THE OLDER MAN MYSTIQUE

I’ve been in on a few really good conversations lately.

You know the kind: good friends revealing memories and observations, telling their stories, sharing with warmth and laughter the wisdom gained over the years.  Time well spent.

Curiously these conversations weren’t inspired by happy circumstances, but by a couple of recent funeral announcements.  You never know where good conversations are going to come from.

You see, my friends and I are of an age where members of our generation are showing up in funeral announcements on a more regular basis.  We’re not old – well, not that old – but we’re not the robust, invincible, unscarred people of our youth either, and both of these obituaries belonged to guys we had gone to school with.  It got us to reminiscing about those long ago and faraway days when we walked the same hallways our children (and even grandchildren) have walked in this 21^st Century.

How this is even possible is another conversation for another day.

Both of the deceased had spent their entire adult lives elsewhere making our only memories of them 50 years old. The magic of speaking their names conjured up stories of those times, the friendships we were a part of, school experiences we shared with them, and expanded on to include others we hadn’t thought about in decades. These guys had the luxury of never aging in our experience.  Their hairlines had never receded.  They had not developed middle-aged bellies.  Their skin was firm, their smiles dazzling, their voices thrilling.  They were still the ‘hunks’ they had been in the early ‘70s.

Which, of course, lead the conversation in another direction … what is it that puts a guy in the category of ‘hunk’ anyway?

Thankfully as we had matured and actually went looking for life mates our criteria for desirable traits had also evolved, but back then – in junior high – it was all about being an athlete, being cute, and most importantly … being at least one grade higher in school.  We agreed that a guy in your own class could overcome this age standard but he had to be a super athlete and super cute to pull that off.  From what little I observe of adolescent life these days nothing has changed.  We didn’t make this up in 1972, it seems to be hard-wired into the psyche of teen-aged girls. 

Teen-aged boys are oblivious.  This doesn’t seem to have changed either.

Proof of this was in one of my friend’s stories.  She had recently been talking to a guy who she and several of her class mates had thought was pretty special back in the day.  She had even mentioned this fun fact to him during their conversation to which he had told her she must have the wrong guy.  That no girl from school had ever thought of him that way.  That she must be thinking of his brother.  Even this far into life he didn’t understand the concept of the Older Man Mystique.

My friend and I are five years apart; she is the younger one.  The guy in question was my age, we started school together and knew very well by junior high that there was nothing outstanding about anyone in our class.  No mystery.  No undisclosed talents.  No surprises. 

And yet he had my friend and her classmates intrigued, although in 2023 she can’t remember any specific reason why.  Too soon old, too late smart, he was oblivious to his own perceived charm at the time. He was correct about his brother though; that guy was hot … although in 2023 I, as well, can’t exactly remember why.

Maybe it was because he had a driver’s license.

 

BACK IN MY GROOVE

Remember a month ago when I was all about my newest (and best ever) excuse for procrastination?  Remember how I declared that all jobs around here would have to wait “until I got back from Europe”?  That statement was such a lovely mixture of glorious anticipation-of-new-experiences and a healthy dose of suspension-of-household-drudgery.  A trip like that has to be the best reason to avoid work I’ve ever come up with, but I have to warn you – it was only temporary.  I came home and the work was still there.

Life picked right up where I left off.  In the intervening two weeks since touchdown on Canadian soil I have survived three days of jet lag augmented with a head cold, partaken of two different Thanksgiving suppers, anxiously awaited the arrival of my brand-new washing machine and then did three weeks of laundry, dug and stored my potatoes and carrots, and cleaned up my flower beds for the winter.

During my absence the newest version of Covid had made its debut so I took advantage of the ‘Flu and Covid clinic and spent two more days feeling like Superman does when someone slips a dose of Kryptonite into his back pocket. 

And the very first day that I had the energy and some warmth and sunshine I tackled window cleaning.  The song ‘The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades’ blasts through my virtual replay each time I walk into the house.  It’s really cool for us humans that we can actually see out again too.  It’s not so great for birds who are having a hard time adapting to see-through windows and keep flying into them at Mach 3.  Maybe my next excuse for not cleaning windows will be a Save the Birds defense.  I’m always looking for new material.

Throughout all these chores I’ve been spending time thinking about my European experience, showing people the pictures, talking about what we did, the things we learned, the people I met.

Basically, what an adventure like this does is expand one’s understanding of the world.  Listening to our local guides tell the stories of their history with pride and humor offers insight into culture, architecture, and outlook.  When they go on to answer questions about modern day life, I automatically compare what they accept as normal against what I, a middle class Canadian, considers normal in my world.  I don’t do it in a judgemental way, but more to put myself in their shoes and try to see the world through their eyes.  Their entire economy is structured on tourism.  The vast majority of jobs are to serve travellers from other lands.  I can’t see that this wouldn’t get old by the end of the season. 

I am also struck with how diverse, and yet the same, people are.  How different, and yet the same, our days are.  All of us are wrapped up in our own daily tasks, caring for our families, and paying our bills – these are the same the world over.  But climate, history, and global positioning dictate things like diet, culture, and wealth – these are the things that give us contrast.  Since I’ve returned from this holiday I’ve been spending a moment or two sipping my morning coffee and imagining all the different ways this treat is enjoyed as the sun comes up around the globe.  It makes me smile to remember the lovely meals we enjoyed in outdoor cafes along promenades overlooking Mediterranean harbours; I may never get to do that again, but knowing that such a marvelous thing happens every day is wonderful.

Another happy take-away from this trip was how easy and worry free it was.  The trick is to book with a travel group who will take care of all the details for you.  Actually, if you get a good one (and we did) the whole trip was like having the babysitter of your dreams.  Whether you trip in the airport and possibly break your kneecap, or your brand-new suitcase cracks open like an egg on day 2 of 12, things are magically taken care of.  My new motto is “Never leave home without an Agnes!”

The other benefit of travelling with a group is the group experience.  It’s unlikely our paths will cross again but for almost two weeks we shared experiences, conversations, backgrounds … and the odd glass of wine … with lots of laughter.  There was John and Big John, Mike and Janet, Susan and Marsha who looked like a Susan, Anne, Nancy, Astrid, Maryanne, Deb and Dianne, Dan and Dee, and of course Where’s Doug, plus all the others who I can come up with a face but not a name for right now.  Special mention to Linda – it was her invitation that opened this door for me.

As much as I loved the time away though, it is true … there is no place like home even if it means three weeks of laundry and washing windows.  I’m all caught up and it just feels good to bask in the sunshine and wish my husband would believe me when I tell him I’ve completely forgotten how to cook.