People say you get smaller as you age, and cite any number of relatives to prove their point. For example, how a 6’4” basketball player on Uncle Henry’s side of the family measured 5’9” by the time he turned eighty and no longer needed to duck upon entering public transportation. Or take the example of Aunt Susan who was always petite, a 5A shoe size to be exact, but by the time she collected Social Security, appeared positively diminutive. But what can you say about people who break the rule? My friend Muriella whom I’ve known since high school, actually got taller as she aged and telescoped out of her home. She had to look around for another place to live. Which got to be inconvenient because most apartments aren’t built for people taller than 12 feet. Muriella wasn’t pleased. Locations with high ceilings are more expensive, often older dumps crawling with black mold. No crumple crouching or neck-bending for Muriella. But finally, the only place that was big enough for her was the great outdoors. She became homeless. To talk to her you needed either a ladder or megaphone. Nobody did anymore.