For all of you 'ancient' guys

It would be most appropriate, particularly in the Easter season, were this post heading to indicate an upcoming commentary on the patristic era (or perhaps the Old Testament), but I've decided to focus on a sort of 'valentine' for the guys of my generation who seem to see themselves as being perhaps 105. Of course, opening any Internet search engine today makes it understandable. Those of my parents' generation (except for members of my family, who were living into their 90s even in the 19th century) may have tended to die younger, but at least were not inundated with advertisements about every illness under the sun (nor were they bloody bores who thought those around them were interested in their cholesterol counts and target heart rates.)

Just recently, on a very rainy day, I was commiserating with a delightful fellow I know, Eddie, admitting that, though I'm a double Capricorn and live backwards, I wasn't exactly thrilled with the hearing loss, need for stronger contact lenses, arthritis pain and the like which is part and parcel of ageing a bit. (Note to the busybody element: I often say that those who irritate me will get 40 years in purgatory. Anyone who e-mails me about doctors, nutritionists, vitamins, acupuncture and the like will be in purgatory till the end of the world!) Unlike Eddie, I did see a positive side - I'm just reaching what could be an age of wisdom. Eddie's manner of speaking, which I love, cannot be captured on paper, but he commented, "What do you want wisdom for? I'll take before the aches and pains!"

Women may have the 'name' (though I came from a mother who could dance the hully-gully at 84 - and, if you saw me now, dancing in the street at the festivals and wearing mini skirts, tie dye, and fishnet stockings, you'd know "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now"), but I know it's hard for guys to age. I cannot resist sharing two little tales which amuse me (as always, completely true.)

One Franciscan friar who was a friend had a very odd habit of making lists. (He was only five feet tall - one of his lists, for example, was of all the saints who were short.) He also was a bit paranoid, as alcoholics often are. I well remember his 60th birthday. He grumbled to me then told me his latest list. "I'm 60! Do you know what that means? Do you know what happens to a man at 60? You wake up one morning - you can't pee. What if anyone at the chapel knew I couldn't pee?! They'd be accusing me of misbehaving sexually! So, I'm making a list of all the saints and popes who had prostate trouble!" (To Friar X, this was logical. I'm still trying to figure out how anyone other than himself could have known if he couldn't pee...)

When I was an archdiocesan manager, one of the areas under my direction was the automotive fleet. For a number of years, the auxiliary bishops all were provided with cars. One of them (a charming man, I might add) just happened to be due for a new car when he was approaching a milestone birthday. Everything was 'what's more sporty?' When I was speaking to the auto dealer (and questions with bishops can be endless), I had to keep asking about this-or-that which was 'more sporty.' The dealer, though he'd never met this bishop, said to me, "What happened? Has he hit 60?"

So, this Franciscan jester wishes all of the guys whatever is more sporty - and adds the intercession that they remain capable of peeing for eternity. And I'll add one more comment about perspective. (Remember - I have to laugh as well. Most women my age are afraid of losing their looks - I never had them - nor do I need to fear having a spouse dump me for change in a few twenties. My fear of ageing is "I'm alone...") I was wearing a sleeveless dress on Sunday, rather 1960s retro. When I went to a park in between the Eucharist and Evensong, a teenage girl, who saw me from the back at first, called out a compliment about the cool dress and picture hat - then, when she saw my face, said, "Oh, you're old!" (With a sensitivity common to adolescents, this was a mere statement of fact, and I doubt she even knew that not all women would have cracked up laughing, which is what I did. Eat your heart out, kid, the violet and turquoise blended eye make-up has turned my green eyes into emeralds...) On Monday, I went to the gym - there's a wide scope of ages in the classes aimed at those past their first youth, and a few ladies there were near 90, another celebrating her 93rd birthday that very day. At one point, we were doing exercises that involved stretch - kicks sideways and forwards. On the way out, two gossiping Jewish women (I mention their religion only because it's an Orthodox Jewish gym, with a number of members of all ages who are Hasidic and wear long skirts even on cardio machines, so my knee length shorts are daring to some) saw me and muttered to each other, "She could kick high! But she's got all her legs out!" The other said, "Eh, she's a young girl!"