One is never too old for Romance
Ingrid Bergman


In spring, my fancy goes wild. The air seems fresher, the people more loving, and the landscape so vivid it brings tears to my eyes. In May, the world abounds with bright promise and I open my arms to receive it all. I have noticed that any man I encounter in this month of new discovery appears twice as handsome, three times as exciting and ten times more desirable than any I meet at other times of the year.

This May is no exception. Although I have experienced seventy-three of these delightful months in my existence, I must tell you that 2007 has been my most bountiful.

My life has been enriched with not one, but TWO exotic, loving gentlemen who are not nearly as pleasingly fragrant as the lilacs or the Double Delight Rose at my doorstep, but who more than compensate for their ruddy aroma with their steadfast devotion. Unlike delicate blooms rooted in earth, my gentlemen friends never wilt when I give them my full attention. They drink the water I pour for them as eagerly as if it were vintage wine.

They tell me it is sweetened by the hand that pours it!

I blush at their endless compliments but their golden phrases are like music to me. Oh, I know that words are no more permanent than feathers but still, all praise is delightful to hear and even more thrilling to believe.

Marvin arrived at my door in early April, but I must admit I wasn’t thoroughly smitten with him until I had grown used to his unusual habits. He is a big man, almost overpowering in this house of small delicate people and his hair is snow white. This is to be expected, and indeed to me, highly desirable in a senior lover. His smile is truly magic but sadly enough, he is a bit arthritic in the knee. He walks with a strange lope that made me wonder at first if his bowels were in first class condition.

Of course, I said nothing to him about his unusual gait but I was understandably more observant and more careful of commitment. I wanted to be sure before I gave him my heart. I am of an age now, when I try to be very accurate before I direct Cupid to release his bow.

Happily, once I observed Marvin’s eating habits, I realized it wasn’t his internal system causing that peculiar lunge and limp. It was those weak tendons and strictured muscles of his. Obviously, he neglected to work out regularly at the gym when he was younger and more flexible and now… now, poor fellow… it is too late. Fortunately for us both, I never consider surface characteristics when I judge the quality of a lover and it took but a few weeks to realize what a diamond Marvin is . . as long as he takes his medication.

You see, Marvin is prone to fits. The slightest excitement and he loses complete control. He can fall apart at the sight of a good dinner, a well-turned ankle or even a bee buzzing in his ear. He tells me he has tried everything to control himself. Oh, the wasted years of therapy! The months and months of counseling that did no more good than the placebos his HMO practitioner tried to force down his throat. Indeed, it looked as if poor Marvin would never be capable of a fully realized romance again until he stumbled on the particular combination of drugs he now takes. Ah, the miracles of modern pharmaceuticals! Now, in his dotage, Marvin is judiciously exuberant, joyful and loving as a papa bear, yet always chivalrous….unless he misses a dose

Then, Ladies, beware! There is no stopping him! He is like Jack the Ripper on a mission and that mission can as easily be the girl next door as it can be YOU.

By May first, I had totally adjusted to having this strange but loving man in my life when there came a knock at my door and in walked Gordon! Gordon is another snowy-haired Lothario but far smaller. In fact, the only reason Marvin and I befriended him is that he looked as if he were starving. We feed the hungry and nurture the sick because it is our human obligation to create a happy healthy world.

Gordon is a debonair little fellow and certainly as handsome as Marvin in his way, but he is a great deal older than either of us and obviously has a bit of prostrate trouble. In fact, poor Gordon is incontinent.

He was so good looking and so very kind and affectionate, that I convinced Marvin (and the others in our family) that a bit of readjustment to his liquid intake would solve the problem especially once I purchased a Clorox mop for those difficult times when Gordon forgets himself.

May 2007 has barely begun and I am still living in a golden cloud of new romance and limitless possibilities. This is not a ménáge-a-trois, my friends. No indeed. It is far larger than that. My home abounds with other lovers from past springs: There is Donald, who is trés romantic and very French; Paul, my macho Spaniard, fresh from Southern fields and the girls who service them when I am involved in other domestic chores. My boys all assure me that I am more than woman enough for all of them and I smile knowingly when they say such drivel. I have been around a very long time and I know men. “Nonsense! I say. “I am enough for now, but all it will take is one provocative swish of a new tail on the block and you will vanish.”

And that, too is the glory of a spring romance. It is but a beautiful moment, all the more poignant because it vanishes when June peeps its hot little head in the window and whispers: “Here I am!”

I know that then, I will lose Marvin and even tiny Gordon to greener fields. They will still leap up when I take out their leashes and lick my hand when I attach them to their leads, but they will no longer have eyes only for me. There are richer, more rewarding smells in the June air. There are fragrances that remind them of their loss when they were taken to that hospital so many years ago. They see the rest of the earth recreating itself and they know that duplication is no longer an option for them. A human mother is solace, it is true, but somehow just not the same as a ripe, feminine Maltese with a swing to her walk and a pink ribbon in her hair.

I try to ease their pain by turning on the sprinkler and letting them romp through the raindrops to cool their thoughts. They love the pleasure of the cool water refreshing them and when playtime is over, they forget their regrets and rush up to me and cover me with grateful kisses. Oh, I know that their love, like all seasonal flings, is temporary, but none-the-less, it is very, very sweet.

The most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog.
Ambrose Bierce
 

See Lynn Ruth's website