Reaching the age of familiarity

Sept. 29, 2005

Dear Julie,

I'm 55 now. Here's what I like about it:

* I heard the Rolling Stones when they still sounded dangerous. Now their tour is sponsored by a mortgage company whose commercials depict young corporate types dance to Mick singing "Satisfaction." Ugh.

* I don't spend much money going to the movies. I used to be a movie slut. Any movie, any time. Movie companies are much more interested in teenagers than in me. Movies that move me like "It's A Wonderful Life," "Groundhog Day," "Phenomenon" or "Roxanne" are difficult to find.

Here's what I don't like about being 55:

* Forgetting names. It's as if I've met too many people by now, and the database in my brain has become overloaded. The names are in there somewhere. The trick is retrieving them.

A reclining silver Buddha was my birthday present from DC. The Buddha lived to be 80, attained enlightenment at age 35. Becoming enlightened is like smelting gold, he said, and reminded his followers that the smelting does not create the gold. The gold has always been there.

The trick is discovering it.

Fifty-five feels like a milestone but not a sign along the road. The interstate highway that runs by Cape Girardeau is I-55, but I'm not thinking about going anywhere. Here is awfully good. Much of my family is here, many of my friends.

That's something else I like about being 55: seeing familiar faces.

Living there in Arcata the Jambalaya was my hangout because the bartenders were poets. The name seemed right because you might end up talking to anyone about anything. Here it's a real Cajun restaurant/bar called Broussard's where, as the song goes, everybody knows your name.

Over Broussard's sound system I can still hear the comforting voice of an old friend who died this year. They play songs off his band's CD. And The Melroys, his band, play on with Randy's son, Jordan, on lead guitar. Last weekend at Broussard's they sang me a "Happy Birthday," and the bar joined in. I felt like the luckiest guy in a Tom Waits song, and then the moment was gone.

My old friend David called a few days before my birthday. His daughter, Carrie, arrived on earth on the same day of the month I did. She's 8 and crazy about horses. She has the spirit of a wild horse.

I said David, the years have started to pile up. He reminded me about Tom Waits' song "Old 55."

It's a hipster's hymn to the bittersweet joy of leaving your baby's place just as the sun is coming up. "Well my time went so quickly, I went lickety-splitly, out to my old '55. As I drove away slowly, feeling so holy, God knows, I was feeling alive ..."

The years slip by, fuzz collects around the edges of the mind. But whatever has moved you is yours forever.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.