Friday, April 05, 2013


My friend Bruce writes a blog for a poetry magazine in, I don't know, New Zealand? And he decided to write about getting old, although he has wanted to be old since he was 14.  He wears old man hats that are too small, and a heavy beard that combine to make him look Hassidic although he is less than religious.
He wears button down vests, heavy brogues and tweed whenever possible and never have I seen in in just a t-shirt as other men wear on a regular basis.
This was my reply to his story.
Last week on the phone, a customer, heavy and black and in her sixties, told me that I was an attractive elderly woman. I said that I did not consider myself to be elderly.
"Are you in your thirties?" "the woman i saw in the store?" I said no, I was in my sixties and I was the one who she saw, and did not disabuse her notion that 
Rollin had fixed her lamps when in fact it was largely my effort.
"Then you a very attractive elderly lady".
With her, the emphasis appeared to be on attractive, but what I heard, was her saying I was elderly.
I thanked her and w hung up, but despite my growing distaste for the state of my facial skin sagging and wrinkling,and the barrage of aches and pains, I feel I am barely An adult, and hardly elderly, but I could be mistaken.