Fred Bruning: Change is constant, and we boogie on

Except for ears and nose, I am shrinking.

It’s true.

While on a trip to New England for a family wedding, I found that my latest pair of L.L. Bean corduroys (gray, like most of my wardrobe) seemed curiously an inch or so long. At the same time, a new pair of sneakers felt unusually roomy. No more am I a 9½. it appears, but a paltry nine.

For the wedding, I brought another pair of L.L. Bean slacks also corduroy (but black for the formal occasion), also, alarmingly, too long.

“Hmm,” I observed, immediately thinking of poor Scott Carey in Richard Matheson’s 1956 novel, “The Shrinking Man.”

Exposed to radiation from a nuclear accident, Carey soon notices he steadily is becoming smaller. No need to review all the distressing details but one standout moment occurs when Carey, now a mere inch tall, finds himself in the basement trying to survive the epicurean intentions of a black widow spider.

Eventually, as Carey shrinks and shrinks, he is able to find peace.

“My fears melted away. And in their place came acceptance. All this vast majesty of creation, it had to mean something. And then I meant something, too. Yes, smaller than the smallest, I meant something, too. To God, there is no zero. I still exist!”

Wow, huh?

The guy is nearly microscopic and still sounding upbeat.

I am not so philosophical and would be seriously annoyed should I dwindle to the size of a thimble or grain of basmati rice.

Floppy trousers and declining shoe size are just part of the boundless excitement that goes with being older than you ever imagined. Posture, osteoporosis, muscle loss, claw toes, who knows what? 

Meanwhile, ears and nose are on the move. “Cartilage is known to alter in structure with age…older people have bigger ears and noses,” says a report by the National Center of Biotechnology Information, a government agency.

Altered cartilage. What fun.

But this is part of the deal. Life goes along, stuff comes up, some a lot worse than others.  Stop complaining, I remind myself. Summon your inner Scott Carey. Strive for acceptance.

Change is inevitable, after all, as, dear reader, I am about to discuss with a personal note below. The diversion will be brief, promise.

For several years, I taught journalism at Stony Brook University. In one of many memorable exhortations — no doubt recalled verbatim by those stalwart souls not caught napping —I told students that like great cities, newspapers evolve and re-invent themselves endlessly. Like cathedrals, I persisted bravely, they are never quite complete — and how could it be otherwise? 

News is dynamic and ever in flux. The newspaper must be nimble and quick.  Nothing is more important than serving the public with honest, readable stories and the most relevant material.

For a long time, that was my aim as a Newsday reporter. In retirement, I managed to continue imposing myself on customers with a column in the section before you, Act 2.

This will be the last of those little, lighthearted offerings.

The paper has other needs and priorities, entirely understandable. Without a single regret, I am exiting with thanks — a million thanks — to Newsday and readers, old and new, who have sent thoughtful comments and touching personal wishes. I couldn’t be more grateful, really. It’s been grand.

Detour complete. Let’s get back to the New England wedding and laws of elder physiology.

At the reception, there was a terrific band and my wife, Wink, and I stepped forward to boogie with the slender 30-somethings making up most of the crowd.

The dance floor is not our natural habitat — Wink says we were born on a different beat — but we refused to be the only two people stuck in their seats.

“Phew,” I said between numbers.

“One was enough,” said Wink.

“Getting old,” I agreed.

Wink smiled. The band started another tune.

“You know, I’m shrinking,” I told Wink. “Corduroys too long.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” she said. “Relax.”

If I’m being reconfigured, then, it’s happening slowly. Also, I’m trusting Richard Matheson when, on behalf of God, he claims there are no size zero human beings — exceptionally good news.

Regardless of stature, shape, age or vocation, hooray, I mean something.  We all do.