How Old Are You, Gran?

Hi, Boomers,

This morning at breakfast my 5 year old grandson asked me how old I was. I thought that was a pretty curious question coming from Jordan; however, this young boy has an unusually potent intellect. So his father, my son, asked him to do a little math.

"Before you answer this questions, Jordan, let's first find out how old I am," my son asked his son.

"How old are you, Daddy?" Jordan asked.

"I'm going to be 38 on Wednesday," Jonathan said. "So if I am 38, how old is Gran?"

Jordan gave it not more than a few seconds of thought.

"You're 60, Gran."

"Good guess," he father replied.

I told Jordan I was more than 60, so he began to guess moving up the 60's ladder. He hit 65 and I said, "One more, genius."

"Sixty-six," he giggled. Then he asked, "Do people who are 80 years old still have birthday parties?"

"Of course we do," I responded.

No matter the age we celebrate the years of living. It's an important ritual because it marks a another year in the journey of our lives. And we celebrate our children's birthdays and our grandchildren's birthdays to stay connected to family no matter what is going on in our personal lives.

Jonathan will turn 38 on Wednesday and it is another milestone for me. He still possesses that innate and quick intelligence that makes him so engaging. By a long shot, he is not perfect, never was and never will be. He has flaws like the rest of us, but his heart is good and his loyalty to family and friends is huge. He still parents me like crazy and monitors my thoughts and feelings when I am in his presence, teases me endlessly, and he still drives me nuts. But I love him unconditionally and cherish the fact that he is and forever will be my oldest child.

Which brings me back to Jordan Mac, my first grandson. I never imagined being a grandmother. It was the most distant of thoughts until 5 years ago. I didn't know how I could love more children, and I find myself loving my grandsons as much as I loved my two sons. Love is simply magic. Holding my newest grandson, Jude Love, is the most delicious experience, even at 5 in the morning as I am walking the floor with him and trying to make his gas pains go away. We fell asleep on the bed together about 6 am, Jude on my stomach, my head flopping on a pillow and I knew I was in a magic kingdom where pure love exits.

I made a commitment to be with my family for this spring break week, to be living in their homes, watching their children, my grandchildren, because family is the single most important value in my life. Sure, I could have been in Buenos Aires dancing tango as I have done in the past; or I could have gone back to Costa Rica to my yoga retreat center; or I could have worked some more to keep my students happy. Yet, none of the travel or work means anything to me at this moment. Jude Love in my life right now and I want to hold him and watch him smile endlessly and grab on to his first few months with every bit of energy I have.

Namaste

Joan

WHEN AN OLD LOVER RETURNS

Attention Female Boomers,  (this is not a man's issue)

     I am single, living alone and learning to enjoy the fruits of my being.  I was just dancing along in my life with three great days of tango dancing when suddenly an old lover returned. 

 

     Almost five years (in July), I began to date on the Internet.  I first signed up for J-Date (the preference is for Jewish men) thinking how impossible it would be to find an age-appropriate Jewish man near retirement.  But what what the heck, nothing to loose and my yoga client kept prodding me into it.  All right, already, I did it and, lo, behold, the first man out of the starting gate was the man I fell in love with.  Now, come on, what are the odds?  Playing craps has better odds.  More and better, he fell in love with me.  I write lots about him in my book, SO YOU'RE 6O, GET OVER IT:  CONFESSIONS OF A BEATNIK/BOOMER. We hit if off like Sonny and Cher, like Abelard and Eloise, like Brad and Angelina.  It was magic.  Forty-five minutes after we met at my Starbucks, we were making love.  It was that clear we were meant for each other.  But as my mother says, repeating the words of a song made popular by Tina Turner, "what's love got to do with it?"  Boy, is she and Tina right.

 

     But three days later, in the throws of lust, he asked me to marry him.  

      "Where do we do that?" I asked him.

      "City Hall," he responded casually.

      My head was exploding off my body.  I couldn't believe what was happening.  A little voice whispered slow down.  Be cautious of all of this sexual madness.

     "We only known each other three days.  Maybe we should take more time."

     Four months later he told me to date other men.  He thought I hadn't had enough experience dating.  I had been in a long term relationship for almost sixteen years, but that ended two years prior to my meeting the Jew from the Internet.  But I was sure and he had already started running away from love, from me, from commitment.

     Our dance, the Ben and Joan show, has lasted for almost four years.  He would call, see me, leave me for seven months, call again, see me.  It was a sad and painful loop because I really fell hard.  He loved me, too, but he didn't want a relationship.  So really, he didn't love me, right. He was care-taking his parents, still is, busy with making documentaries, and I understood, really understood and I moved on. 

     I really did move on, worked on myself, went to therapy, had a boyfriend, broke up with the boyfriend (maybe I still loved Ben), saw a few men along the way, had a few one night stands with much younger men, considered myself cured and then....

     A call at the beginning of March.  This time a little shy of seven months.  But right on time. 

     "Are you married yet?" he asks.  He always asks that.

     "No."

     "Are you dating?"  He always asks that.

     "No."

     "Why not?"

     "Because I seem to only attract schmuks."

     "Like me?"

     "Like you."

     "This is ridiculous, Joan.  You are vibrant, beautiful..."  Yada, yada, yada.  

     The catch up.  Everything is fine.  Family good.  Finished the book.  Still teaching all the same clients, lots more yoga at UCLA.  All is good. Goodbye.  Be well.  Conversation over. Thought nothing more of it.

     End of March:  Email:  "I give up."  I called.  

     "What are you giving up about?" I asked.

     "I can't find your number," he lied.

     "You just called me at the beginning of the month," I said boldly.

     "I've looked all around...."

     He was tired of missing me, tired of being alone without a buddy, getting older, growing older...wanted to see me...saw me, love at first sight again.

     But is it love at first sight again?  I was finished with him in my book.  It was cathartic to wright about it.  I loved that it had ended.  In my heart, I knew he could always come back for a phone visit.  I could always conjure up a phone call when I felt like talking to him.  I felt like a witch but it worked.  But in person was something different now because I'm different.

  

     When an old lover returns, when the intensity is still there, and there is still no promise of consistency let alone commitment, what's it all about Alfie?  At this moment, writing this blog on a Sunday with no call (it's a weekend, buddy!), I am sure he is the same man five years ago.  I knew he couldn't bring himself to be available on a Sunday when a couple in love likes to hang out at a movie or at the local art fair today.  He never did before and he cannot do it now.  I'm not close to the top of priorities.  His promise to work on changing is nothing but wishful thinking.  He can't.  I told him men don't change.  A zebra cannot change its stripes.  He is just lonely, needs a buddy, a hug, sex from time to time, but his priority remains the same:  he is his priority.  His needs, his responsibilities.  I told him once, near the bitter end, that he expects the woman to give everything and he gives nothing in return.  If he gives it is at his convenience. Maybe it's common for men; maybe it isn't.  Women give no matter what.  We are givers and nurturers and, sometimes, fools.

     The good news is that I have no expectation and attachment to an outcome.  I'm still having fun in my single life and it feels good.  How long will this situation last with the same old, same old with Ben.  Not very long.  I'm wiser now, more confident.  You'd think it's about time since I'm blasted 65!

     Oh, but age doesn't matter in questions of love.  Isn't it odd that women's relationships with love and men, no matter the age, is fraught with common threads if obsolete expectations and romantic fantasies.  We've all experienced these common threads since we started to date and fall madly in love with the high school football quarterback.  Gender relationships are difficult enough to sustain, but you'd think by 60 that things would just mellow out.  It can be the case or it doesn't have to be the case.  Stay balanced and in the center of your being.  It works.

     So the lesson here is to be slightly detached about the whole business of old lovers, new lovers, old husbands, new husbands and not let our emotions get ahead of the present moment. I am in the present and it's very powerful.

     

     I salute all our divine sisters who have ever been in love.

     Namaste

     Joan