The Threshold of Old

When I was a kid, anyone over thirty was “old.”

I’m about to turn 45, so I guess by my own standards, I’m downright ancient. Forty-five is not really much worse than 44, but according to the “round up” rule my teachers taught me at East Pike Elementary school, I’m really going to be about 50. Yikkes.

I’ve never been too stressed about my age, but turning 45 (50) has presented me with a troubling dilemma I’ve never considered before.

Somewhere in the latter half of one’s life is a fine line. A threshold, if you will, across which, there is no turning back. A precipice from which one inadvertently steps off into that vast chasm know as “Old Age.”

Have you ever been at a stop light, and you glance over at the car stopped next to you and see an elderly woman in a large sedan with her seat fully forward, gripping the steering wheel, with an enormous pair of those wrap-around sunglasses on?

Or, have you ever been in a salad bar line, and as you wait for the older woman ahead of you to scoop the cottage cheese, you notice she has on elastic-waist embroidered denim capris pulled well above her mid-life ponch and flat tush?

Or, have you ever scanned the crowd at the community pool and noticed that the older women wear skirted bathing suits, floppy hats, and sensible sandals often crammed with gnarled toes? And, on those occasions, did you think to yourself, “I’ll never be like that.”

But those cantankerous Old Timers didn’t consciously surrender to Old Age, it crept up on them slowly after they crossed that invisible threshold. Somewhere along the way they went from keeping up with fashion and lifestyle trends to just being comfortable, and who could begrudge them that?

Now that I am almost 45 (50) I’m a little scared. Scared that it might happen to me before I am ready. What if I’ve already stepped off the precipice, and I haven’t even realized that my pants have started creeping up?

Why, just recently I bought a pair of those “shape up” exercise shoes with the ridiculous-looking exaggerated sole designed to tone and shape leg and rear muscles. Despite the fact that I have seen absolutely no improvement in my physical appearance, I’ve been wearing them all the time because they’re just so doggone comfortable.

Also, I’ve taken to drinking a microwaved cup of coffee each day around five-o-clock, and I sometimes put on a sweater because I’m chilly.

Oh no! I AM getting old!

Should I just give in and buy a bottle of Glucosamine and some wrap around shades, or should I run in the opposite direction and become one of those pathetic middle aged women who try too hard look young? Maybe I should cram myself into a bubble skirt, trade my mini-van in for a fully-loaded Escalade with the big chrome rims, and risk a spinal cord injury by taking surfing lessons?

Probably not a good idea, and besides, my children would be traumatized from the embarrassment.

Perhaps the key to aging gracefully is contained the well-known “Serenity Prayer.” You know the one, “God grant me the serenity to …”

However, I might tweak the wording a bit to more specifically address my particular concerns:

God, grant me the Serenity to accept that, while I may not be a geezer, I’m certainly no spring chicken anymore,

Courage, to resist the urge to order those $19.99 poly-blend gabardine slacksfrom the weekly newspaper insert, instead of buying a decent pair of Gap khakis at the mall,

And the Wisdom to know the difference between buffet line tapioca puddingand crème brulee.

Amen.