“If a person survives an ordinary span of sixty years or more, there is every chance that his or her life as a shapely story has ended and all that remains to be experienced is epilogue. Life is not over, but the story is.”
K Vonnegut
...and one day I’ll write the complete Tell All shapely story of me, but not yet. What will it contain? The whole caboodle and not the sometimes censored dribs and drabs I put here.
**
“You know, you’re too much reality for most people, you strip away the bullshit...people’s fallacies about themselves.” said an old friend who opined about me one day in his Plymouth kitchen. “You don’t sugar coat much...Christ, the other night when you torpedoed and sunk Dianna with your experience with familial depression and mental illness...the things you saw up close when your Mom went nutters...it appalled her! By telling that story you called out her dysfunctional family via a not too curved curve ball!”
I sort of agree and say, “I guess I speak too frankly, openly...though I think there’s some lack of social skill involved somewhere in that. I missed the lesson on ‘too much information’”
“Yes...you’re open and pretty indifferent about it...and at times abrupt...and your social skills need work...I’ve watched you eat cold linguine at this table with your fingers and you didn’t care...pig!”
**
I usually have some thoughtfulness and tact. I’ve become better at it as I age but there were many times I blurted out the truth as I saw it. As a youth, I was sick of being deceived and plain out lied to by adults (as you can read in many entries here) so I just called them on it pubically and w/o much respect. This action spilled over to anyone who I figured was either lying or delusional. I can remember one girl I knew, early teens I guess, who was desperately trying to tell me how wonderful her life was and it sounded like happy horseshit to me. I had known her home life was shitty (an alcoholic Dad, a distant mother) and I popped that fantasy bubble she created only to satisfy my selfish view that no one should bullshit me. I should have left that one alone. If I could, I’d apologize to her a hundred times over for blowing a coping mechanism she had, that crutch she needed to get through her days. If all you have is denial with no other answer, no other escape, it’s what works for the time being.
Asshole I was at times…
Anyways, I say all that because I probably won’t change what I write here sometimes. So I’ll blurt out what I think again...regardless of judgment.
**
I’ve said countless times and will again (count on it!) of how surprised I am at this stage of life and what it demands. Mentally, I feel a hell of lot younger but psychically I sure as shit don’t. That realization is from how others treat me now. They see a pile of white hair, a limp, a slowness and immediately think Gran-Dad. I get offers of help when I didn't ask for it now. Younger women no longer see me as a sexual threat, as someone who may ask them out and they no longer erect a wall to keep me at arms length until they feel comfortable about any progression. Now, younger women are quite at ease with me because they know and so do I, I’m not about to use every tactical charm trick to get them to say “Yes.” (However, there is a caveat to this! Read on.) Now, people hold doors open for me and seeing I can’t just hurry up and sprint in, they smile and say, “Oh, no rush.” And this, those I bump into in public, who are much older than me, now consider me a friend. They start conversations with me about anything since the see me as a cohort.
Privately, I feel the aging physically. Like the chronic pain I keep at bay with ibuprofen so I can walk on my hip. Waking up in the morning involves pain because I spent too much time on one side of my body during the night, freezing muscles into place which howl when I move them to get up.
With all this, I don’t think I’ll be creating a fascinating 6th chapter to my life’s story that’s as compelling as the one in my 20s, or as I call it, chapter “2.” My now shapely story involves slowness, introspection, free time, looking back (which I cannot cease doing) and getting used to what it means to be “old.”
OK, fine. Like I have a choice? Time goes in one direction and you age regardless of what you want.
**
I did something yesterday that I’ve been meaning to do for a few months. I attended a meeting with Sheldon Whitehouse’s aide who runs his office in Providence. The meeting was at Pawtucket’s Senior Center. The subject of the meeting was how the Senator’s office can help you with various information and programs aimed at the elderly or anyone over 60 who now qualify. That’s me now.
Christ…I stepped into a senior center and not as an employee but as a customer!
I felt I had to do this. Social Security, Medicare and other things I have no idea about now require that I become keenly aware of the details. I want ALL the right information before I start applying for anything and avoid the weeks long red tape you can get entangled in should you screw something up. Again, I am learning what it means to be this age.
Old habits die hard. Whithouse's aide was a late 20 Something woman who was quite fetching. I scanned her hand and the ring finger was empty...no ring!
“She’s unmarried...boyfriend involved...perhaps?” I thought.
As she spoke I occasionally shot wry smiles at her which broke the cadence of her talk, which made her stop for a second and then smiled back. She was unaware of her own halting and with her unconscious hesitation, I knew I struck a chord.
“She responded naturally!” I think to myself
A minute and a half later I had this thought.
“What the fuck would she want in an over 60, white headed, fat-gutted, lined face man for? And all you see is a play toy who could out run, out think, out compete and out everything you. Plus her friends would berate her for even thinking it was possible for any kind of relationship with GranPa. I’d need to be a multi-millionaire for a slight chance to begin with.
So I got my mind back to what I was there for...old people’s benefits and why I should call Whitehouse’s office to get things moving if I need too.
She finished up her talk, handed out cards and as she passed me, I couldn’t help but let a smile slowly form on my face, giving her that direct eye contact. To which she dropped her eyes to the floor and smiled herself.
“Beautiful...a shy, positive response.” I think.
I thought, “Ah hell, I’ll still play with them, it’s fun, even though it can’t go anywhere.”
I then feel someone tugging at my arm. I turn to look and it’s a 70ish year old women, who was all of about 4 foot 8, asking me “If I was a member of the Center?” As she has never seen me before.
I tell her “No” and then she starts asking others to bring me literature, an application to join and asks if I need the shuttle bus anytime soon to get to places.”
“Uh,
not yet” I tell her.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Over 60 but under 65” I say
“Oh...you’re a young one..but you QUALIFY!”
Sigh...Great...I qualify. Well, I had better get used to this new chapter in my life and learn all about it. Chapter 6 may be a duller epilogue compared to my hotter 20s chapter 2. Well, I’m still writing something of a story still.
I stood there and I shot a quick look to the young Miss Sheldon Aide walking out the door and felt that younger man’s urge to follow her out to the parking lot and charmingly “work” on her one last time.
My pipe dream was yanked down to reality when Mrs 4 foot 8 came to me with an application….”Here, fill this out, it’s easy...Do you know we have free lunches here too? We can come and get you if you can’t drive!”
Retirement, elderliness and finding it harder to put my socks on because I can’t bend over so easy anymore is coming full bore at me.
New things to learn...and accept...and maybe perhaps toy with a pretty one once in a while for fun.
**
Ya know, after re-writing all this and reading between the sentences...I see I don’t want to give up chasing the cute ones just yet. I’m still clinging to my prime and youth. Yeah, I am aware of myself!
