A Blog by Gail Cushman
A lot of things changed when I reached the ripe old age of seventy, and now, five, almost six years later, I am still trying to figure out my life. My recent adventure with a Montana cowboy taught me a couple things and I’m sort of willing to share them with you, but don’t ask too many questions. And, don’t think I’m gonna reveal what happened after a shared dessert of crème brûlée, cuz I’m not a kiss-and-tell person, but I learned a few things about myself that you might enjoy hearing about.
The Montana restaurant had several sections and we sat in a rather private booth, but the bingo crowd was lively, causing noise and excitement as people got close to a winning bingo. My razzle-dazzle hearing aids fail to pick up every sound that comes out of someone’s mouth, so I warned my nameless date, and he moved closer and took my hand. Uh oh.
We started talking, just plain old conversation, about anything and nothing and everything and miracle of miracles, I could hear him. I was surprised, but then I heard myself laughing, really laughing, a belly laugh coming from deep down inside me. He isn’t funny or funny looking but has good timing and we both laughed at whatever either of us said. Now that might not seem like a big deal, but it is. I remembered that I had not laughed in several years, six to the be exact. I was surprised and I told him, and he nodded and said, “I get it. I haven’t laughed in three years since my wife passed. It’s hard to laugh when you are feeling down, but laughter cures a lot of ills. I’m feeling really good right now.” I was, too.
Laughter is important, not just smiling at a funny joke or comedy routine but good old fashioned belly laughs, at ourselves and with others. There must be studies about the importance of laughter, I mean like people who laugh live longer, or laughter increases the ability to hear, or makes it easier to swap spit. Oops…that slipped out.
Here comes the best part: the dinner ended, and my date dug out his wallet and laid a credit card on the table, but the sixty-year-old waiter brushed it away. “Sir, the bill has been taken care of, so you can put that away.”
“What? Who?” We said simultaneously, as we looked around trying to figure out which bingo player might have laid down his hard-earned money to pay for our meal, including wine for me and the yummy crème brûlée. Neither of us knew anyone in the bar/restaurant, but the waiter had zipped his lip. We signaled the manager and she stopped by the table, “We think you two are cute. Old people, still getting it on.” Cute? For crying out loud, what did that mean because we are both over seventy-five with a lot of mileage?
I have tried to look cute all my life, and I finally figured it out. Cuteness has to do with laughing and I plan on laughing every time I go to restaurant.
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