I met a Little Old Lady some years ago but didn’t realize, at the time, how much she would take over my life. I knew, somewhere in the back of my consciousness, that it would happen — but not yet! Just as in years past I knew I’d surpassed being a Young Chick, then a Mature Woman, I settled into the role of Older Gal. There I stayed, determined to avoid becoming a Senior Citizen or anything beyond. After all, age is mostly in the mind. Isn’t it?

One of the problems of being an Older Gal is that its definition is so vague and so variable that we’re never certain when we enter it and we are reluctant to step into the next level. I remember being stunned the first time the check-out girl at the supermarket asked if I’d like my senior discount! Do they still offer that? I’ve heard little about it in recent years, but then I suppose there comes a time in our lives when such things become self-evident, and no one needs to ask.

As is so often true, the designation Widow came before I was ready to admit to Little Old Lady in my own mind, and certainly not publicly. When health issues necessitated several changes in my daily routines and began to limit some activities, the notion of “old” began to insinuate itself uncomfortably into my self-image. Realizing that I was, not only losing weight, but suddenly getting quite a bit shorter, added the concept of “little” and I reluctantly accepted the additional designation of “lady” over other options.

The little old lady I eventually came to know and understand has a few good things going for her, even though she has been required to forfeit too many activities and abilities. And she has discovered that the realities of Little Old Ladyhood have evolved considerably since she viewed it from earlier phases of her life. I am beginning to see a balance sheet showing the connections between some of the losses and subsequent gains associated with the changes brought about by time and frailty.

The first big sacrifice was the forfeiture of my driver’s license. I remembered how much my husband resented that necessity, how he argued and resisted, even though I had been a willing chauffeur for many months and he had not driven himself for a long time. It was simply the idea of relinquishing that symbol of independence that upset him. When my deteriorating shoulder joints made it painful to move my arms quickly, I realized that I might not be able to avoid hitting a deer or other hazard on the highway, or worse yet, another car. My family and friends accepted my decision with little comment and took over such things as shopping and driving me to appointments and other necessary destinations, though I voluntarily cut back on many of the social and volunteer activities. I finally recognized the freedom and convenience that driver’s license represents but held with my decision. My sons are all good drivers – after all, I taught them to drive – though I imagined that getting in and out of their big, high-up pick-up trucks would soon require a ladder and a parachute, so I kept my car for them to drive when I needed to go somewhere.

I’m glad that writing poetry, this column and an annual newsletter for my dwindling number of high school classmates are still within my capabilities. The column keeps me feeling a part of the community and I enjoy these weekly “conversations” with you. The biggest loss. I guess, is that I can no longer stand at my easel and work on the big oil paintings I would like to keep making. My creative urges are only partly satisfied by small drawings for greeting cards and note cards I use or make as gifts for the family and friends who still write actual letters. On occasion, I make my own brightly colored envelopes to match the cards. To ward off boredom, I read a lot, work crosswords and invent puzzles and quizzes for family occasions. I hope, as you grow closer to the “little old man/lady” part of your life, that you’ve not put off too many things for “later when there’s more time.” You may find, too late, that you will need more than just time.