Loose Ends
The clothing exchange and other rites of passage
Susan Nienow

My birthday was several months ago, so I have some perspective on it now. It wasn't one of those birthdays where you can find a card for the exact year, but it did leave its mark. Just when I am coasting along, minding my own business - bam! I collide with my age.

I survived my birthday, but I'm not sure about this year's clothing exchange. It's time to put away the summer things and try on my winter clothes. This requires a solid block of time, solitude and something for the headache I know is coming.

It isn't always a question of being able to button the waistband. Sometimes things don't look the same on as they used to. It probably has to do with everything heading south. I hung up the "fit today" items and stowed the "almost fit" things in an easy-to-get-at place in case I lose a few pounds.

Last year, I gave up my dream of ever entering a room wearing four-inch stilettos. The year before, I threw out the hip hugger pants I kept from the '70s. This year, I think the bulky scarves that swallow my neck have to go. Unfortunately, only my wardrobe is getting leaner.

But I am working on the "fit" part. This is week two of the gym membership. I have doubled my repetitions in just a few visits. Now it is getting serious. I am planning on staying up all night tonight, so I don't have to get out of bed in the morning. Those first few steps are the most painful.

I am adding to my regular commitments by scheduling workout sessions three times a week. My other half said I can't count shopping.

This age thing is beginning to take over my life. Meals are exercises in counting - calories, fiber, fat grams. Now that I understand the nutritional labels, I can't read them. The threes look like eights. And what about that arbitrary serving size? Who eats just seven potato chips anyway?

This is new to me. I've never been through this process before. It's a learn-as-you-go program, though. Now I take an extra pair of shoes with me when I go away for several hours - just in case my feet hurt. It's like carrying an umbrella. I never know which pair of shoes is going to turn on me next.

The younger generation is clueless about this aging thing. Just last week, the kids were teasing us about going to the gym, so I said, "What do you think we do with our spare time? Sit around and tell colonoscopy jokes?" They didn't laugh.

When I asked my other half for his view on his gray hairs and other outward signs of the passing of time, he refused. It doesn't apply to him, he said.

So after I attend my bunion support group, I will sit in my garden and view the world through my rose-colored trifocals.