Older, wiser, but still 'young'

I saw "Young @ Heart" -- a documentary about a New England senior citizens chorus -- recently, and it really stayed with me. I can't recommend it enough (it's playing at The Manor; here's Observer critic Lawrence Toppman's review).

I didn't expect the movie to affect me as much as it did. It's laugh-out-loud funny in spots, and tear-jerkingly poignant in others (take Kleenex -- I wish I had). "Young @ Heart" follows the chorus as they prepare new songs to add to their repertoire before heading off to tour Europe. Among them: tunes by Sonic Youth, Coldplay and James Brown. The star, in my mind, is 92-year-old Eileen, sharp as a tack and an irrepressible flirt. Her delivery of The Clash's "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" is worth the price of admission.

What I admire about the seniors is their vitality in their later years. I was immediately reminded of my paternal grandmother, because she has that same spark. We've become really close in the past five years or so. We communicate as two adults and I cherish that, because not only is she really wise, she's also really cool. My grandma is retired, but she has a part-time job, works the polls during elections, volunteers, is the leader of a neighborhood association, and is often not home when I phone. She has gentlemen callers; in fact, she gets more play than me! During a visit last month she regaled me with stories and made a Mother's Day gift request so naughty, I can't even repeat it here.

The stars of "Young @ Heart," and people like my grandmother, are model examples of how to age gracefully, smartly, and on one's own terms. They also show that we need not fear old age, because it is something to be embraced and enjoyed.

No age limit on love, marriage

Some people search for months, years and even decades trying to find their one true love.

And one day, after tireless waiting, it finally happens. Into your life walks the Cinderella you’ve been dreaming about marrying. She’s beautiful and thin, she’s established and has her finances in order, she can cook like there's no tomorrow, and oh, … she’s 68 years old, and well, you’re 65.

This scenario begs the question: How old is too old to get married?

Is there an age limit to loving someone? – Of course not.
Can an ordained minister marry you no matter your age? – Definitely (sshhh, just don’t tell you got the AARP discount).
Should you have a wedding, complete with five bridesmaids, rehearsal dinner and an overflowing church decked out in $10,000 worth of flowers? – If you’ve already had one big wedding in your life, why overdo it again?

As the saying goes, age is just a number. If you feel young, then you are young. If you love someone, despite the fact he cheats at Bingo or she shops at Aldi, well, then you love them. It’s your prerogative to marry whom you want to marry, when you want to marry.

My sister, Jessica, oversees the Senior Programs (ages 55+) for the Town of Apex (N.C.), and she says she recently had two participants, both in their 80s, get married. She said the couple is as happy as they can be because for them, it’s about companionship and enjoying the rest of their life together.

Isn’t that what a marriage is supposed to be about? Spending each day with the person who makes your life complete, even when you grow old.

Do I fight against going gray?

I was stopped at a red light when I lowered my visor to tease a stray lash out of my eye. As I started to raise the visor back up, I did a double take.

Where did all that gray hair come from?

I was staring so hard at my head, I almost missed it when the light turned green. I knew the gray hairs were coming in, but damn! I had hoped to go gray starting with a dramatic, Bonnie Raitt-type streak in the front, not a hairline riddled with white, seemingly overnight.

It didn't help that over the weekend I rented a movie called "The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone." It's an adaptation of a Tennessee Williams novel -- and really, one shouldn't have anything to do with Tennessee Williams without popping a Valium, washing it down with scotch and then moping around in a silk peignoir. I had none of those things. Watching a movie about a woman who's so deep in mourning for her lost beauty and youth that she takes up with a gorgeous, expensive Italian gigolo (with disastrous results, of course), did nothing to improve my mood. I dragged off to bed, fingering my white-tinged hairline and wishing for that scotch. I was supposed to go out with friends that night, but I was suddenly glad our plans had been postponed. Logically, I know that a smattering of gray hair isn't going to keep men from chatting me up (and if I did, I wouldn't want to be chatted up by them anyway), but emotionally ... I was bummed.

So I'm seeing my hairstylist tomorrow and I've got to make a decision. Do I talk to her about covering the gray? Or do I just get that trim?

In a marvel of timing, the Observer's Style section devoted a cover story to this very topic on Friday. But the chick they featured in the main photo -- she's decided to go gray -- looks great. Her silver strands blend so perfectly with her ashy, reddish brown ones, it almost looks like an artsy dye job. Meanwhile, my hair looks like white polish on brown dress shoes. Like Halloween ghost paint that refuses to wash out.

I come from a family of women who change their hair colors with their moods. And while I dabbled with dye in high school (I went honey blonde when Salt-N-Pepa did it, then I was a redhead for awhile), I really like my natural hair color. It's a medium brown that gets blonde highlights when I spend lots of time in the sun. Women used to come up and ask how I got the color. No woman has asked me lately. Must be the gray.

Sigh.

Readers, I need your advice. I always said I would let my hair go gray when it was ready, but that was before it really started going gray! Have any of you faced the same predicament? If so, what did you decide to do?

6 hours in 1 car with a 13-year-old

I recently drove to Alabama to visit family, and came back with an unexpected passenger: a childhood friend's 13-year-old daughter. The girl's father lives near Charlotte, and she wanted to squeeze in a visit before school started.

After I'd agreed she could come along, I immediately began to fret. Over six hours in a car with a 13-year-old? How would I entertain her? Surely my iPod Shuffle's lineup of soul tunes, '80s hair metal and the opening strains of "Carmina Burana" would have her politely asking to be dropped off at the next rest stop. So we'd have to actually converse. What on earth would we talk about?

I was even more panicked when my old friend dropped off her daughter for the trip. Daughter? With her perfectly-applied lip gloss, glamorous sunglasses and Dolce & Gabbana purse (courtesy of daddy), she looked more like a 18-year-old young lady than a 13-year-old child. Still, her mom tucked her into my passenger seat with a kiss and a "now, you mind Miss Deirdre," (I inwardly groaned at that) and sent us on our way.

The first few minutes were deeply silent, with only the hum of air conditioner and her rustles through that costly little D&G purse. Then we began to make small talk. And then, since I'm forever curious about relationships of any kind, I seized upon her stray comment about a boyfriend her mother knew nothing about.

The floodgates opened and she talked nonstop for the next six hours.

Even in the era of e-mails, texting and cell phone minutes, some things never change; the kids still pass notes in class and hang out at the skating rink and meet up at the movies. What I found most fascinating was her claim that she's already had five boyfriends. After more questions I remembered that there's really no dating when you're 13; there's only "going with" someone (now it's also "hooking up"), and "talking to" someone, and rotating names in one's mental file of crushes. The girl talked of one boyfriend she'd secured when her best friend called the guy and asked if he wanted to "go with her." He said yes and bam -- it was a done deal. Break-ups are just as arbitrary, handed down over the phone or via note or e-mail, or simply by ignoring the other person until they get the message. "Cheating" can be as simple as a boy having a conversation with another girl. It's all fluid and experimental and surface-level; young ones practicing an adult game.

And yet, this 13-year-old has a good head on her shoulders. She earns great grades, plays on the basketball team and has a tribe of friends she calls her "brothers" and her "sisters." She has a poise and a confidence that I never had as a teenager, and I applaud her mother for raising such a well-balanced child. She told me about a boy who, after she repeatedly turned down his invitations for movies and such, had gotten frustrated and called her "fat." ("I'm not fat, I'm thick. There's a difference," she told me she'd replied. Connoisseurs of the curvy black female form can testify to the accuracy of that statement.) He'd also punched her in the face, she added. I was mortified at the lack of home training on his part, but she breezily explained she'd thrown him across the room. He hasn't bothered her since.

With all this talk of boyfriends, I was getting antsy. Just what was she doing with these boys? But when I asked if she'd ever kissed any of her boyfriends, she said "NO" so emphatically that I believed her. Later in the conversation she shared that she and her best friend "sister swore" that they would remain virgins until they got married.

"A sister swear, that's SERIOUS and important," she said solemnly. "You can't break it. Ever." Her naivete was endearing -- and my sigh of relief was so great ("she's not putting out!"), my foot almost slipped off the gas pedal.

By the end of the trip we were listening to her mix CDs and she was showing me her favorite dances. When we pulled into the parking lot to meet the waiting car, she piled out, all giggles and energy. She gave me a big hug when I handed over her bag. "I had fun!" she announced.

I waved as I pulled away. I was exhausted. But I had fun, too.

In this case, 'Age' does matter

Sigh. It looks like I've added another reality dating show to my summer TV viewing. But two is my limit, I swear!

It's NBC's "Age of Love," which premiered last night. You've got to admit, the premise is intriguing. Australian tennis pro Mark Philippoussis, 30, says he's ready to settle down and is looking for the right woman. (Which -- c'mon, he used to date Paris Hilton and his last girlfriend was 20. 20!) Imagine his surprise when seven lovely ladies introduce themselves to him, and their age range is 39 to 48. Then, just as he's getting used to the fact he'll be dating women who have kids near his age, seven more chicks are thrown in, all in their 20s. Who will he pick, a "cougar" or a "kitten"? Watch Mark's confusion! See the ladies' claws come out!

NBC calls "Age of Love" "the ultimate social experiment," which makes me laugh out loud, but I'm fascinated nonetheless. When Mark first took a seat among the older women, he looked terrified and intimidated. Dude was clearly out of his comfort zone. None of the women looked their age. All seven were beautiful, pictures of health and vitality with their glossy hair, sparkling eyes and trim figures. (The 48-year-old had a body many 18-year-olds would kill for.) They were all accomplished and confident and looking for someone to share their lives. Sure, there was some talk about the idea of older women dating younger men, but one chick summed it up perfectly: "If older men can do it, why can't I do it, too?" Amen, sister!

Since I'm 37, obviously I'm gonna lean toward the Forties (the older chicks) as opposed to the Twenties (the younger ones). But even the show's editing seems tilted their way. The Twenties are shown in their already trashed apartment, clad in bikinis and twirling hula hoops around their taut middles while the Forties are calmly reading and doing laundry and settled in with needlepoint. (The show is based in a snazzy high rise, where the Forties, Twenties and Mark have separate apartments.) While the Forties make comments such as "I can do anything a 20-year-old can do" and "let's celebrate our individual yumminess," the Twenties snark about "what's a synonym for old?" "why would anyone want someone with crow's feet and saggy boobs?" and how "desperate" the older women must be to come on the show. (Um, since the silicone-enhanced bottle blonde who said that is also on the show, what does that make her?)

I think most people would agree with the adage, "you're only as old as you feel." If Mark Philippoussis is willing to focus on the chemistry and compatibility he feels and not their ages, it'll be an interesting show indeed.

BTW: Mark had to eliminate an older woman last night, and he didn't get rid of the 48-year-old who has a son his age (as I expected), or the twice-divorced 40-year-old (my second choice). He sent home a 46-year-old who looks 36 because he was already feeling the kiss-of-death "friend" vibe.