~~~~The sky today at FoM brings thick spiraling clouds and oppressive humidity that demands its due. Storms rattled the night but are quiet now. Poplar and sweet gum leaves twitter without real movement and yield no breeze. Young and old line up around the pool deck like herring drying dockside and hope to refresh their fading summer tan with filtered sun. To paraphrase Willie's little phrase: Vanity thy name is a great tan.
Older people are not immune to this fallacy and many sun worshipers who make it to senior status find out way more than they wish to know about the varied types of skin cancer. A tan should rightly be called A Toast. And how much toast did you get today? Oh, your toast is so becoming; it makes you look younger. Unfortunately, vanity often triumphs. Florida's bright sunlight contributes to an alarming amount of skin cancer. Natives and long time residents do not want a tan -- you know them by their pale apparitions and long sleeves.
Here at FoM and in the River City by the Sea, 'toasting' in the sun hasn't lost its appeal to women or to men seniors. In February, a neighbor toasted herself everyday as she always had. In April, melanoma appeared in spite of her big floppy hat and by June, she was gone. This phenomenon happens over and over again with seniors. I happened to hear the neighbors talk of this once vibrant and endearing lady while they sunned themselves. Ironic. Sixty-, even ninety-somethings seeking that bronze veneer of their youth: a healthy glow?
When I moved to the retirement community in 2013, an infant chameleon somehow backpacked on my move. I wrote about him in the blog but never found him again. When I moved to FoM, the movers carried out my office bookcases and revealed the little chameleon, a crispy critter. These little creatures often hide and meet their end that way. So many times we think our choices are wise but the laws of the universe win out. Seniors can be like the very young and think their choices don't mean much on any given day. Like with the young, seniors' choices can become patterns and habits that acquire a life of their own.
I must rely on Willie again to end this post:
"All the world's a stage, /And all the men and women merely players/
They have their exits and their entrances...."
Writers and readers often question whether life imitates art or is it the other way around? Some seniors act out their life like a play while others let life open before them in a free fall of freedom.
Tomorrow: Don't Mind If I Do.