2003-02-03 - 10:55 p.m.
The young salesclerk in my favorite love-everything-but-can-afford-almost-nothing clothing store was trying to be friendly.
"I like your shoes!" she said, indicating my beloved red leather happy shoes with the two little straps.
"Thanks!" I said. And also feeling chatty and groovy, I volunteered the factoid I usually tell people about these shoes (they do get lots of comments):
"You know the Earth Shoes they used to have back in the seventies, with the negative heel? Well, this is the new incarnation, made by the same company."
For a moment, she looks at me with this strange mixture of confusion and contempt, and then she rather vaguely replies, "Oh yeah.... I think my Mom might have had some of those. Are they...um....comfortable?"
Immediately I felt how ridiculous it was to have told her that, and how put off she was that I might even for one minute have mistaken her for someone who was even ALIVE in the seventies. Of course I really didn't, it was just a thoughtless remark.
But god I suddenly felt so old. Not even because the seventies exist in my memory, or because of anything she did. It was just that I had this whole overwhelming sense of all this experience I take for granted that isn't even common knowledge any more. I had this image of myself as some demented old lady, babbling about Earth Shoes, while everyone in the nursing home just shruggs their shoulders.
I always swore I would not make a big deal out of getting old. I've been determined not to dwell on it, not to let it dictate my actions. At some point I had an epiphany about the trappings of age, all the stuff I dreaded. It occurred to me that there was no watershed point when one automatically started liking those bright colored sweatshirts with pictures on them, and tightly curled beautyshop hair-dos preserved under plastic rain bonnets.... I thought I could handle it if I could just keep my own taste.
And I won't fight too hard, either. I won't be wearing too short/tight clothes and dying my hair strange colors, and wearing a bunch of make-up. I promised not to fool myself about how "young" I looked, and become pathetic. But occasionally it occurs to me that I might be the last one to know.... the mirror seems to hold all the faces I have ever been.
What is strange, is that while I am learning to deal with being perceived as "old" my "self" still seems to be evolving. When I went into the store, I was feeling all proud of myself for actually waiting until payday to spend the gift certificate I received two months ago. Usually I spend a gift certificate almost before the ink is dry. I wonder if I could have learned that any sooner.... it seems like such a "grown-up" thing to do...
And as if this were not enough... when I walked down to the bookstore yesterday, I saw a guy playing his electric guitar on the street. He sets up his amplifier and opens his guitar case and people give him change. I've seen him before, but I actually looked at him yesterday. He looked like all the coolest guys looked, about twenty-five years ago, with his long wild hair and full beard, and weird little sunglasses, only of course he's aged, but he just never got conservative. The screaming electric guitar riffs he was playing were the stuff of every hippie rock fans dreams. I remembered listening to those sounds in crowded smoke-filled bars where being "with the band" got me in under age, when hearing music was one of life's most important goals....
The well-dressed Sunday morning crowd was ignoring Mr. Electric Guitar, so he noticed when I smiled. And when I passed by on my way out I gave him a thumbs-up and got a grin in return. Just a moment of recognition flickered between us, I think. Here was a guy playing the music of our rebellious years to a bunch of shoppers on a Sunday morning in February. Toothless and harmless as the big band music I used to bypass on the radio...
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