Call me sentimental or nostalgic or whatever, but listening to Kamala Harris’s recent speech and how she was talking about women’s power and freedom and agency, it just made me feel so badass. Like back when we were pre-teens in the 1970s.

In those days, my twin sisters and me were still playing with dolls and Barbies, we hadn’t formed our Charley’s Angels Detective Agency just yet. But we had all the makings of a smart, sassy, unbeatable trio.

Because it was clear that 3 was always going to be a tricky number. Three young girls – negotiating consensus, avoiding gossip, rooting out jealousy – even then we knew that those things could undermine sisterhood.

But it wasn’t until five or six years ago, as adults, that we forged an alliance and we made it happen. We became a kick-ass team. And now we check in daily, have each other’s backs, and come to one another’s defense in any situation.

Meet me, Jill (Farrah Fawcett), and my sister Kelly (Jackie Smith) and the youngest, Bree (Kate Jackson). We formed this trio during a tough time in our family’s life, and we’ve been action-packed ever since.

It started with the dolls.

Someone sent them to us recently and we just went crazy with the storylines and the outfits. Inside jokes that were definitely only hysterical to us.

To us the three sisters.

We ordered extra clothes, posed them in various locales – you name it, they went on many adventures. At one point Farrah broke her hip (torn at the upper femur) after a nasty encounter with the dog.

But anyway, over time – no more familial triangulation for us, no gossipy back-biting, and no more not showing up for the gritty emotional stuff.

Now we’re a tough trio, and we pack guns.

Yes, I was a little taken aback by the fact that Kamala Harris owns a gun and even that she would shoot it if her life was in danger.

But we get this.

In fact, we’d love to take her out for a ladies lunch at the firing range – so we can all put bullets in those men’s silhouettes. What a rush. And a mimosa afterwards (no martini, James).

We’re there, call us Madame VP.

But guns aren’t the main thing really, it’s mostly about strategy and timing and physical prowess (gymnastics helps). Kelly can instantly snap a perp’s wrist with a well placed kick to dislodge a gun. And Bree can cold-cock any guy around, or lay them down with a swift, well-placed kick to the cajones.

And another thing, we don’t need or want any Charley or Bosley as a boss, we do just fine without those orders to dress in skimpy evening dresses.

And no more spending all of those hours in the makeup chair. These days we prefer a good moisturizer, and our Hanes 100-per cent cotton briefs. And our Skechers slip-ons actually serve us pretty well.

Make no mistake we are still pure glamour – it’s just all in the attitude.

The natural glow that Kelly gets when she knees a crotch, or when Bree goes undercover as a man – well, the fact of being 60 just disappears. And for me, Jill, there is a certain gravitas in sporting a grey lion’s mane that instantly radiates respect.

And that’s what our dolls give us.

They remind us of why we played with them and how much joy and possibility they gave us. The freedom of choice (lame’ or stretch one-piece) was right there in our grubby hands.

What goes around comes around – and be careful what you joke about (Bree’s hairdo) because the power always rises. The little hand that patiently brushed that hair out, grew to understand that beauty is less in the hairdo and more in the flexibility of the the hip flexors.

Oh, and the accessories.

Jill treasures that skateboard and it saved her ass in Malibu on several occasions. Kelly’s ever changing scarf is simply a revelation on tough spy cases. And while there’s not much you can do with Bree, her smug smirk is a perfect match to those no-fuss stretch jeans.

Seriously, I love my Angels and I highly recommend that you find a Mattel (or whatever brand) character to pretend with, too. It’s a stress buster – and so fun to pose them in precarious cliff-hangers for Instagram.

It’s just a campy nod to the past, it’s retro-restorative, it’s simple girl-power fun.

It’s all of that.

It’s sisterhood.

Just about now, you can almost hear the collective sighs of the residents of Minneapolis, Minnesota. It’s kind of a dark joke where my sister lives.

Yes, the mums have come out.

Summer’s on the way out – cue the long Winter of cold and snow.

The bright annuals are perched and ready in the doorways, like a shield of defiance from the cold.

It’s a wistful goodbye to summer with a last bright spot of yellow.

We mark our weather and the seasons like we mark our moods. The routine and flow of this keeps us on track, and reminds us of where we are in nature, and in our bodies.

Being over 60 is a bit like this. I know this next season of my life is here, but I can’t resist a parting shot of color. It is born of pride and a bit of stubborness, maybe.

I still keep trying to run, like always, but it’s been downgraded to running/walking and is now morphing into brisk walking. With a strained hamstring and other ailments, I wonder what this next stage will be like.

Old age.

Today I thought that maybe I’m looking at it wrong. It’s not, Oh no, not another long Winter.

Instead it crossed my mind – how many more times will I buy these flowers?

We seem to think we have infinite time, perennial seasons.

But we don’t.

I do know that I want to be able to get down on the floor and play with my grandson. I’d also like to scamper across the sand at the beach and swing him around.

Okay, maybe that’s a little ambitious.

It’s funny, whenever I sit and read with my grandson, he grabs the saggy skin on my forearm and squishes it and he pinches it throughout the entire story.

The first time he did it, I reflexively started to comment or explain – for being old, I guess. Seriously.

But I didn’t. I treasured the moment.

As Robert Frost wrote, Nothing gold can stay.

So today, I’m trying not to fixate on the state of my body next to the young runners on the trail, or going crazy with free weights in the bedroom.

I’m simply trying to slow the steps down and appreciate the sno-cone like mums, popping up so joyfully, and so briefly, all over the neighborhood porches.