I know the location of the Greek Fountain of Youth

"How fast can you change?"

Fresh out of the Dead Sea, dripping sea water on the steps of the Waldorf Astoria, I received the invitation of a lifetime. I was lucky enough to be in Athens on a college trip when my super cool Art History Prof asked me to join her on a jaunt to the oldest Byzantine Monastery in the world. After a few days being rather disappointed by modern Athens, Kenny Roger's Roasters and the ilk not really being my romantic idea of Greece, I was hungry for some dyed in the wool museum quality experience.

I dried off and changed into sacred site appropriate garb at lightning speed. We took a taxi up the mountain to the monastery and my Prof hesitantly sent the taxi away. It wasn't far from the city, she was a marathon runner and I was known for taking 4 plus hour long walks daily. The Greek Orthodox nuns welcomed us warmly with homemade Turkish Delight in a Tupperware container. The irony that my first taste of this (delicious) Greek dessert was stored in an American iconic brand was not lost on this little adventurer.

It was dark, Greek Byzantine architecture lets in little natural sunlight and the chapel had few candles lit. Mosaics covered the walls and ceiling, glittering subtly, adding a spiritual, supernatural effect to the space. We explored respectfully, took photos without flash, more to preserve for memory visual nuances than achieve artful photography.

A little thirsty from the experience, my Prof told me we could drink from the natural spring right near the chapel. The rumored history of this spring would make any bottled water brand jealous.

" This is the spring that Hera would drink from to renew her youth every year."

My 20 something jaw drops. " As in, Hera, Zeus's consort, Queen of Greek Mythology, Mother of Hebe the cup bearer, infamous for cursing offending god's and mortals alike? " She turned Callisto into a bear after all simply because Zeus fell in love with her. Hera was the protector of women, presiding over marriages and births for those who didn't invest in the expensive Liberal Arts degree, or grow up studying Greek Mythology (everyone does right?).

We both drank heavily from the storied spring, and started walking back towards Athens. My Prof riddled with worry that we might be lost in the Greek countryside, neither one fluent in Greek, and her young companion blissfully chatting away, high on historical experience and glamorous immortal lore. Mid-trek she expressed concern how my parents would react if some harm befell us on this little adventure. Blithely I responded they would respect that I died in a noble pursuit of knowledge. Recounting that remark upon return home I am not sure that would have indeed been my parents' reaction. We made it back to the city quite safely, I had even picked an old broken terracotta pot out of the trash to keep as a souvenir of the experience. Fast forward 27 years later, one daughter, two divorces, and two bouts of homelessness later, I don't appear to be a day over 35.

That's me in the photo with a globe slung over my shoulder. Tongue firmly planted in cheek for sure. I don't do anything special to preserve my appearance and tanned quite darkly most of my youth and early 20's. I grew up sailing the Great Lakes spending every daylight minute out on the water. Sunscreen was an occasional after thought. In the 80's deep dark tans were coveted after all. Even smoked for a few years. During my 30's I would smile slyly when sales people at the cosmetic counter expressed horror that I was less than committed to a skin care regime, chastising me that I would look 45 before I was 30. My companion chuckled knowing full well I was already 39. When my daughter attended college I was mistaken for a fellow student by both professors and coeds alike. I am routinely carded when buying alcohol, more so than people 10 years younger than myself. When asked for proof of my birth date, I gleefully hand over my license and wait for the surprised reaction. Recently I moved to a very small village in Upstate New York. Worried that my age would make it difficult to find work, I suddenly felt subconscious, reading stories of middle aged women facing ageism in the work force. My forty something ego was confused and flattered (of course) when young men in their early 20's approached me for dates. Politely declining by explaining I was their mother's age gave me a graceful out for that awkward situation. I only started using face moisturizer after moving into a home heated by wood stove. That delightful bonfire scent comes along with arid desert style dry heat. Never experiencing dry skin in my life I indulged in the sporadic use of moisturizer. Now I have a 32 year old boyfriend who delights in quizzing new acquaintance's how old they think I am. Worker bee that I am, I haven't had the luxury of expensive creme or skin treatments. Life is harsh up here, my upbringing in an affluent suburb of Detroit spared my physical appearance the disadvantages of country life. I chalked it up to clean living, and not really having an opportunity to engage in activities that typically age a person's appearance, as I raised a young daughter for the majority on my own. I'm a Gemini, the twins Castor and Polydeuces, from the Greek Zodiac, offspring of Zeus and mortal Queen Leda. My personality falls firmly in line with the cliches associated with my star sign. I am also blessed with Mediterranean ancestry, Joie de vivre and a grateful heart.

Or I really did drink from the Fountain of Youth. Zoom in on my photo and judge for yourself.