Age

Age is a funny thing. All of us have it--we just have it in different quantities. Like fabric.

Vicky and I were kind of joking around about age--specifically, lost youth and retirement. I just hate getting those retirement investment notices through my office that say, "When you retire at age 67 . . . ." What?! 67?! What the heck am I going to do at 67? That's 16 years away! 16! Well, my friend Eileen is several years older than that, and she's doing just fine. Most days, I think she could run rings around me. I admire that about Eileen quite a bit.

Sometimes I feel old, and sometimes I feel young. Today, for some unidentifiable reason, I felt young and full of energy. No appreciable aches and pains. I don't know whether it's because of the healthier eating and loss of a little weight or if it's because I've just had six days in a row off work. You'd think that having to go back to work today would have the opposite effect, but I felt buoyed up all day. Remember skipping? Do you ever skip now? I felt like skipping instead of walking--that's the kind of energy I had. If I hadn't been busy with other things today, I might have gone looking in my closet for those thigh-high boots! (I'm about 50 percent sure they're here somewhere. Goodness knows I haven't thrown anything away for 25 years--just ask my husband. But I digress.)

Have you ever felt out of place because of your age? I suspect most of us have been somewhere at some time--maybe out dancing with our spouses?--and realized that everyone around us was about 20 or more years younger. But have you, in the middle years of your life, ever gone somewhere and been TOO YOUNG? I had that experience several years ago, and it still mystifies me today.

Maybe about five years ago, I joined the National Applique Society. I was in search of a local group to affiliate myself with. There were several, but most met during the day when I was at work. Finally I located a group that met in the evenings in Rocklin, a town about a 15-minute drive from my home. If I remember correctly, they met at 6:30 p.m., once a month, at a local quilt shop.

So, the next time the group was to meet, I headed out to the quilt shop and introduced myself to a couple people who seemed to be in charge, and I expressed an interest in sitting in on their meeting and perhaps joining their group. Well, the meeting went well, and they seemed like a great bunch of ladies, but as we neared the end, a lady seated close to me turned and said something like, "I don't know if this group is for you. If you're looking to find friends here, you should know that most of us are retired and aren't really interested in going out and doing things." What? Hello, are you talking to me? I'm 46 years old! Do I LOOK like I'm here to round up a group of quilters and hit the bars after the meeting? Okay, I didn't actually SAY that, but that's what I was thinking. (And, before you ask, NO I WASN'T WEARING THOSE THIGH-HIGH BOOTS! I do NOT look like a wild party animal--I look like most other middle-aged quilters.) Now, I think we all feel that when it comes to quilting and other quilters, age is pretty meaningless, right? Quilting itself provides a common interest between all of us that transcends age. Not, apparently, with this group! When the one lady said what she did, I glanced around and caught one or two other quilters nodding their little blueish white and gray heads in agreement. Okay, I can take a hint! Of course, I didn't return. And I let my membership in the Applique Society lapse.

Age. It's all relative. And among us quilters, it usually doesn't matter. But I like this feeling of energy I had today--I hope I feel just as good tomorrow. But if I don't get to bed and get my beauty sleep, I suspect I'll be dragging my feet instead of skipping tomorrow. Tomorrow? I just looked at the clock and realized that tomorrow is already here! And I'm a day older. Does it matter?