Age Appropriate

Cyndi Lauper performing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun..."

I went "shopping in my closet," as my dear friend, Fran, used to say. I needed an ensemble to wear to an upcoming party. I had so many clothes. I really should clean out this mess, I admonished myself.

Looking through my closet for an outfit was a trip back in time. I wanted to wear something to the party I hadn’t worn in a long time, which would be a “new” outfit to show off. Although this closet was only as old as our life in this house, eighteen years, my clothes went back much further. I started to rummage through the years of long skirts, hippie dresses, tee-shirts and wildly decorated pants and blouses.

I discovered my long, purple Indian dress, a style that was all the rage in 1975. It had been my wedding dress for my second marriage. In 1975 no bride would dream of wearing white, the virginal color, to her second wedding. I could no longer wear this dress because my shoulders and breasts, the results of nursing and carrying two children, groceries and responsibilities, had changed my body. My children are now younger than this dress, at their respective ages of 44 and 47.  I gently returned my Indian dress to the back of my closet for safe keeping.

Next I came to my collection of long, flowered voile skirts. Each one was so old that the elastic at the waist had long since lost all elasticity. Maybe someday my grandchildren would find a use for these skirts, cutting them up for quilts or tutus. 

Another discovery peeked from behind my antique skirts. It was my favorite sheer white, gauze blouse. It had been my beloved top I had worn through all my years in Vermont. It was embroidered across the square neckline and waist with pretty rose, pink flowers and bright green leaves. I laughed at the memory the blouse evoked of my dear friend and blossoming artist, Torsten. He had used this blouse to illustrate colors which were best suited to my complexion and hair color.

“Janie, those flowers are not rose, red or pink. They are magenta. Magenta is the perfect color for you. Red is too bright and flashy. Magenta is more elegant and it also has more blue in it. It goes best with your complexion and blue eyes.” 

I placed my “magenta” flowered blouse back in my closet, knowing that it would always remind me of Torsten and would keep his memory alive. I could never give that blouse up.

Then I unearthed my “Back Home” tee-shirt, decorated with a drawing of one of their homemade pies the Back Home Cafe in Rutland, Vermont, had been famous for.  In 1972 it had been one of the most innovative, new cafes in the Rutland area. The Back Home Cafe was the first restaurant to serve vegetarian meals and fresh daily-made soups along with a terrific array of deli sandwiches. Going to the Back Home was a luxury my sweetheart and I could only occasionally afford. A tee-shirt memorializing our illicit time together was an extravagant gift I would always cherish. Back in the closet it went right next to my pink and white, candy striped Oshkosh overalls. In Vermont it had been my been my staple which I almost wore to death. No, I would never give up my Oshkosh's either.

I moved on to the “artsy,” dressy section of the closet. It was filled with beautiful, expensive and extravagant two-piece ensembles, next to silk and lace blouses and satin pants. Most of my “artsy” wardrobe had been purchased with my mother at exclusive shops in St. Armand's Circle in Sarasota, Florida. These outfits were the remembrance of fun shopping trips with my mom. They were also memories of the years my artist boyfriend, Tim, and I went to art openings, museum receptions, the Straz Theatre, the Palladium, Life Enrichment Center events and the Loft Theatre. They were elegant designer ensembles, sophisticated and unique. I had felt special attending all those art openings, shows and events in Hyde Park and Ybor wearing these ensembles.  I had always planned on wearing one of them again but had never had the courage to do so. And, besides, lately in the heat and traffic of Tampa we rarely left our cozy air-conditioned home.

Finally, I hit the costume section of my closet. My Gasparilla jacket, purchased at a thrift store (as so many of my clothes were) was red with blue trim, brass buttons and epaulets. It was a band uniform reconditioned by my pirate spirit. I wore the jacket over antique and authentic midnight blue double-buttoned Navy pants, set off with a Revolutionary Officer's bicome. To accompany an earlier Gasparilla costume Tim had created a sailor's cap complete with gold paint and glitter. He succeeded in his efforts to create a hat which matched my “salty” vocabulary and personality.  It was the perfect accompaniment to my pirate’s sword at all Gasparilla events.

It was time to move from the youthful end of my closet into the more mature side. There was my elegant frog-buttoned silk, magenta and gold-flowered tunic. I had been thrilled to find it in a designer store in Tarpon Springs. I had worn it over flowing, black silk pants at our wedding on a St. Augustine beach in 2006. Certainly, I would keep that outfit forever. I put it at the front of my closet where I wouldn’t forget to pack it for our next visit to celebrate our 18th wedding anniversary in St. Augustine. To make this anniversary even more special my dear sister and my brother-in-law would be visiting from Vermont. Tim and I were l looking forward to sharing our favorite beaches, haunts and restaurants with them in St. Augustine and Jacksonville.

In looking over all my old friends in my fabric museum I realized I was looking over my past lives. Many of my outfits were no longer ‘age appropriate’ for me at the ripe, old age of 75. I had become elderly. How had this happened? I didn’t consider myself over-the-hill, yet. In my mind I was still twenty and living the hippie life, not in Vermont, but in Tampa, Florida. My body and aging mind often protested and correctly targeted my age at 75.

Suddenly I felt frustrated with the reality of my age and that question all women face before a party or event, ‘What should I wear?’ Now, added to that question was, ‘What can I wear that is age appropriate or isn't "too young" for me? My next thought was, ‘Who cares? What does “age appropriate” mean, anyway?

I dug around in my closet once again and found a beautiful lace top which, unfortunately, was full of tears from the years a piece of jewelry, furniture or person had snagged and torn the lace. I dug deeper and found a wildly-flowered pair of wide cotton pants I had completely forgotten about. Amazingly, the pants and top still fit.

I am repairing the lace with a needle and thread in preparation for the upcoming party. It is a lengthy process, just like life. I am sewing years from the past into the future.  It is age appropriate, and will be, for as long as I consider myself young. 

In my mind’s eye I am still romping across the green hills of Vermont, dancing across the dance floors of Ybor, admiring the art in Hyde Park and celebrating at the parties of long-treasured friends.

Isn't that what age appropriate is?

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