kinitra's blog: "Old enough to know better, too young to resist."

I am not the sharpest tool in the shed.  I want to say that right up front, not to be self-effacing or as some kind of excuse, it’s a simple statement of truth.  We live in a high tech world of instant communication and real-time updates, yet somehow I always manage to get my signals crossed.  At that critical moment when I should be taking the oh-so-obvious hint, I’m thinking about food, or the meaning of life, or some minor task I won’t complete.  I guess it’s safe to say that this is a manly trait, although some men are more afflicted than others, and I figure I’m one of the bad cases.   Its cost me dearly over the years and you would think at some point I would learn.  No amount of explanation, apology, or excuse ever seems to help.  Actually, since to do any of the above is an admission of guilt, it only seems to make matters worse.  In the interest of balanced opinion I’ll say I’ve known some women who are just as insensitive as men but I think we can all agree they are in the minority.  In any case they tend to have openness and a kind of charm (that men don’t have) that makes their lack of sensitivity ok.  Once, In High School, I got up the nerve to ask a girl (who I never thought would accept) to go to a movie with me.  To my great surprise she accepted my invitation.  This would have been my first real “date”.  Later that same week I somehow ended up at a party with a lot of people I didn’t know.  One girl in particular took an interest in me and was forward enough to actually ask me to a movie that same afternoon.  I declined but she insisted.  Not wishing to appear “insensitive”, I finally gave in, and off we went.  I had overlooked when critical detail, however.  The girl I had originally asked to go to the movies with me, worked at the very same theater, and happened to be working that very afternoon.  In we walked, arm in arm, and there she was, in her little usher outfit.  If looks could kill I would have been dead on the spot.  The next day at school I tried to explain which only seemed to add insult to injury.  I don’t think either one of them ever spoke to me again.  That was almost 40 years ago.  You would think I would have learned something by now.  Just shoot me. 

Someone asked me last week what its like to turn 50. For one thing, it’s nice to be asked how you feel, at fifty. You get less and less of that (among other things) as you get older. I don't remember what I said, probably something stupid. It’s not easy to put into words. I mean, if you have to. If you’ve ever read 'Invisible Cities' by Italo Calvino, there is a part in the book that pretty much says it all. In the story, Marco Polo travels the Silk Road to China, to the Empire of Kublai Khan. When he gets to the capitol he befriends the great Khan and, acting as an emissary he travels around China and returns with reports of the many cities he has visited. Since Polo is a Venetian, and Khan is of course, Chinese, they can't understand each others language, at least at first. So Polo collects an object from each city he visits. Something that will describe to Khan what is important to know about a particular city. A button and thread maybe means they make clothing there. A shell for a fishing city on the Sea. Gold or a gem for a mining city. A scroll or a small musical instument to mean culture. Maybe a silk scarf and a smile to mean a beautiful woman Polo met. And so Khan would lay all these symbols out on a huge map of his empire, and study them, so he would know all the things he possessed. As the years passed the map became larger, and the pieces doubled and tripled and quadrupled and on and on until the Great Khan realized his vast empire was almost too big to comprehend. Eventually, Marco and Khan learned each others language and could speak fluently to each other. Khan still preferred the pieces and map, though, so they would sit in silence for hours, and together they would study the pieces on the map, wondering what it all really meant. Finally, one day Khan said to Polo, "tell me Marco Polo, when I understand what all the pieces mean, will I possess my Empire at last? "Sire, do not believe it", replied Marco. "On that day you will become just another one of the pieces". What’s it like to turn fifty? It’s when you begin to ask yourself what all the pieces mean, and wonder if you really want to know.