And then there were none…

Warning: This column may teeter on the edge of being morose. If you don’t like old fogies on the dance floor, or old fogies period, then this one ain’t for you. If you are old and you know it but are still trying to deny it like me, then this column is definitely for you – tailor made for you as they call it.  

Today, I received yet another invitation for an old fogie birthday bash. How do I know it is an old fogie bash, well when you are welcoming a person’s 40^th birthday, I think you can safely assume that this bash is an old fogie bash, especially if the invite says something like “Taking you out of youth”. Flash sign – you are now in an old fogie birthday bash. When the birthday cake has way too many candles, it is absolutely an “old” fogie bash. How do these old folks find me, I don’t know. I wonder where they got my address from. Oh well, I fess up. I am friends with these old fogies. After all birds of a feather, often flock together. And by that token, I too suffer from the same malady – I am advancing rapidly to old age too. Toodeloo youth, vigor and energy! Hello there, achy limbs, back aches, bad cholesterol levels and diabetes.  

Ah youth, such a fleeting period of time. I don’t even remember when I was young. Hold it just a minute. I still have aeons to go before I turn 40. Hello what am I saying. I’m not old, I’m young! At least when compared to all the folks I’ve been hanging around with – they are OLD as in ancient!!!!  

Life begins at 40 they say, and to that I say “You Wish!” Truth be told, life ends somewhere around 35. Once you’re on the wrong side of 35, then you’re just in plain “old” territory. The cola companies don’t care one hoot for you, the beer commercials do not even speak to you, the marketing managers and advertising agencies don’t have you down as a marketable segment. Do not despair, my “old” friends(pun absolutely intended), you still are very important to certain companies. The life insurance dudes were just waiting to get us on their rosters and the AARP is waiting for the next decade to pass so they can send you your very own personalized AARP card.  

Overheard recently, “let’s go to SOB guys. Heard it’s the hottest club in town.” SOB stands for Sounds of Brazil. Yes, I’m all game. And I don’t care that some of the “youth” out there in the club are a decade or two younger than me. Read my lips, I don’t care. So what if I look around self consciously when I get there finally. Actually make that “if I get there” instead of “when I get there”.

When the teen movies no longer make sense to you. And the latest teen sensation is probably your son’s classmate.  

When you can read the Williams Sonoma catalog from page 1 till the end in one sitting. And not just look at pictures. I mean read the excerpt on the very expensive cast iron slow cooker priced at only 245 dollars. It is especially intriguing since you just bought one at 17 dollars just a couple of months ago. 

When you know what a stock market is and can sit through and listen to stock averages for an hour. Nikkei, DOW, Sensex, S&P all these finally make sense. When you have gained “experience” by losing a shit load of money in the last stock market crash.

When you worry more about retirement rather than having a good time. When you count the number of decades you’ve been in the workforce rather than the number of years. Two decades gone, another three to go before I sleep. 

When you drink wine by the glass and not by the gallon. The $9.99 gallon jar of white wine of questionable vintage is no longer the drink of choice. When your taste runs more to expensive red wine. 

When you actually open up your Social Security annual statement and wonder how little the government can pay you for your sweat and blood. 

When you buy a minivan to lug those tiny people you call your heirs. When there are more soccer and baseball games than there are days. 

When you have a house with a big yard and you have no hope in hell to mow the lawn without a lawn mowing service or a rider lawn mower.  

When you own more combs than the number of individual hairs on your head. 

When the discount bin at Burlington’s can get you all excited. 

When you just have to hit the sack at 10:00 pm sharp every night.  

When you have “assets” vs liabilities. When you no longer fit the YFB population. Young, Fabulous and Broke! 

When you know what HDL and LDL stand for. 

When you are ready for mammograms and you finally realize it has nothing to do with an animal name and everything to do with breast cancer. 

When you watch cosmetic surgery on Channel E! and wonder if you need a tummy tuck or a face lift. The liposuction may be gross but you still watch in fascination wondering how much of that fat stuff you are carrying inside you. 

When eating carbs is taboo. When eating carbs is a luxury. When eating carbs is a FANTASY!. Aalo tikki, Samosa Chaat, Rava Idli, Onion Uttappam, man these are a few of my favorite things. 

When you have a birthday bash declaring you are 40. 

These are just a few tell tale signs of aging. I

’ve worked in HR all my life or at least it seems that way. In one of the firms I worked at, I was putting in an online Benefits module. One of my customers was a lady who held the utterly foreboding and morose job title of ” Bereavement Specialist”. What she actually did was administer benefits for deceased employees. So all day long she would be talking to family members of the deceased, some of whom were half way to the grave themselves. You had to give the lady kudos because despite having a glum job, she was always in the best of spirits and one would always find her ready with a joke or two. When her workload suddenly increased and she was forced to put in 50 hour work weeks she put it in without a complaint. Of course she would joke about it often, “What’s up with the country Guys. These employees are falling like flies. I’m telling you, they’re hitting the bucket three people a day. I cannot seem to keep up with them. Please God, save the poor guys. Slow down the pace to one person a day.” 

They say, you’re as old as you think you are. Well, thinking ain’t believing. I can think fifteen but I may still look like 50. But I’d rather be the age I am rather than going back to the days back in school. No more exams for me. Recently I had an ITIL exam and I was up till 2:00 am cramming. My elder son wondered out loud what I was doing to which my husband replied, “Mommy is ghotting. Do not disturb”. Trust me, I haven’t sweated this much since about a decade or so ago. The last exam I wrote was for my MBA and suddenly I had another exam for ITIL certification. Oh my God! And trust me the exam was not easy, how can it be if all the answers were similar. 

Q. Which of the following illustrates a building? 

1. The leaning tower of Pisa
2. The Empire State Building
3. A McMansion in New Jersey
4. The Buckingham Palace.

 Seriously, the answer could be all four. So this was one tricky exam. Whew! Am I glad that is done. No more ghottoing for me, thank you very much. But I digress, I apologize. ‘Tis a bad habit I know, but blame it on my advanced age and my much too feeble brain. My concentrating power is not exactly what it used be. 

But, and here’s the grand finale. I love my “old” friends. I’d rather be friends with them than with any one else in the whole wide world. So every old fogie who is going to turn 40 soon, I’ll be there for you. I will be there to make a couple of digs at how old you are and how young I am. I will be there on the dance floor to keep all you wheezing fogies out there company. I’ll be wheezing right alongside you. So, we’ve had quite a few 40^th b’day bashes. Soon there will be no one under 40 left in our crowd. 

Here’s to finally growing up. Here’s hoping we get just a tad bit wiser too. Or in a couple of decades we’ll just be wizened old folks.  

Young at heart, but old of age.  

Giving and Receiving – Essential art forms.

Gift giving and Gift receiving are both art forms. Both need some practice and both give a lot of pleasure. Often times, we stress more on Gift Giving. Ever heard of “It’s more important to give than receive”? It is true that giving is absolutely more essential, but a body also needs to also learn how to receive. 

I love giving – be it advice or gifts. I’m much better giving both than actually receiving either. Try giving me advice and I turn into a regular porcupine with my quills all bristled and ready for launch. Try asking me for advice, and I can preach till the cows come home. Giving is so much more fun than receiving.  

Every year the first quarter brings with it a plethora of occasions that require a sound memory. I have a great memory but somehow when b’days of loved ones roll by or aniiversary dates come by, I remind one of an utterly absent minded professor. I got married twice, to the same husband both times. And I forget both the days every year – without fail. You would think that by the time the second anniversary date comes along, I would remember, especially since there are just 30 days between the two anniversary dates. Nope, the day comes and goes like any other day with me being non the wiser. My husband on the other hand has a memory for dates, he remembers every single date that I forget. I’m not sure how he does it, but the man has an appetite for important dates. I’m still waiting for him to forget our anniversary date….it’s been a long wait so far. 

And he is particularly cruel because he waits till noon time on say his birthday and at 12:30 pm, he will call me and sing Happy birthday to himself. Now if that is not cruel, I don’t know what is. The first quarter of every year is one long guilt trip – there are four important dates and I usually forget all four of them. But, I do remember the important stuff – I remember the precise moment when I knew I’d fallen head over heels in love. I recall the exact moment when I knew this was it. My husband still cannot answer a simple question like “So what precisely was it about me that made you fall for me?” I love torturing him with that question. Actually am I torturing him or myself . Oh well! 

The female gender usually is a good record keeper of dates. As the song from Hum Tum goes, “1^st Jan ko tumne mucjhe chua tha. 3^rd April, mujhe kuch hua tha….”. I’m uncharacteristically absent minded about dates. In my defense,……wait, I’m still thinking…….I guess I have no defense. I suck when it comes to remembering my own anniversary date(s), that’s all there is to it. 

So this year, I forgot my anniversary again – well, what can I say, I’m incorrigible. This year, I’ve made up my mind not to forget my Husband’s birthday. I’ve got a sticky note at work reminding me of the same. I have yet another sticky note in my study at home reminding me of the same. There is no way I’m going to forget it this year.  

Even though I often forget important dates, my heart is in the right place. The few times when I do remember, I go all out when it comes to gift giving. I scratch my head to first figure out what my husband really wants. If you think this is easy, you probably have never bought your spouse a gift. It is tough, after all the man has everything he will ever need – he has me, what else can the man want for? J 

But seriously, over the years I have always managed to surprise my husband with a gift that he didn’t know he wanted. One year I gifted him a very expensive tea service. Bone china with a gold embossed border. Did he like it – absolutely. It may sound like an odd gift to give a guy but hey, if the shoe fits….. Another year I bought him an IPOD, I think he fell in love with me all over again for that. He just loved that gift. When times were lean, he had to make do with a gift wrapped box of Carrots. But again, it is the thought that counts right. 

My husband I have to say is not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to Gift picking. Granted, he has some additional constraints that I don’t have. But still, how tough is it to buy a gift for me Huh! Last year I was so fed up not getting anything for my birthday that I actually told him the exact perfume I wanted and where to buy it from  – the man goofed up on that too. My birthday came and went and I still was sans the perfume. He’s not the only one to blame for this, I too am at fault for the current status quo. The first year we were dating was easy, I got a stuffed Gorilla and  a stuffed snake – I know ridiculous taste but I was happy. My first year of being married, he gave me a dozen red roses. The most gorgeous roses I ever laid eyes on. And what was my next step – I couldn’t just say Thank You – no, I had to ask him how much they costed and what was he thinking spending do much money on something so frivolous. Yup, I can be a jerk. So from that day onwards, my gift receiving days were far and few in between. It’s pretty much like the rain in the Mojave Desert – sparse to none at all.  

He gave me a couple of shirts not too long ago and what did I say to that – “Don’t buy me clothes. I prefer doing that myself.” 

He tried jewellery and what did I say – “That’s too expensive. We can use the money for the kids’ college fund.” 

And so the poor man has stopped trying. Can I blame him – ummmm – Absolutely! I want flowers (even if I don’t trust him to choose the right kind), I want jewellery, I want perfume, I want…. I want…. I want… 

Over the years, I’ve always managed to pick a gift that he either wanted or he liked. You could say I have a gift for gift picking.  The truth is my husband is an awesome gift receiver. Anything I give him, he accepts gracefully and makes me feel ten feet tall. I could buy him the most ridiculous gift and the man will graciously accept and thank me profusely. He will never make me feel like I have a ridiculous sense of taste or choice. I know we need to give more and concentrate on giving generously. But over the years my husband has taught me that just to give is not enough. One has to learn how to accept gracefully. I’ve often told my children to always say thank you when they receive a gift, no matter if it is something they like or don’t like. So why am I such a baby when it comes to receiving gifts from my husband. Hmmmmm! 

My husband’s birthday is almost here and I have the most perfect gift picked out. What is it, you ask. I’m not telling. Ask my husband after I give him said gift.