Aging with grace and panache.

I know little about grace and even less about panache. But they are both very pleasant terms. Aging isn’t. So, to obtain some pertinent information and to prove my total hipness, I will Google the phrase.

(Note to readers: Panache is not a combination of Ganache and Panoche. I state this in advance to keep you from the horrible disappointment I experienced. Panache is not an amazing sweet.)

Whoa, now ain’t that interesting. Apparently, aging with grace and panache is not a possibility. It seems that the term ‘Aging with Grace and Panache’, is a hyperbolic expression made popular in the 1980’s by the Gray Liberation Society of Some of the Americas and Alaska. They knew it was a lie.

Undaunted, although somewhat depressed, I will Google, “Aging with grace”.

Some hits:

“Do you know someone who’s moving into a phase of life where their physical and mental capabilities are declining or are you overwhelmed with the thought of placing a loved one in an eldercare facility?”

“Most people suffer some niggling physical problems as they age, and often some serious illnesses as well. But many older adults also suffer some social and psychological problems. Some mental illnesses do have a genetic and hereditary component. On top of this, there are social and cultural differences on how people meet the challenges of aging.”

“What’s another way of saying old? Mature. Yes. Wisdom of years. Yeah, that too. Many winters. Yeah, all that, but I’m looking for something else that’s strongly correlated with looking down at the young ones.”

Okay, frankly I’m not liking this. I was really hoping for something a little more positive than “niggling physical problems” and “many winters”. (Although “looking down at the young ones” does hit a ‘win’ button or two for me.)

I work in the hospitality industry. For years, the industry has had a very forward-thinking retirement policy. Put succinctly, thirty years in the industry and you go stark-raving mad and the state takes care of you. Unfortunately, Oregon, following the lead of many states, has opted to discontinue its care of crazy old men. This really leaves me out in the cold.

Literally.

From my early years in Hood River, at least I know where to move to hang out with the aging homeless (by the railroad tracks, on the west side of the bridge that crosses over the Hood River.) It is really a quite beautiful neighborhood, complete with tarps and tents and desperate people. I’ll fit in nicely.

But there must be another solution. I do have a 401K. And as long as inflation doesn’t kick in, Richard and I could, theoretically, last a good three or four months before we find ourselves on the streets with nothing to our names but a few bitter, needy animals. I’m not sure Max will deal well with homelessness. And I’m sure Trixie will find many things wrong with the situation. This could be very unattractive.

So, I can’t age with grace and panache, and aging with just grace seems a tad brutal. And my retirement plan is pretty much one of desperation. Perhaps it is time I thought about fighting the aging process with all the grace and panache I have. Okay, I have no grace, and frankly I had to Google the definition of “panache”. The definition was “verve”. Back to Google. Okay, energy and enthusiasm. Wow, I’m totally up the creek with no paddle. Getting old is as much fun as, to quote the French, “Sommeil avec des larves”. I’m loving it.

What to do, what to do? I could fight with cosmetic surgery. Excuse me, a scalpel. I don’t think so. I’ve seen Richard and Wayno and Mom and Dad do way too many surgical procedures for me to step in to one without a critical, desperate need. Okay, I understand I am kind of arguing with myself (define critical and desperate), but I would rather find myself getting mail at General Delivery, Hood River, than have some of those ridiculous procedures.

Okay, cut the surgery stuff and let’s just go with cosmetics. I just Googled, and there is foundation and base and blush and … well,I am way too old to learn this stuff. It is way too complicated. Okay, how about stucco? During summer, just a coat early on and it would last for a few months, winter I would have to recoat fairly often. But I’m liking this. Slap on a coat of paint to match the day. I want a tan; easy as pie. Like to look like I’ve been working hard, let’s go with semi-gloss. Want people to think I’ve just come back from a ride in the mountains, gloss with a red tint. This is so easy. Don’t know exactly how it will work with the stache and beard, but I’m sure I can work it out.

No I can’t.

The crevasses on my face are there to stay. I am no longer the young man I remember. I am no longer a desirable treat in the gay community. I am over the hill.

But, somehow, day after day, I continue.