Some days I cry a lot.

Smelling the sweetness of a brisket baking in the oven to feed my children who were all home for the weekend or eating an overly salted fried egg on Sunday mornings-my late father’s breakfast special- makes me cry.

But last week, while reading Elizabeth Renzetti’s poignant article in the Globe and Mail about the vanishing faces of older women in film and television, I cried for the fifth time that day. It was a stunning and well-written piece about women and aging- a subject that consumes me.