I just got back last night from San Diego, where we spent the weekend attempting to celebrate the tragedy of my continued decline.We enjoyed ourselves immensely, of course, because that is what one does when there is no other recourse. One dons a clever outfit, checks into a hotel of fading but determined elegance and, martini in hand, remarks gaily on the metaphor.
One then goes on to dine regally on lamb and baby carrots and an excellent Cabernet, and hits the Gas Lamp District of an historic port town. There, one toasts the passing of youth in the company of passing youth with all the dignity an aging good time girl can muster. Oddly enough, this is considerable, as I have decided to be uncharacteristically philosophical in my dotage. Because that's what we old broads do ~ we turn wise. Overnight, in elegant hotels. It happens.
At the irresistibly named Bitter End, a cheerful Turk was making himself quite popular with the local singles, and at one point seemed on the verge of establishing himself as resident matchmaker. I smile benignly, at peace with my role as resident dowager. We will go, he and I, a pair of Elderly Superheroes, travelling from town to town, spreading love and joy and dollar bills coast to coast, uniting young people with appropriate partners and/or soul mates, listening to their tales of woe and dispensing our hard earned wisdom with bon mots and sympathetic ears. I order a Guinness and enjoy the warm glow that comes from selflessly doing good solely for the benefit of others. And also from drinking Guinness.
At our favorite romantic spot in Laguna Beach, we dine on the terrace and are disappointed that everyone is already paired up and our presence here is not required. We stay anyway, and reflect on our reflections. It's a Superheroe's Holiday, and we linger past sunset. I stare into the ocean, drinking deeply of breeze and brine. I want to stride out and dive in, spinning and twirling beneath air and sunlight in the cool black blue of unlimited time and space. Just as I always have. I do not feel old. I look old. But I feel timeless.
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4 comments:
Happy Birthday girl. From one old broad (and at least you can feel good that I'm older than you) to another, aging is said to beat the alternative.
You have always been wise. Dotage isn't so bad; most of my parts still work. Doddering is on the increase, but drooling has mercifully held off.
As for Bitter Ends, I recommend the one on Virgin Gorda. There is much matchmaking to be done there.
So, I was snooping and read what you wrote on your drawing. YOU ARE WAY TOO CRITICAL of yourself. It might not look like you at this very moment but it is you. I'd like to think it's the New York you that does crossword puzzles while listening to some book review on NPR. Because, girlfriend, that can't be the OC you. She's the OCD perfectionist, who works out two hours everyday, sips Martinis only on weekends, and drinks 1/2 caf double lattes the rest of the time. She's boring. ;-p
Happy Birthday?
Quit with this "old" stuff, will ya? If Cynthia is older than you, then I'm...oh well, f**k it.
There are days when I feel about twelve, and days when I feel ninety-two. That averages out almost right...
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