I can’t stand people who go gaga over their pets, but sometimes it is deserved. Reaction to my recent recommendation of a clam as a suitable companion compels me to disclose my acquisition several years ago of my darling Emily. Her sex was a guess, but we lived in Hillcrest, so no big deal. What a treasure. She never barked, shed, bit, scratched, nor required a walk or a litter box.
Unfortunately, tragedy and deception awaited. It started when, on hearing of my interest in clams, my massage therapist, Rod, said he was a clam therapist and kindly gave me Emily.
He then got me a great discount on a fish tank which he then modified, for a small fee, as a clam retreat. He covered the bottom with imported Maui beach sand and supplied a filter system, special clam food (who knew?), night light and, for atmosphere, the pirate treasure chest and bobbing diver. So cute.
The total cost was a shock, but the real expense was Rod’s weekly delivery of sea water which he said he imported from Israel because the kosher salt was essential. It worked. She was delighted; snuggling there on the (expensive) sandy bottom, opening and closing. I swear I detected a wink now and then.
Alas, when she hadn’t opened up for a couple of days, I panicked, but Rod said it is her time of the month and took her home to recover. Another expense for boarding, but worth it; when he brought her back, she was even bigger and prettier than before.
Sadly, after a few more times, suspicions slowly surfaced. I’m no dummy. Finally confirmed. Rod forgot I grew up on the Maine coast and the “Emily” he returned was clearly a mussel! I warn you. Never trust a clam therapist.
A senior condition
The summer heat approaches with fond memories of the fun days of beaches and bushes. Now, with thoughts of sweat and melanomas, many of us sit in our air conditioned comfort and wile away the days with Judge Judy, Golden Girl re-runs and TV dinners stewing about being alone and bemoaning the loss of old friends.
This condition has a name. If you want to be fancy, it is “ennui,” if you like the literary, try “malaise,” but it all ends up being the old-fashioned “blahs.” And it has a good old-fashioned remedy: get off your ass and out of the house – to be blunt – while you are still able to.
I am tackling this theme again because of its utmost importance to senior gays and lesbians. For our physical, mental and emotional well-being we are foolish not take advantage of the once unheard of gender oriented activities now available to us: sports, bridge, canasta, yoga, bowling, movies, dancing, pot lucks, etc. all for the asking; plus the serious groups offering support, information and understanding in such areas as grief, Parkinson’s disease, AA, cancer and women’s health issues.
Be brave, spread your wings at a non-LGBT group: the Balboa Park Senior Room (free coffee) has activities and field trips as well as chatting; check out the senior apartment buildings, churches, YM/WCA type associations, hobby groups for knitting, railroads, stamps, cricket even tarot; and pay attention to or post your own ad on the bulletin boards in supermarkets, libraries and coffee shops.
All these groups are waiting for you, so come out and join the world. It is not like it used to be, but it is still a wonderful place to be a part of (or, for the pedants: a place of which to be a part).
