"Can't tell if it's a good omen, or a bad omen, but there's a storm a-brewing." That's how my sister Betsy greeted me the next morning, along with a fresh mug of coffee.

"Well, good morning to you, too."

I’m sixty-three years old and in unchartered territory on this day of my birth.

• Old enough for Social Security, not old enough for Medicare.

• Old enough to be called “retired,” not old enough to be considered “an elder.”

• Physically (i.e., how I feel) too old for the Iron Woman Triathalon, but not too old for Advanced Yoga.