I am fascinated by today’s explosion of tattoo art and decoration amongst the younger generations. Sure we had tattoos in our day: an anchor, the name of a boy/girlfriend or two, a hula girl, “MOM” and a rose thrown in for good measure, but after getting married or a job, all were covered up. Now, no body part is safe from being proudly displayed: a spider web spreads over a young girl’s face, knuckles declare one’s love and hate to all and sundry and I hear rumors of men and women enduring the needle to receive inkings on (and in!) their most private parts.
Despite all that, I toyed with the idea of butching up my image by joining the ink community. Checking the catalogues, I was intrigued by the beauty and variety of designs. On the other hand, I was shocked by some of the more erotic choices. (Boys and girls, really! What would your nana say!)
One of the artists invited me to a demonstration of “discomfort zones.” Having no idea what this was, I joined several leather and ink covered men and women to observe as the artist drew small, new designs over his “living canvas” while commenting on the level of pain in each area. Audience members gave suggestions as I kept my eyes glued to the ceiling. The “canvas” occasionally moaned, but made no plea to stop. Later, we went to a bar to fete the tattooee. I felt out of place, but they assured me I was welcomed and that they were looking forward to seeing my new arm. (In a moment of bravado, I had succumbed to their suggestion of a Japanese sleeve; whatever that is.)
Once home and sober, I decided I was butch enough. I called the artist, wished him and the gang all the best and canceled the session offering him an unassailable excuse: my mother wouldn’t let me.
Everybody does it and it’s good for you
As the years have sped by, many of our abilities and habits have become modified in some way. There is one popular activity, however, that becomes more important to many senior men and women particularly if they live alone. No need to be ashamed; the medical value to those of all ages is well-known and has been long touted by many experts. For some, it can last for a few minutes; others, with certain pills, for several hours. When we were young, we were often ashamed and covert in our pleasure. Now that we are seniors, however, we can enjoy ourselves anywhere from our living-room recliner to a serious session in the bedroom. I’ve even succumbed to the urge watching certain movies. I am jealous of the younger crowd’s making a habit of it before hitting the bars just when I’m thinking about going to bed. The afternoon is the preferred time for me as it is in many countries where, in fact, tradition encourages the practice.
Call it resting the eyelids or taking a siesta, the nap is a vital part of our lives. The main point is not to take it as a sign of old age or as something negative. Studies consistently reveal naps increase one’s efficiency and cite people like Thomas Edison and Michelangelo whose 20-minute naps re-vitalized them.
I try to avoid napping, but if I close my eyes just for a second to picture a crossword puzzle word, the next thing I know it is 20 minutes later. Some people doze off watching TV and wake up just in time to get ready for bed. That may be overdoing it, but I understand; the programs are so confusing.
Yesterday, momentarily resting my eyes from the TV glare, I opened them and the blond I had detected to be the murderess had vanished and the cast and plot line were unrecognizable. These avant-garde dramas would put anyone to sleep.
