On Being Ninety The clown is quieter now, but somewhere in the back of my closet is a large red nose. I try to keep on the move, but at times I find my feet on separate paths. I like to think that my heart is as big as ever— even when it doesn’t keep time. If I had a chance to do all of it over again, who would I be? So what if I’m not quite ninety. Don’t they say it’s a virtue to look to the future? Perhaps the first ninety years will turn out to be…