underdogishere

Special note: The following post was actually written two years ago, almost to the day. I thought I had posted it then -- I don't know why I didn't --but I came across it today in a folder of unposted posts, which I guess are "unposts". Two years have past, and some things have changed, but I still think it's worth posting. Here it is:

One night recently Judi and I were sitting in her Florida room while it rained outside. "Look at the paver-stone walk," she said, referring to the walkway that runs in front of the butterfly gardens. "Does it remind you of somewhere we've been?"

The walkway was puddled, and raindrops were splashing down hard. The accent lights in the butterfly garden were shining in the wet.

Somewhere we've been? We've been to so many places. The someplaces began to flood into my mind:

San Diego, St. Lucia, Lisbon, Atlantic City, Cedar Rapids, Key West, Los Angeles, Curacao, Dallas, Seaside Heights, Chicago, Barbados, Pensacola...

...Palm Springs, Freeport, Barcelona, Binghamton, Bonaire, Miami Beach, Yosemite, St. Kitts and Nevis, Rome, Boston, Tortola, Madison, Daytona Beach...

...San Francisco, St. Maarten, Naples (Italy, not Florida), New York City, San Antonio, Puerto Rico, Santa Cruz, Cannes, St. Thomas, St. Paul, St. Petersburg (Florida, not Russia)...

...Aruba, Napa, St. Barths, Savannah, Provincetown, Las Vegas, St. John, York (Maine), Jacksonville, Nassau, Biloxi, Reno, Sanibel, Venice...

...and how many others? But I watched the lights in the raindrop-shattered puddles, and the memory she was talking about literally bubbled up in my mind. It was a memory from almost twenty years ago:

"New Orleans," I said, and Judi smiled brightly in the dark.

"We were in Jackson Square," I continued. "It began to rain, and we ducked under cover. The rain cleaned off the pavement, and the lights were reflected in the water on the pavement just like that."

The last few years, I've been going through a mid-life crisis. Nothing extraordinary, nothing worth blogging about, just the usual run-of-the-mill mid-life crisis that most men go through around my age. You know: Why haven't I accomplished more with my life? What do I have to show? I had expected so much more of myself, and now I will never achieve it: I'm on the downhill run towards death. Why did I squander my youth?

You know, that kind of ho-hum mid-life crisis.

But recently I've been coming to terms with it (as most men my age do). It started with the realization that if I were to be diagnosed with a fatal disease tomorrow, I would have to admit to myself that already, in my life, I have been to many extraordinary places. Already, in my life, I have seen many extraordinary things, eaten many extraordinary meals, experienced many extraordinary adventures (did I ever tell you about the time...?). Already, I have met many extraordinary people...

...not to mention having had the most extraordinary of them all by my side the entire time.

Already, I have made many extraordinary memories.

My journey to acceptance of mortality isn't complete, but in moments like that one, that night, watching the sharply plunking raindrops send out circles of rapidly expanding light and reliving the warm, hearty memories of that New Orleans night so many years ago, I realize what it is I have, and how much more satisfying that is than dwelling on what I have not.

I haven't lived the life I had thought I would lead. But I could have done worse. I could have done a lot worse.

Labels: Aging, Musing, Travel, Uplifted

Aging is an incredibly complex experience in so many ways: Biologically, emotionally, culturally, intellectually, and countless other "ly's." Today I passed a milestone in whatever "ly" refers to how other people perceive our own aging. This is a milestone in a series. There are earlier milestones in this same series that I have already passed. To wit:

There's the first time that one makes a purchase at a liquor store and is not asked for id.

I don't remember the date or even year that I passed this milestone, but I remember the event and place very well: It was in the liquor store at an Albertsons. I was very disappointed.

Another milestone is the first time a younger person addresses one as "sir." Or "ma'am."

I remember this event in my own life as well. I was angry.

Today I passed the third milestone in this series: I was buying a small Frosty (vanilla, of course) at a Wendy's. And the order-taker asked me:

"A senior Frosty?"

I gritted my teeth.

"No," I said.

The order-taker pressed the issue:

"You can get the senior. It's okay."

I gritted my teeth more.

"No," I hissed.

So there you are: I am now looked upon as one to whom the senior discount should be proffered.

Alas, the story does not end there. I returned to my table and told Judi what happened.

"You shouldn't be angry," Judi said. "It just means that you look like whatever the age is for senior discounts. Fifty-five?"

It's relevant to mention at this point that I am actually fifty-one.

"So," I said, "I look fifty-five? Thanks!"

"It's not that!" said Judi. "It's just that you haven't shaved today, and your stubble is gray, and your hair is in disarray."

"Oh," I said, my voice rising even more, "so old people all look disheveled?"

"I'm digging," said Judi, "myself a deeper and deeper hole."

;)

Labels: Aging, Musing, Out and About

A week ago yesterday we were in St. Kitts, and Judi found a beautiful long silk gown, in blue and silver, that fit her to a tee. She left me to stand in line at checkout while she continued shopping. When I put the dress on the counter, the shop clerk smiled and said, "Is this for you?"

I slapped my stomach. "Yes, I just need to lose a couple pounds so I can fit into it."

The customer standing behind me, an older lady, said, "The colors are good for you."

"Yes," I said. "The silver especially goes with my hair."

"That's what I was thinking," said the customer.

Labels: Aging, Out and About, Travel

Judi: Do you feel like the little bald-headed stepchild?

Me: I think the phrase is "red-headed stepchild."

Judi: Not in your case.

Labels: Aging, Overheard

Judi: You're a dinosaur.

Me: Really? What kind of dinosaur am I? Am I a light, fast, carnivorous kind? Or a big, strong, herbivorous kind.

Judi: A dying-out kind.

Labels: Aging, Overheard

In Norton Juster's absolutely wonderful book The Phantom Tollboth (and if you haven't read it you must rush out and do so right now), Milo, the boy hero, meets another boy named Alec Bings. Alec is about as tall as Milo, but his head is up in the air, at the height it will be at when he's fully grown, and his feet are about three feet off the ground. Since Alec and his family have eyes that are at the same height for their entire lives, "'We always see things from the same angle.'" Alec explains, "'It's much less trouble that way.'" When Milo tells Alec that he grows from the ground up, Alec scoffs:

"'What a silly system.' The boy [Alec] laughed. 'Then your head keeps changing its height and you always see things in a different way? Why, when you're fifteen things won't look at all the way they did when you were ten, and at twenty everything will change again.'"

The point, of course, is that it's good for perspectives to change as time passes, and it would be dull and even stulifying if we saw things in just one, unchanging way for our entire lives.

I'm now several years older than my father was when he died. At the time of his death, he seemed very old to me. Now it seems to me that he had half of his life yet to live. But no chance to live it.

Labels: Aging, Musing, My Family

Yesterday I arrived in my Cube Farm at work to find a page from our local newspaper on my keyboard. It was the "police blotter" page -- the one that lists all the recent arrests and such. This paragraph was highlighted:

MELBOURNE

1:03 p.m. Monday. Arrested: Gregory Smith, 36, of 110 Polaris St., Cocoa. Charges: possession of drug paraphernalia, ran stop sign, driving while license suspended, leaving the scene of an accident without rendering aid, grand theft.

Under the paragraph someone had written, "Hee! Hee!"

I immediately picked up the paper and crossed my Cube Farm to Maggie's station, where I had this conversation (me speaking first):

"Maggie, did you leave this on my keyboard?"

"How did you know it was me!"

"The 'hee hee' was a dead giveaway."

"Oh. Aren't you glad that wasn't really you?"

"Actually, I wish it was me."

"But if that was you, you'd be in a lot of trouble!"

"If this was me, I'd be 36 again."

Labels: Aging, Out and About