GOLDEN AGE.....where Romancing life misses a beat.
”I hate old age” says Alex, the most exquisite man I know blessed by the sort of beauty which stuns the beholder. Blue eyes which can turn grey mysteriously and are fringed by golden eyelashes. This is true. Then there is the aquiline nose one can use to draw a straight line in geometry. He has hair which is gilt something like Carole Lombard’s legendary platinum gold and graceful hands and a physique which hints at more perfection. Alex is the man born to wear a cravat and a white dinner jacket. Since his teen age years to now he is male perfection. I have based a novel on him exploited all this like a marauding pirate. Now there is a plot twist. That stunning body has thrown a curve. A disobedient hip has just been replaced.
We are both boomers arrogant, confident, well travelled, well educated and look more youthful than our age. I am a year older than him and both my hips are behaving. However, I have also muttered the same loathing for old age in an equally sepulchral tone. I did it when two years ago on a vacation in Barcelona my right knee does an out of body manoeuvre and the soothing dulcet tones of my prize Orthopaedic Surgeon in Toronto who takes phone calls from Europe ,said ,
“Pop an Advil and when you get back I shall see.”
Two weeks later post x-rays he announces. ‘its mild arthritis outer right knee not serious at all , no intervention just wear and tear”. Then he says dulcet tones again
“ how about physio for six weeks so you learn how to exercise it.”
I am ready to leave the party I inform him and he laughs uproariously. I am indignant about the wear and tear bit when I leave his office and come home and in defiance salsa on the carpet for half an hour. Let everything else creak and crumble i say to myself. Then I will call 911 and die in the ambulance.
Back to Alex marooned in the wilds of West Hollywood in Los Angeles and my call to him.
“Who is preparing your meals?”
“They are delivered by Meals on Wheels”
My heart sinks. This is also Alex, The brilliant Physician, anti-aging specialist, cosmetic wizard to Hollywood stars plus Uber Gourmet Chef. The man who can make a fig tart , mix a Lavender martini and cook a Beef bourguignon that conducts grand seduction of the palate. All other food belongs in the trash can.
“Is the food edible” I ask hesitantly
“No” he is quite savage “ I have asked a friend to bring me Mexican food.!”
Post-op indigestion I wonder and would his battery of doctors be horrified? However, Alex is the doctor as well and has warned me that traditionally Doctors make the worse patients as they know too much. My expired passport is being renewed so I cannot dash to LA for Chef duties. So I do the next best thing and that is do a True Confessions and un-sheath dark secrets. Perhaps the only thing I can do for Alex is play the clown jester. For the rest of you dear Readers some unvarnished truth,
From Buddhist nuns to meditating seers to near bionic grandparents bopping along with pace makers, metal knees and hips, cunning little inhalers and meds hidden in lacquered pill boxes, there is an enemy on board . Subliminal messages tucked into advertising and fashion brands non-withstanding, nobody is aging gracefully anywhere. It is a mirage. But if you have been raised to suck up all of life’s vagaries and not whine then you are in a fix. The only thing you controlled was your body and it has turned out to be unreliable, treacherous and simply unworthy. This diplomatic comment ‘wear and tear’ is destined for automobiles in my lexicon. Women no longer die during childbirth at 40 and teeth are replaced by replacements fastened on a tiny metal screw imbedded in the gums. Hair is dyed and the skin on faces lasered plumped by fillers and stretched behind the ears. Everyone is at the gym doing Stallone style weight training and nobody I know eats after 7 pm.
I have been known to be disruptive at my gym as just when i reach an ab crunch weighted machine I say to the jock next to me.
“I don’t want to do this I want a steak, a martini and a cigarette. “
The abominably heavy weight in his hand drops with a soft thud.
“My God! he exhales “ you are right. Want to have lunch? I cant believe I am saying this”.
The end of this little anecdote is that guilt and the lust for a toned appearance won the moment. We completed our workout to halt the wear and tear on muscles in sullen silence while visions of well marbled steaks danced in our heads. Now if we are to age gracefully then we should all dress in Greek togas and not lululemon leotards and tuck in a good steak. Yet the fly in the ointment here is an irksome quality called vanity. Just peek into any Beauty salon where appointments are always at inconvenient times and see the grey hair being transformed and white eyebrows being dyed. Creams, serums and masques slapped on both male and female faces. Toronto now has dozens of nail salons on every corner. What are all those manicured hands and sparkly clean toes up to anyway? Are jewellers selling more rings and are cherry lacquered toes being sucked incessantly by lovers?
Flash forward now to my local Cafe and I take the laptop along to Finish this bit of frivolous writing inspired by Alex. The Cafe is called ‘The Grind’ and serves superb coffee and the owner couple recognize you and bring your habitual poison. A decaf cappuccino for me with tons of sugar and we discuss food. Today there are two couples adjoining who are talking animatedly and eating lunch. I take a sly peek at them and they are smack in the middle of the golden age. Gobs of white hair is a dead giveaway.
I turn around, introduce myself and say I am an author scribbling away for my writing site and could I ask them a question. Their eyes light up which is a standard response given to authors.
“What do you think of old age?’
The tall elegant man with a classic profile whoops with laughter as does the other man who is handsome in a rugged way. Lumberjack jacket and a full head of grey hair. Their wives smile impishly. I go a step further and say I am writing something and want to know what they think about my views on aging. May I do a reading. They are thrilled and four pairs of eyes nod and fall silently in a most respectful manner. Ages have been revealed between 75 to 81.
I read and the chuckles and broad smiles at the end are a bit like helium to a balloon.
“ You write like you talk” says lumberjack shirt.
The petite grey haired woman belonging to the tall elegant man says’
“ I agree with you totally. There is such a wonderful flow to how you engage.”
She is one half of a distinguished Ballet dancer duo and both have had long careers with the National Ballet. He is 81 and his hands are beautiful and beringed . Their marriage spans more than fifty years. They are accepting it all with grace. Not the lumberjack shirt man.
“I am 75 I have an incurable disease and I making an exit mid december two days after my birthday. I want to see lots of presents before I go.”
There is silence between us all. The statement has shock value. Medically assisted death for this vigorous outdoorsman type. His white haired wife dimples into a smile.
“So you are leaving the party?” I ask.
“It will get worse and I want to spare my wife the horrors,” he says evenly, “if you have lived up to 75 you have had a good run “.
His logic is infallible. One should be able to leave the party right at the top.
“What’s going to happen to all the birthday presents? I daresay you can have an Egyptian funeral buried with all your things” I cannot believe I have just made a joke.
“Right. Not a bad idea.” he flashes a cheeky grin
“The Pharohs were buried with belongings needed for the afterlife,” I continue unabashed.
When I joke like this I am hiding that I am overwhelmed. I know, I have my answer. Also I am utterly bewitched by all four of them. There is no tragedy shadowing this encounter. I have to leave.
“Lets do lunch next week,” I blurt out.
“Yes. Right here! lets exchange numbers then,” all four appear to be delighted.
I am walking home and suddenly the outer right knee is simply floating as though it did a while ago. I am going to the theatre tonight and will wear shoes with heels. A litmus test for that beast of a ‘wear and tear’ condition. Alex will have to be called as well to recount the encounter and to find out what he ate today.