This slim volume of prosaic poems (they are barely poems, more like very graceful essays) on encroaching senior-hood is really enjoyable. And comfortable, and comforting to read, much in the same way the classic "Golden Girls" TV show is, in a "you're not alone in this aging business, all us women are going through the same things!" way. I especially loved the "New Alphabet," which includes things like "O is for osteo, P's for porosis," and the poem about the two lovers who can't take their eyes off each other -- and it turns out the "man" is her four-year-old grandson. Thanks to Judith for reaching through the LA-nip/tuck-gym hardbody BS in this world, and telling it like it is.