The Eye of the Beholder....

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.   I know that is true, but I’m here to tell you the standard changes considerably as we get older.

Sitting around the pool in Ponce Inlet, Florida I realized just how different retirement age is from teen age.    Not just the aches and pains and number of prescriptions, but the standard for how we look. 

I’m a people watcher, and I always feel that I fade into the background as I observe the rest of the parade going by.  Today the hot Florida temps heat suntan lotion on sun browned skin, filling the air with a smell reminiscent of hot macaroons fresh from the oven.  By this stage in life no one is worrying about sun damage or skin cancer.    A dozen or so seniors, I’d say ages seventy five and up, congregate in  lounge chairs to talk about television shows, paperback books they have exchanged, and where the best discount dinners can be found at the four o’clock hour.   They laugh and chide one another for being old.   One man laughs as he relates his story about running a red light earlier in the day.  It seems he has just returned from the emergency room after wiping out a pickup truck and his own SUV.  I eavesdrop on the friendly banter and piece together their stories.

When we are young we are often so self-conscious  we cannot enjoy being young.  When we get old we leave all that behind us and just enjoy “being”.  This group, in swimwear, walks around the pool, greeting and meeting and enjoying the moment.  I look at them and read the stories of their lives  written in the scars on their bodies.  Here a heart surgery….there a guy in a blue hat  who has had back surgery.  That guy over there in the lounge chair speaks through an electronic voice box and inhales a filterless cigarette through the stoma in his throat.  It is obvious his wife has had both knees replaced.  Burgundy colored patches on the back of the legs of a pretty white haired lady make me wonder what terrible trauma might have created them. 

 It occurs to me this segment of the population that I am slipping into should have its own flag……”The Scars and Stripes”.     These are the veterans of the war between the sexes….the war of industry….the battle of the bulge and the ongoing fight for survival.  Surely they deserve a flag, if not their own anthem!

Arriving at an advanced age even relatively intact, completely unselfconscious and more or less mobile, that’s what it’s all about I guess.  I have a few years, but not many, before I join them.   Maybe while I’m here I’ll just sit by the pool and work on some lyrics for the “Scars and Stripes Forever”.

Bulges, scars and sun spots be damned……Life is Good.