UPDATE: Some people reading this post seem to think I’m sitting here in Lake Oswego pining for a man to sweep me off my feet. So I would like to be clear:
I am not. The couple kissing in the rain last week was like a lovely movie moment. It reminded me of another way things are different in old age that I thought was worth commenting upon.
Yes, some old people find love and romance. But not many. And it’s not something I am out searching for or feel lonely for not having. At the same time and unlike a few of you, if he turned up I wouldn’t mind sharing the TV remote with the right person.
But there are so many new things I’m discovering and learning in these later years that I’m mostly relieved the urgent yearnings of youth are gone.
Doesn’t mean I can’t have a moment or two of sweet/sad memory now and then.
No one would mistake them for young, but they were not old yet either. At least, not as old as I am at 70. They were about 50 – closer to 55, I think, than 45 – and a handsome couple they were.
It was drizzling rain and they stood close, bodies touching slightly while he held her face gently in both his hands, gazing into her eyes.
He kissed her eyelids, one then the other. She tilted up her head slightly as he moved his lips to her mouth. It was not a passionate, sexual, eager kiss although I knew they had shared those too. And would again. Soon.
Right now, on a cloudy, late afternoon the kiss was about tenderness and love and assuring her that she means more to him than anyone else alive.
As I watched from inside the car, my eyes misted over. A tear slipped down my cheek. In my time, I had been kissed like that and now, waiting for the traffic light to change, an ache as gray and damp as the day appeared near my heart.
Grief, no doubt, for the kind of romance that will not pass my way again.
At The Elder Storytelling Place today, Lyn Burnstine: Daddy’s Girl