Jaimie Shelton/The Globe and Mail
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A lot of people refer to the stages of life as seasons: Spring being youth, summer being young adulthood, autumn being middle age and winter as the final stage of life.
A few years ago, I started what I affectionately call a winter romance and it was a little different from the summer and autumn variety. How can I say this tactfully? It was very real – a lot faster. It was as though I was at a party: It was dark, the music was fantastic, faces and figures were flawless and then suddenly, someone turned on the fluorescent lighting and things didn’t look the same any more. Don’t get me wrong, I was still having a great time, but there were changes.
It’s not a bad thing, really, because those stark lights come on eventually in a younger romance, too. We just got to the truth a lot sooner.
This hat on my head had a mind of its own
Suffering the wrath of my backyard grapes
During a romance at this stage of life, we know there’s less time ahead of us than behind us. So, when we met and liked each other, we admitted it quickly and started to spend time together right away.
At this age, there was less of the “Will he call or won’t he?” or “Are we going to spend time together this weekend or not?” If my date didn’t get in touch sometimes, I learned that he might have gone to an emergency room or forgot that we had plans, so I didn’t take it personally.
I also had to forget about certain romantic gestures, such as my date looking longingly at me from across a crowded room. The first time I thought he was doing that, I learned that it wasn’t longing in his eyes at all! It was anxious concern because his eyesight is going. He was squinting at me from across the room and thinking, “Is that woman my date? Hmm. I‘m not sure. Maybe that’s not her. Damn! What if I can’t find her?”
We’ve had to give up on extra long walks along the seaside thanks to weaker bladders, unless there’s a cave or massive shrubbery nearby. If it’s chilly, that scene does not end with the two of us ravaging each other in bathing suits as the waves crash around us and onto the shore like in the old movie From Here to Eternity. Instead, I’ve begged my date not to make me laugh as I tightly grip his sleeve and walk cross-legged as fast as I can to the nearest washroom.
At this stage of our lives, once we got to know each other better, there was less emphasis on trying on sexy underwear. Guess it makes sense because sometimes the parts don’t work, or they just don’t stand up the way they used to. So why buy the leopard skin and leather when it doesn’t quite fit the décor around it and no one can stay awake long enough to see it?
The definition of a wild time has been different in this winter romance, too. At this stage it’s more about hanging out with friends, watching live music together, getting ice cream or travelling together. We’ve skipped the skydiving and bungee jumping.
There also hasn’t been any late-night dancing in the clubs. Instead, that’s replaced with tripping over our own two feet while walking around the living room. That’s because we don’t have the same balance any more so sometimes, without warning, we’re suddenly groping for each other as we’re going down. I wouldn’t call it graceful or beautifully choreographed. It’s more of a freestyle dance. But we can really bust a move, especially if we’re carrying something at the time. It’s like a tango, where one of us involuntarily and violently dips backward while the other swoops down to stop the fall and inanimate objects shatter all around us. It’s very dramatic!
The fine dining hasn’t been a regular thing as much either. Instead, we’ve been regulars at a local urgent care clinic and hospital emergency rooms: During this winter romance I’ve got a date I can count on for these sexy get-togethers. There haven’t been any waiters, smooth tunes or appetizers. The lighting has been super bright, and the wine service is non-existent. (I’m suggesting that change to the provincial government for hospital waiting rooms in the future.) But we can hold each other’s hand, people watch, look at what everyone else is having, and moan together as we’re writhing in pain, so it’s very intimate.
While a winter romance has been very different from a spring and autumn one, in a lot of ways, I found it to be truer, funnier and freer because all the facades are gone. There’s no time to give a false impression of who we are and what we want. We can forget what others think, dance in grocery aisles, waltz in our kitchen, be silly and laugh in the midst of it all, because there’s so little time to be anything else.
I.S. Mindak lives in Ottawa.
