Two little girls, age 2 and 4, are having a bath. Their mother, a doctor, is asking them to wash themselves. “Who is going to wash her face,” she asks. “Me,” “Me”, they shout at once, giggling.

There is a bit of splashing, Then the mother continues, “And who is going to wash her vulva?” “Me,” “Me,” they again shout at once, again giggling.

Did your eyebrows go up? Mine did. And then they went down again. I think she was right.

It takes a bit of thinking about.

And where did I hear this exchange? On BBC Radio 4, on a series of programmes entitled “Inside Health,” with this section brazenly called “The vulva,” played on a Wednesday afternoon.

Body part names – men

We grow up and are told various names for the lower end of our bodies.

Words for the male body are easy for reasons that aren’t altogether clear. You can use the formal words – penis and testicles – and many people do.

You might not talk about these things at the Queen’s Garden Party, but otherwise they are considered reasonable words with no overtones of impropriety.

There is also a friendly child’s term for the penis in England – and perhaps other parts of the world – the ‘willy’. It has an endearing quality and is not considered impolite, except in the most formal circumstances. Some men use it, too, but rarely in a sexual context.

And, of course, there are a lot of slang words for both, which you don’t learn at school and we don’t need to worry about here.

Body part names – women

But for us women, it is much more complicated. There have always been issues around what we call our various body parts in the lower region.

And much more of a frisson when we say them out loud.

Somewhere along the line, we learn we have a vagina, often contrasted to the penis, and it is also seen as a respectable term.

And at school, we tend to be shown pictures of the inside reproductive parts, so we know about the ovaries, the fallopian tubes and the uterus (or womb) – and even the vagina in this context.

But what about the rest of our equipment? Who teaches us that we have a vulva or a mons pubis or labia majora and minora (which sound like some distant part of Turkey).

No one teaches us, we cannot see them and we remain remarkably ignorant. Indeed, we often know the names for the more detailed parts of our eyes better than we do of our female parts.

And then there are the inevitable euphemisms. My mother told me I had a ‘front bottom’ and a ‘back bottom’ and left it at that. I never learned anything more in that department from her.

When I had my daughter in 1969, the nurses informed me that I had a ‘front passage’, a ‘back passage’ and a ‘birth canal’. I had a slight jolt, but I worked it all out.

(If I may digress, I also learned that babies ‘passed motions’, but at the same time – remember it was a period of student protests – the students at my husband’s university were busy ‘making motions’. Or it may have been the other way around. The two concepts have been forever mixed up in my head since that time.)

Again, I am not getting into the business of slang. You could write a book about that.

The power of words

So why are we shocked when a mother teaches her young children to use the correct word for that part between the legs?

You just don’t hear the word very often and it sounds, well, too strong, too technical or perhaps too much ‘off colour’.

Is the word ‘vulva’ seen as vulgar because it starts with the same three letters? What if, instead, we associated it with a Swedish car? It already sounds a lot more friendly.

But you may say, it is not ‘nice’ because it is associated with sex. But so is the penis and it does not have the same power said out loud.

There is certainly nothing shameful about the vulva – or, indeed, any part of the body. The vulva and other bits and pieces are simply parts of the female anatomy. Every female has them, from the new-born baby to the 90-year-old woman and beyond.

On reflection, it can only be right for mothers to teach their children the right words and to not be embarrassed by any part of their body. This goes for boys as well as girls, so we all know all the anatomical terms.

But perhaps she might hold off on the word ‘clitoris.’ It would be difficult to explain what it is for.

A version of this article was first published on SixtyandMe

I have always loved to write. Should you give it a try? The answer depends on what you want to do – and be.

Many people think that this is a glamorous activity, but I can assure you that it is not. You sit at home on your own, in your own world. Or in a cafe, with noise all around, but in your head, you are alone with your computer.

You struggle to think how to put your thoughts. Sometimes nothing comes. Sometimes what does come is not worth the candle.

In the old days of paper, you often found yourself with a wastebasket full of scrunched up bad starts. Now, you just press a computer key and everything disappears.

And yet I love it. Because sometimes you say exactly what you wanted to say. And then it is wonderful.

Children and Writing

Most of us were expected to write from time to time as a child. I am sure I wrote the usual dull stories of princesses that young girls tend to write. I don’t remember them at all.

Perhaps you wrote something more interesting then.

What I do remember is going to my father’s office one Saturday morning, when he had urgent work to do, but needed to look after me. I was given some paper and pens and was told to sit quietly at a big table.

The idea came to me to write the story of my life (I would not have known the word ‘autobiography’). I had one line for each age.

The whole thing ended with the memorable statement “Age 8: And then I understood what life was.”

For some reason – I didn’t know why at the time ­– my parents thought this was funny. Or, perhaps, charming.

They kept this document safe, and I found it with their papers after they had died, along with the jacks and rubber ball I used to play with at more or less the same time.

Finding a Career

I never thought of pursuing writing as a career, for instance becoming a novelist. This was never seen as a ‘real’ career. I also didn’t feel I had enough to write about. And, most importantly, it would not support my husband through his PhD.

But writing can take many forms and, in the end, I found my way. I became a social researcher and wrote numerous reports, articles and, yes, even books on the topics of my research. I liked doing this and others seemed to like what I produced. And so it went on year after year.

When I chose to work freelance, I was asked to do a lot of writing – reports from Committees of Inquiry or for Government departments, more mundane reports and even research proposals. I also found myself doing a lot of editing.

Even after retirement, I carried on doing unpaid what I had previously done for pay, because it was what I liked to do. I even went back to that day in my father’s office and wrote a kind of memoir.

Not that I really know what life is.

The Process of Writing

So why do I like writing? For as long as I can remember, I just liked the process – I enjoy the challenge of working out how to begin and how to find the right word for any particular context. The rhythm of a sentence is important to me.

I like seeing a piece of writing grow, like a knitter of an ever-increasing blanket or sweater.

And equally importantly, I love the process of cutting it back, namely editing. It is like weeding. Just as a garden can suddenly have a shape and a beauty when the weeds have gone, so too can a piece of writing.

Should You Take Up Writing?

Would I recommend writing as an activity to take on in your 60s or beyond? Why not, if you have the inclination, feel you have something to say and want to try.

Even if you’re not sure what you want to say, it is worth having a go.

You may find a whole new career, writing down stories you told your children or grandchildren or exploring difficult or interesting experiences from your life.

Or you might even find yourself producing a novel.

If you are seeking fame or, indeed, an easy income, it is definitely not a good idea. It is possible to become rich and famous as a writer, but it is exceedingly unlikely.

But it is a great way to challenge yourself and do something that is genuinely creative. And you can do it anywhere and anytime.

Think about it.

This article was first published by SixtyandMe.com

“I’ve had my three score years and ten. I really can’t complain – all the rest is extra.” These are the words of my father a few years before he died.

The number these days – probably even then – might not be exactly right when calculating the average life span, but the attitude is spot on.

When it comes to living, we all want more, more, more. But I think we should be pleased when we get those extra years of life. They should be valued and savoured as much as the years before.

But my father had a much more serious problem than simply dying – he was deeply concerned for the welfare of my mother, who had vascular dementia.

If he died first, who would look after her when he was gone?

Older People

Many of us older people these days find ourselves in the role of carers (or ‘caretakers’ in the US). There is the occasional carer for a parent – the children of all those centenarians, after all, are not exactly young.

But much more common are the older people caring for a spouse with a serious disease or disability. They slowly aged together and one of them became afflicted with some problem or other.

The remaining spouse generally does what he or she can for a period. If things become too difficult to manage, the overwhelmingly stressful decision may be taken to put them into a care or nursing home of some sort.

But this doesn’t take away the problem. All the worries of who will visit and care about them and how the ill or disabled person will manage in the case of their death still remain.

In my father’s case, the situation was eased because they lived in a retirement community and, when he could no longer cope, my mother was moved to the ‘assisted living’ – and later, the ‘nursing care’ – part of the same complex.

Moreover, he had hired a wonderfully attentive woman to see to her needs for some hours every day. She helped my mother to dress, talked to her endlessly and took her out for walks.

She had a marvellous combination of practicality, good sense and great warmth. She undoubtedly eased the lives of both my parents in their last years.

And yet this did not solve my father’s problem of dying before my mother.

He broached this issue with my brother and myself on several occasions, and we assured him we would continue to do what we could – and to pay for the extra help for as long as it was needed.

Other People with Disabilities

I had already been very familiar with this problem. Many years ago, I had carried out some research on the problem of parents of adult sons and daughters with what are now called learning disabilities.

Many of the parents were in their late 70s and 80s and many of their ‘children’ were aged 50 and above. The study was ostensibly about what they saw as the best housing arrangements once their son or daughter moved from the family home.

But it soon became clear that the real issues that worried these parents were emotional – not practical – ones.

First, the tremendous family bond meant that they didn’t want their son or daughter to move away to be helped by anyone else. They feared that no one would love them or care for them in the same way.

And second, they were deeply, deeply worried about what would happen after they were gone.

This was probably the most emotionally stressful of any of the research I ever undertook, with highly emotive interviews often ending with tears.

My colleague and I felt that we had no easy answers, but it was important to raise the question, which had been largely hidden. By bringing it out in the open, we hoped that both parents – and the professionals who worked with them – could begin to make appropriate and thoughtful decisions.

We published a book called Letting Go, which got some attention at the time (1989) but is long out of print. I should mention that the book has not been updated since it was published, so if you manage to find a copy, please do bear that in mind.

The Problem of Dying

I want to come back full circle to where I began. As we age, we naturally begin to think about death and its implications for ourselves.

This is normal – and healthy ­– and I hope everyone can find their own peace.

But spare a thought for those who have that additional worry of what will happen to someone they love when they are gone. They are the ones for whom we must have the utmost sympathy.

Postscript

My father did die first. But my mother died only three months later. We continued to pay for her companion, who was enormously helpful to the end.

At my father’s request, we gave her an extra sum after my mother’s death in thanks for her devotion to my mother.

And I learned some years later that she used this sum to pay for nursing training, got her diploma and has since become a nurse, a lifelong ambition.

This article was first published on SixtyandMe.com

Yes, I am about to reach the big 80. It’s not a surprise. I have seen it coming for some years. But I only started thinking about it recently.

Big Birthdays

We all tend to make a bit of a meal of the decade birthdays, although less so at age 10 (all part of childhood) and age 20 (because we make a fuss of 21).

Each one sounds ‘old’ at the time. We fear becoming 30 (yes, I know it sounds ridiculous now), because it somehow means we are ‘over the hill’. Little did we know.

Age 40 and 50 remain milestones as each sounds like a marker for a different part of middle age. And I suspect the unspoken thought is that middle age itself is only a stone’s throw from something called ‘old’.

Sixty must have a meaning to readers of Sixty & Me and it is, after all, the traditional benchmark for the beginning of our older years. And yes, it does feel like a big step, even though for me, it is now 20 years ago.

Celebrating Birthdays

For the first time since my childhood, I held a big party when I turned 60. My daughter helped with the organising. We hired a room and had live music, loads of good food and wine. Some friends even came from abroad. It was very memorable.

By the time I turned 70, I chose to have a much smaller party, but a number of friends came to my house to celebrate. As it happened, it was the first slightly warm day after a cold winter and everyone was in a good mood for that reason.

And now, at 80, I shall have my daughter and her family, plus my long-suffering husband who does not even like parties. My son and his family are too far away.

But it is enough. Our world shrinks somewhat as we age. But so do our expectations.

My Feelings About Turning 80

But the real question is, how do we feel about turning 80? I can’t speak for anyone else, but I feel great. I didn’t expect this reaction, but it is what I find.

I feel I have climbed a mountain and like the view. Or have been honoured with some unexpected prize.

It is a sense of achievement. Perhaps well-described in the Sondheim song “I’m still here,” sung famously by Elaine Stritch.

Yet all I have really done is just kept breathing. Looked in that way, it is hardly an achievement at all.

Being Old

The truth of the matter is I like being old. It took me awhile to realise that fact, but once I did, I gave it some thought as to why.

The result was a book, just published a few months ago, exploring the joys and challenges of being older.

I concluded that although there are both upsides and downsides to becoming old, for me the former outweigh the latter. As long as – and this is a big proviso – you retain reasonably good health.

Yes, you go downhill physically – no doubt about that. Your memory is not what it was, and your energy is disappointing. Your body lets you down in many ways.

Your day-to-day life tends to shrink. You may give up driving. You may look to downsize your living arrangements. You begin to lose some people you love – old friends, perhaps your spouse.

And you become more aware of the Grim Reaper looking over his shoulder in your direction.

But this is only one part of the story. I like being old because of the very great self-confidence it brings. You know yourself – your strengths and your weaknesses – and, with luck, you have come to terms with your life. You feel comfortable in your own skin.

All this brings a sense of freedom or liberation like never before.

Relationships tend to strengthen with age. With your spouse. With your friends. With your now grown-up children. And in many cases, you have the delight of new grandchildren in your life.

What’s not to like? And, as my dad used to say, it is better than the alternative.

This article was first published by SixtyandMe.com

When my first grandson was born nearly 16 years ago, I was busy with my work and my own life. His parents lived an hour away from my house, which made two hours travelling if I did the round trip on the same day.

I told my daughter early on that I would not be one of those grandmothers who were ready to be a babysitter at a moment’s notice. We would love to see the baby as often as we could but did not want to be pressed into regular service.

She is a very nice and responsive person and never did press us to sit, although she left him at our house on one or two occasions which was never a problem.

But oh dear, how very wrong I was.

Involved Grandparents

Being a grandmother is like many other things in life – the more you put into it, the more you get out.

I didn’t have involved grandparents, so I had no example at first hand. I therefore had to learn this lesson the hard way.

When my second grandson was born over three years later, I still had the same view. But not so long afterwards, my daughter-in-law was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer and not helping out was not an option.

We acquired a cot (crib), bedding, clothes, highchair and all the other accoutrements of having a baby in the house. And by necessity that grandson came to our house frequently, although other relatives and paid help were also called on.

Now, you won’t be surprised to learn that we soon discovered the absolute joy of having a baby around the house.

Plus the toddler he soon became. Not to mention the child who the toddler grew into. He is now 12.

My daughter-in-law’s treatment took a long time, but she slowly recovered (and is now fine). And in the process, we learned so much about ourselves and the nature of being grandparents.

Distant Grandchildren

At the same time as I was doing all that childcare, I was compiling a book based on  about their lives. I was fascinated to learn about the different experiences of women as grannies and how they coped.

One of the sadder sets of stories were those of women who lived a long way from their grandchildren and could not see them often. They felt they missed out the chance to get to know them well.

It happens so often these days, because everyone is on the move for work or other reasons. Young people move across the country, or they move to a new continent. It is great on many counts, but not completely.

Inevitably, these women were much less close to their grandchildren. They talked about the complexities of visiting from time to time. They said that seeing grandchildren on Skype was not remotely the same.

They certainly found it difficult to be so distant from their grandchildren.

And I began to understand how lucky people are when they live in the same place. You can play with the grandchildren on the floor when they are small. You can talk to them. You can listen to them.

And you gain so much.

My Distant Grandchildren

And then it happened to me.

Grandson number one, although living in the same city (London) had remained an hour’s travel away. We saw him when we could, at his house or ours, but visits became less frequent as my daughter went back to work and he went to nursery and then school.

And when he was not at school, he was busy with friends and afterschool activities, like swimming and running. And he didn’t like talking on the phone. And Covid restrictions didn’t help.

He was, in effect, a distant grandchild, albeit not so very distant by location.

Meanwhile, grandson number two moved out of the country with his family  and I learned about long-distance relationships.

The first time I had arranged a zoom call, he had to stop playing with his friends to come in to talk to granny. Not surprisingly, he was not very responsive. He had other things on his mind.

After that, I arranged such calls with him at the last minute, so he was in the right frame of mind.

But talking on zoom is not the same as sitting with a child, hugging him and feeling his presence. It lacks all the joy of touch. It is better than nothing but very frustrating.

I, too, felt I was missing out on the day-to-day changes in his life.

Advice

I rarely give people advice, because I think people are different and need to make their own choices.

But I do advise not following my example. If you have grandchildren, do your best to get to see them as often as possible. Talk to them, listen to them, joke with them. You will gain so much.

Because you never know when it will come to an end.

And you will never regret it.

A version of this article was published on SixtyandMe.com

A lot of people, so I am told, feel that a happy long marriage is simply not possible.

Yes, people fall in love and get married, but the initial excitement with each other wears off sooner or later. And then people just cope with each other and their annoying ways.

At best, neither spouse grumbles too often – and the husband puts out the trash.

Well, I beg to disagree. My husband and I are much, much happier after nearly 60 years together than when we began. And we have much more fun. I think it is so much easier when you’re older.

And I don’t think that we are alone – I note that a number of other people seem to feel the same way.

Survey of What Makes for a Good Marriage

A month or so ago, a survey of married couples was published in some British newspapers which claimed to have discovered the recipe for a good marriage.

Commissioned by a hotel group, it argued that a good marriage was clearly helped by a twice-yearly short break together, as well as two longer holidays.

More interestingly, the happiest couples claimed to have sex five times a week, say “I love you” 20 times a fortnight and kiss two or three times a day.

Moreover, they had six meaningful conversations, three long walks together and two big rows every month.

The journalists had a field day. My newspaper invited four of their writers to comment on this survey. They were particularly amazed by the frequency of sex, with not a single one claiming to reach anywhere near that number.

Yes, it sounds a bit high.

But then, too, do the required number of rows. Why do you need to have major blow-ups so often in order to be happy?

Well, you must wonder at it all. Can this be true? How is everything defined?

I remain sceptical.

Views from My Household

Roughly 20 years ago, two friends, both in my choir, had decided to get married, but not without the normal set of doubts.

The bride-to-be took me to one side during the tea break and, believing (correctly) that I was happily married, asked what made for a good marriage.

I was not expecting the question and hesitated. I then came up with a dull litany of the issues one needs to take carefully. They were all about avoiding the negative – being sensitive to the needs of the other person, minimising complaints and the like.

I went home and told my husband of our discussion and he burst out laughing. “No, no, no – It’s much simpler than that”, he exclaimed, “I just find you enormously interesting.”

Collapse of argument. Of course, this question should be answered in a positive way. I passed on his wise words to my friend, and she said, “Good. I find Dan very interesting.”

They are still married.

Early Years of Marriage

I would argue – against the crowd – that the hardest time to have a happy marriage is in the first few years. You have so much novelty to get used to, so many small changes to be made to your way of doing things.

Both of you. A lot of adjustments.

Yes, you have that initial passion to see you through, but it is not enough. And no one tells you how damn difficult it will be. There you are, having made a lifelong commitment, and it just isn’t what you expected. Very scary.

My situation was compounded by having married at the absurd age of 21. I thought I knew a lot about my new husband, but in retrospect it was so little. And I knew so little about myself.

I remember thinking one day that I should just burn my bridges and get a divorce. But that idea was quickly discarded because it would have proved my mother right.

I was darned if I was going to let that happen.

No, marriage is easier as it settles down, you learn more about each other and about yourselves.

You grow together into something better.

What Is a Happy Marriage?

A happy marriage, for me, is a special kind of friendship. You can talk together about almost anything at some length. You learn from each other. Often.

You enjoy just sitting together doing nothing. Perhaps most of all, leaving aside the unsaid and obvious, you have frequent laughs together. After a while, you stop even questioning moving on. It feels completely right.

I would hate to be a marriage counsellor. All those grudges and recriminations placed oh so carefully in your lap every day!

I would be like the famous Irishman who, on being asked how to get to a particular difficult-to-find place, said, “I wouldn’t start from here.” My counselling advice would start much earlier in the relationship and would be pretty simple.

Keep talking to each other. Keep having sex. And find out what makes you both laugh (bowling? drinks with friends? Adolescent movies?) and do it now and often.

For heaven’s sake, have fun together.

Congratulations

I find that I am often congratulated on my long marriage, presumably on my ability to have been able to live with one person for so long.

I find the comment very strange. Why should anyone congratulate me on a life that is full of love and interest and fun?

My view is that marriage gets better and better. After a while, you know each other pretty darn well. You have had a lot of shared experiences. You have most likely lived through the incredible joys and challenges of children.

With luck, you have had a lot of laughs on the way. Somehow, there is no going back.

And why would you want to?

A version of this article was published in my book, The Granny Who Stands on her Head: Reflections on Growing Older