I was in third grade when my mother sewed a pretty blue wrap-around skirt for me, a simple style that encircled my body a couple times and tied at the waist with a long belt. It was my favorite color and I couldn’t wait to wear it, even though it was January and the skirt was made of thin cotton fabric. Mother suggested I save it for spring when the weather was warmer, but I was too impatient. In the sixties, little girls always wore dresses or skirts to school, so winters were a challenge, especially at recess. I wore tall socks and boots but depended on a knee-length wool coat to keep my thighs warm. The day I wore the skirt was especially cold. My thick wool socks, sweater, and coat did little to protect the mid-section of my body so I ran while my class...


On the days I play piano at the retirement home I dress a little nicer than my usual jeans. I do it out of respect, knowing it’s how my parents would dress were they still living. This particular day, I wore a skirt that was navy blue with white polka dots, along with a yellow sweater, a classy outfit I ordered from Lands End a couple years ago. At the conclusion of the program, one elderly woman surprised me by saying, “That skirt is so pretty! I have one just like it!” Seriously? I know I’m old at sixty but am I really dressing like an eighty-year-old? “Don’t you just love wearing it?” she asked. Not any more, I thought. Not any more.