the physical one.

Physical Appearance

For as long as I can remember, it never occurred to me to feel that my face or body were not good enough. Yes, I was very short, but that couldn’t be altered (aside from wearing high heels).

Yet I didn’t feel the need to “fix” my body in some way. I never even liked wearing makeup and, after a few inelegant efforts, gave that up. I was – and have remained – a walking WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get).

It was only when I got into my 20s or so that I discovered this was not the case for all women. Many seem to feel their breasts are too large or too small, their backsides are too big, their noses are not the right shape, and so forth and so on.

And so, of course, the business of makeup was born (going back to Egyptian times, if not earlier) and, more recently, plastic surgery.

Much is the advice given about how to alter your physical appearance – dying your hair the right colour, doing the odd nip or tuck, and certainly applying loads of stuff to your face. Even the right colours to wear for you.

But does it make you happier, or indeed, more “comfortable in your own skin”? I honestly don’t know. That is certainly the intention.

Deeper Issues

But feeling happy, or simply comfortable, with yourself is grounded in much more than your physical appearance. Do you like yourself? Do you think people like you? Do you feel you have done enough to meet your early expectations of yourself?

Our initial view of ourselves must come from somewhere. This may be what our parents told us or how we compared to our siblings. Much labelling goes on within families “he’s the sporty one” or “she’s good with people” and this must rub off.

On the other hand, it may not be fully accurate. I was the middle child of three, with the other two being outstandingly clever. Despite reasonable grades in school, it took me years to realise I was really quite bright as well. It hadn’t seemed so, by comparison, in my formative years.

Our view also comes from our classmates, not only in those many years of school, but also if we go to university and beyond. We may get a reputation for studying or partying or being good at politics. We may have loads of friends or very few.

We try somehow to work out who we are and what we are good at. And how much do certain qualities and skills matter – to us or anyone else?

And many a novel has been written about the rest of life! It has a way of throwing you a hand-up or pushing you down. An abusive partner is very likely to flatten self-confidence, just as a quiet but admiring one will do the opposite. Success in work is much the same.

I cannot do justice to the issue here, but it is all part of the process of learning.

This post was first published by sixtyandme.com (see https://sixtyandme.com/how-happy-do-you-feel-in-your-own-skin-growing-old-may-have-something-to-do-with-it/)

It is a well-known fact that we begin to lose our memories as we age. I’m not talking about serious conditions like dementia, but just day-to-day problems of bringing something to mind. Much of it isn’t too important, but occasionally it is.

Conversations with No Helpful Details

My conversations with my husband often go something like this:

“I saw that nice guy just now in the supermarket and said hello.”

“What guy?”

“You know, the one we met last summer on a boat – he was tall and very nice. Had a wife with red hair and I think there was a small dog.”

“Oh, yes, that guy. He was very nice. Are they living near here now?”

Or

“Shall we go see that film that is on down the road?”

“What film?”

“You know, the one that was made by the same guy as that terrific film that had really good American actress in it. We really liked it.”

“Oh, yes, good idea. What time is it on?”

How many conversations take place among older couples that sound something like that? Never a name in sight – or any that really help. Anyone from outside would be really baffled. Yet we often know what we are talking about.

These conversations can be annoying, as we don’t always get the connection we want. They can, of course, go on a lot longer, but you get the idea.

But they are not the real problem.

Remembering the Vital Details

What really bothers me is when I can’t remember the really important facts that I should have at my fingertips. I am not talking about who was President in 1953 or what is the capital of Switzerland.

No, it is all those little personal facts that you ought to remember – but can’t. It can get you into trouble if you aren’t careful.

When we were younger, our friends had husbands and children and you could generally remember their names. You met them, after all, and knew something about them. You could picture them in your mind.

How Are the Grandchildren?

But now they have grandchildren who you’ve never met. They’ve talked loads about them, of course, but your memory isn’t what it was, and you lack the visual framework.

It is so hard to keep up. How many did they have? From which children? And wasn’t there one with a problem, but which one and what was the issue?

You meet for the occasional chat and try to re-make contact. Didn’t this friend have a daughter with twin boys? Or was that someone else? Were they born a long time ago or are they still small? Time goes so fast they are probably older than you think.

Well, you can usually find a way of saying “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember the names of your grandchildren,” which gives leeway for age, sex, and number. And which child had what children when. Sorting that out will get you back on track.

How Are the Children?

But it gets harder, especially about those near and dear to them. Take their grownup children, whose lives you have heard a lot about over the years. You haven’t seen them for ages or, perhaps, ever.

You have a vague memory that there was some problem in the past that you were told about. Was there a son with a messy marital problem – did they get divorced or sort it out? Or was it the daughter? You should know, but it has completely gone from your head.

Or was it a work problem? Did they get fired or made redundant? Little details can be very important. It looks thoughtless to have forgotten.

Perhaps you can get by with “How is that son of yours getting on?” and hope that covers all contingencies. With luck, you won’t have to reveal your forgetfulness.

The Parents

But then comes the killer. You are friends with an older couple who you don’t see often, and you cannot for the life of you remember whose parents are still alive.

You can’t say “How’s your father doing?” if he died two years ago in difficult circumstances. But you don’t want to offer condolences if the man is in rude health.

Two people means four parents. Oh dear. And this does matter to them. It’s not like the names of their grandchildren.

This happens more often than I like. I’ve never found a good solution, aside from keeping the conversation going long enough and hoping it comes up naturally. Sometimes, a friend will say, “After my father died….” And I breathe a big sigh of relief.

What Seems Like a Good Solution

One should probably keep a notebook for all such information – little lists of children, grandchildren, and what they are all up to. And – definitely – the deaths of parents. It would make conversations a whole lot easier.

But, if it is any consolation, remember there is a good chance that your friends have the same problem as you do.