TiVo Lady

(Boomer) Ladies Night Out

Last night, seven of us got together for dinner at a local Greek place.  We are ladies, eight of us, who used to run together every weekend, in all weather, all year round.  In the heat of summer;  we'd run.  On crisp, cool fall days;  we'd run.  On frigid, breath-stopping cold days;  we'd run.  Also in the rain, run;  in the snow, run.  Nothing really stopped us from our group runs.  Except when we started getting old;  that's what stopped us.  A year ago, I got a heel spur that crippled me--I could barely walk, let alone run.  A few of us had knee issues, hip issues, breathing problems.  Our original group is now down to three or four, depending on whose parts are not creaking.  Among the original eight, I'd say just two are completely injury-free.  (Insert blast of pure envy right here.)

Anyway, because we don't run together any more, we decided to eat together.  Over three bottles of wine and every Greek appetizer on the menu (Greek salad, felafal, kebbe, spanikopita, grilled octopus, loukanika, tsadziki, humus, olives, taramasalata, skordalia, and tons of pita.  We are all Boomers, fifty-somethings now, so here is what we talked about:  our (mostly-grown) children, giving a sanitized version of their accomplishments and love lives and what they are doing to torture us out of our minds;  our work, what we're doing;  our tenuous health situation;  and our non-Boomer friend's impending divorce.  The youngest of us, just forty-three, she's the only one of us who had to arrange child care to get out of the house.  Her marriage is ending, but now she's got a new boyfriend.  She brought a picture of him, too.  We joked about sex and the not-so-funny lack of it.

Meanwhile, we noticed an odd thing, an unusual phenomenon, at the next table.  It was a group of ten men, MEN, having dinner together.  Just like us, only men.  I don't remember ever seeing a table of men eating dinner together for the sake of it, unless they had baseball-playing sons with them, or they were watching a Big Game, of whatever sport.  Nope, these guys were just eating.  Like us.  Turns out, they belong to a local Ethical Culture Society, which is a "humanist religious community," apparently.  For nerdy-looking men of a certain Boomer age, apparently.  If I were still a New York Times reporter, I'd go on a local, dinnertime trek, to see if I could find men-only tables at local restaurants (no bars allowed), and find out why they are eating together.  It would be hard work, a tough assignment, and would probably take months.  Nah, never mind.  I'm nearly finished Chapter Four, about husbands' view of marriage.  Here's the title:  "What, Me Oblivious?"  As one of my friends commented last night, that's a chapter obviously written by the wife side of the marital equation.

Books for Boomers

Finally finished The Lay of Land, and it was slightly disappointing.  This is symptomatic of my "Put On a Pedestal" Syndrome:  I do it with friends, and TV shows, and books, apparently.  At first, I'm in love, it's the best pal, show, book ever.  But after more intimate acquaintance, the luster wears off, and I'm able to see more clearly the person or thing I once worshipped.  Ford's book is masterful, and each sentence is imbued with more thought and meaning than I put into most whole pages of work, but still...  It's, uh, too much--it becomes pretentious and smug, to a point where I want to say, "Oh, shut up already."

Still, Ford's writing about Boomers in midlife approaches perfection, as do his insights on modern American culture.  Here's what he says about neighbors who are opposing his plan to buy a tiny bayside house and move it out on steel girders, from the ground up.  They should have sold the lot to someone "who could afford it, then let the community do what communities do best:  suppress diversity, discourage individuality, punish exuberance and find suitable language to make it seem good for everyone and what America's all about."

After meeting his daughter's new, much older boyfriend, here's what Frank, the main character, says:  "Beware when you have children that your heart not be broken."

Says it all, and so well.

Here's the new book I've put on my special pedestal:  Ten Days in the Hills, Jane Smiley's new book. This could just as well be called, Sex Lives of Raunchy Hollywood Boomers, or something.  I mean, I've never read about such Sexcapades of so many people in their 50's and 60's.  My only problem here, and it's a serious one for Boomer  readers, is that there are too many characters and I can't keep them all straight--in the beginning, at least.  The book is Smiley's take on The Decameron, which, trust me, I only know because of the reviews I've read.  This book is a great example of filling a Boomer need:  reading books about people like us.  Smiley's main characters are Max, a Hollywood director and semi-genius who is 55.  And there's his girlfriend, Elena, who is 50.  (Yes, that's right!  Not 24!!)  And his ex-wife, a gorgeous movie star, Zoe, who is in her 40's or 50's.  (I'll have to get back to you on that one.)  It's Boomer Heaven here!  And they are still having sex, talking about sex, thinking about sex, and doing sex.  Ha!

Last night's episode of 24 was extremely frustrating, moving at a glacial pace once again.  (Gotta stretch it out to 24 episodes, so let's g-o  v-e-r-y  s-l-o-w-l-y.)  Best part:  Jean Smart returns to save the world from WWIII by using her relationship with the Russian premier's wife to inform her husband about the treachery of the Russian ambassador to the United States.  All very off-the-wall improbable, but it's great seeing this 55-year-old Boomer lady give her ex-husband a kiwi knife in the neck just before she masterminds the World Save.