Chick Magnet at Seventy

 

Joel and I at Prom

Being a bon-vivant was never a moniker I wore as a younger man.  Awkward and clueless were probably more apt descriptions of that confusing period in my life.  Just ask my girlfriend in high school or the one in college.  Over the years, I haven’t gotten much better.  Even at seventy-two, navigating that sometimes-treacherous landscape called male-female communications can still be a formidable challenge.

Saguaro Pool Party

It’s not that I live in a monastery here in Palm Springs.  The whole Coachella Valley is one fertile field for straight guys who are standing prone and self-supporting.  If they were cheetahs the valley would be a field of gazelles.  But sadly when it comes to finding a man, the single women are all quick to attest that “most of the inventory here is either gay, gray or leaving Tuesday.” (That’s a direct quote I’ve heard on more than one occasion.)

For those of us happily attached another issue can sometimes arise.  Communications between the sexes can sometimes be made more difficult because of the strange environment we all live in here in the desert.  It’s not the normal ‘work all day and rest at night’ routine.  Nor is it permanent vacation time.  Snowbirds, natives or part-timers; it doesn’t seem to matter.  We all still have to talk to one another.

Despite their occasional grousing about their spouse, I think most of the married women here are happy with their state in life.  What it really comes down to is the universal dichotomy between men and women.  Perhaps it’s the age-old survival of the fittest or in this case the smartest.  EI verses FA; emotional intelligence verses financial acumen.  Even if those obstacles are overcome, there is yet another challenge for us men folk here in the desert.

Coda Gallery

Trina Turk Building

                                                         

Case in point, the Coachella Valley is fertile ground for shopping.  From the plush designer shops on El Paseo Drive to numerous consignment stories, shopping seems to be an addiction that affects many women here.  For their spouses, not so much.  I’m a clear example of that.

I hate to shop…more clearly stated…I loathe the simple process of walking into a store…any store…for any reason.  Shopping is antithesis to my very being.  Even driving by a shopping mall can make my skin crawl…OK, I exaggerate a bit here but I don’t even like to be within any proximity to goods and services I’m not interested in.

Believe it or not, female clerks love helping me in this painful process.  I’m probably on their radar as soon as I stumble into their store.  ‘Helpless male in the building’ and all that.  I believe both parties win in the end.  I get the assistance I sorely need and they get to help a male in desperate straits.

A friend recently told me that we all have to be nimble, flexible and live everyday as if it were our last.  He said we’re all dying slowly…or put another way we’re all growing older.  So why not live a little faster.  Is playing this role of mine a bit mischievous on my part? Probably.  Is it dishonest?  I don’t think so.  I just want to savor life every day on my own terms.  Shopping is not part of that equation.

In my new incarnation as a storyteller I want to continue living vicariously into old age.  I want to ride out west or help a young developer in Palm Springs.  I want to give a few suggestions on real estate investments and participate again in the fall of Singapore.  I want to bike across the country with a new lady-friend and participate in a musical celebration at the wake of a lost companion.  I want to charm the ladies with every page I create in my minds eye and on the computer screen.  

Female clerks tend to think I’m cute …but still clueless.  It works for me.  Only my wife knows the truth and she just shrugs her shoulders and is happy I’ve found an illusion to cling to.  The only females who don’t buy into my act are a trio of strong-willed women ages four, six and nine.

It’s my granddaughters who don’t cut me a lot of slack.  They have expectations that I’d like to fulfill and assumptions that I know what I’m talking about.  My granddaughters have other male role models in their young lives.  But I get to fill the role of family elder.  

So if I’m going to grow old anyway I might as well relish the young lives around me.

My role as husband, father, grandfather, writer, explorer and romantic (in my writings) will be all the richer for it.