liver spots and a gray eyebrow hair

Every day, I am reminded of my age. I am 50. That number hit me like a ton of bricks last March when I passed the threshold into middle age. Middle? Yes - middle. I don't plan on dying until I am at least 100. I can't imagine the quality of life I will have by then but I am counting on the marvels of medicine to keep me going...
After all, my dad lived until he was 88 (and that was only because a tree fell on him - otherwise, he would have lived much longer....) and my mom will be 88 in November. She is enjoying life even more now, I believe, because she visits daily with friends and every one of her medical and personal needs are taken care of promptly. Her meals are well-balanced and tasty. And she plays Bingo and listens to concerts and tells stories that she now has time to recollect. It's true she still misses Daddy terribly although it's been over 7 years since his passing, and she mourns the loss of her mobility and her sight and her independence, but she accepts it grudgingly.
It's a good thing age creeps in gradually...it would be shocking to wake up one morning and see a wrinkled, aging face in the mirror. Yes, the gradual progression into old age takes time but every once in a while, my eyes see glimpses of things to come...
For example - my hands have age spots - my grandmother called them liver spots! What a frightening name for this indicator of age... Not a lot, mind you, just a couple - but they are there. Small round discolorations that have taken residence over the normal skin on the backs of my hands.
And then, this week, I thought I had been seeing a light colored hair in my right eyebrow. Light-colored - yeah - right! I had to admit finally that it was a GRAY HAIR! I plucked it out immediately but could only imagine my eyebrows in 10 years - filled with those Andy Rooney-esce nightmarish eyebrow hairs...
After all, I can't dye my eyebrow hairs to match the lovely light-brown shade of Loving Care that adorns my head. One day, I'll have to relinquish the bottle and allow my hair to go naturally gray...
But, by then, I'll be writing my memoirs, doing some occasional freelance work, sketching sunsets for my grandchildren, and walking the shores of the Carolinas, waiting for Steve to return from his day at the golf course. Yep...that will be me...with my gray hair in a braid down my back, strolling down by the water's edge. Who will care then if I have liver spots on my hands!??