Here are the 4 entries. Tell me which one you like best and why.
Sixty-five year old June Park is the mother of two grown women and a grandmother of three. Her shoulder length hair dyed black to match the color of he youth and still wearing the same makeup style that she had been using for twenty years. Her daughters always complained she wore too much foundation, but they didn't have a blotchy complexion. Their clear skinned complexions were the product of good healthy living in the states, June envied her daughters their beautiful skin. She slipped into her size four Ann Taylot suit and smiled at the thought that she was thinner than both her daughters. Sometimes she would tease her oldest girl about how much thinner she was. Once she had to borrow a pair of her pants and she had mocked her by pulling out the size ten waistband and commenting that she could fit another person in there with her. Boy did her daughter hate that! But she did it for her own good, it was her way of trying to convince her to lose weight. Stepping out into the living room, she saw her husband sitting on the couch. His hair had gone all white and he refused to dye it. Their girls thought it looked great, very distinguished, but it bothered June, wondering if it made her look older just by being with him. No, of course not. She still looked young. She took great care of her body. She walked fifty city blocks every single day. Her life as a NY city realtor meant alot of canvassing of the city. It kept her fit, and thin. She loved her grandkids, but thanked her stars that they lived four states away from her. Whenever she missed them, she'd go visit, but it was more like once every other month or so. She loved them, but she couldn't fathom a life of being just a grandma. No she was too busy. Life had gotten more interesting now that she had become successful later in life. Life was good, better than it had ever been before and she would enjoy every moment of it.
Church Lady said...
Here's a quickie draft, about 62 year-old Joyce:
"Who do you want? Raynar or Shamu?" the stable boy asked.
"Shamu. But I'll get him. He's still out in the ring." Joyce buckled her riding helmet and jogged over to the ring.
"Tch, tch, tch," Joyce called, and Shamu trotted toward her. She held a carrot and watched horse slobber gather around the bit.
"Miss Joyce?" A twelve-year old girl stretched her arm to pet Shamu.
"Is it about the dressage competition?""Yeah."
"If you can get your diagonals done today, you can sign up."
"Thanks! I've been practicing in my head all night. I know I can do it."
"I know you can too." Joyce climbed through a gap in the fence and checked Shamu's tack. "Are you ready?"
"Am I riding Shamu today?" The girl felt shy around such a forward horse.
Joyce nodded and motioned toward the saddle.
"You're the best riding instructor, ever!" The girl climbed into the saddle and began her stretches.
“We’re halfway,” Ann said.
“I’ll never make it.” Jim was ready to quit, but he couldn’t let Ann beat him. It would be humiliating and she’d never let him forget. He kept reminding himself, I’m 43. I’ve trained for the last 6 months. I can do this
Jim wondered how she could be in such great shape. She wasn’t even winded. “Why did I let you talk me into this? This is a really stupid idea,” he said.
Ann laughed and ran a little circle around him. “Don’t be such a wimp. You were 30 pounds overweight and had trouble breathing walking up a flight of stairs. All you did was sit at your desk all day then go home and park yourself in your recliner, watch TV, eat and drink beer. I just wanted to inspire you to get off your ass and get back into shape.”
“So, you thought running a marathon was the best way? Couldn’t we have done Yoga or something less stressful?”
“In your condition anything was stressful. Listening to you complain for the last 6 months hasn’t exactly been a pleasure, but unlike you I stayed focused on the goal instead of the immediate discomfort.”
“Sometimes I hate you,” Jim said.
“Sometimes I hate you too.”
“No you don’t. You always love me.”
“So you think,” Ann laughed.
Jim looked at the woman running next to him and though how very lucky he was to have a mother who cared so much about him.
On the eve of his 70th birthday, John and his 55-yr-old wife (his "trophy wife" they both liked to say) took a moment to assess his life as they waited for the plane to arrive.
He'd come a long way from that gangly boy who'd been shipped to Korea to fight the Communists. He'd come a long way from the world-weary too-soon-experienced young man who worked his way through law school while raising a growing family. He'd come a long way from interrogating drunks in Bourbon Street backrooms as an FBI agent.
His recent physical proved he was healthier than the stepdaughter 1/3rd his age. And, though not fleet of foot, he could outwalk anyone he knew.
He watched the small plane touch the ground and taxi to within a few yards. The pilot walked over to him and said, "Now that you've gone through all the class instruction, just give me a few minutes to refuel the plane, and we'll be ready for your first flying lesson."