About six months ago I viewed the film Adore adapted to the screen from a novella called The Grandmothers by Doris Lessing, the Nobel Prize-winning author of countless novels, short stories, drama and non fiction. A brilliant, ballsy, take no punches kind of author. Fearless really. And deceased. ( She died this past year just as I was fortunate enough to discover her genius). Any way, I watched the film four times within two days. I became addicted to it. Why? Think "breathless" as in "takes one's breath away." That's what this film did to me. Took my breath away. I knew why right away. The film is about two women in their 40s, very close friends, who love one another and each others' sons. And when I say "love each others' sons," I don't mean in a motherly way. They schtoop each others' kids beginning when the boys are around 18-years-old. Shocking? If you watch the film, you may or may not think so. Apparently, this tale of lust and love and adolescent longing was based on Lessing's own life. She was a hot mama even when the grey hairs were showing.
In the film, Robin Wright and Naomi Watts play two emotionally intimate friends, each of them in their 40s, not exactly old age if one keeps themselves in shape. At 40 I had the body of a 25-year-old and considering I exercised six days a week and was admittedly obsessed with keeping fit, it was not shocking for me to see Robin and Naomi rolling around in the sheets and on the beach with each others' kids. I, too, had had some sexy encounters with men a decade or two younger than myself. So what? Not a big deal. But, I drew the line at sex with an 18-year-old boy whose body was beyond beautiful, into the territory of... perfection. Exquisite beauty. Magical. Is there anything more remarkable than the promise of youth in all its potential when one has hit 40 or 50 or 60 and their life is waning? No. It's the fountain, the elixir, the desire for immortality and it hits us in the solar plexus when we are acutely aware our time is running out. Oh and did I tell you they are all Australian and this takes place in Australia? I say no more.
So watching Amor over and over again with a dark chocolate bar and a bottle of Menage A Trois burgundy (I know but I swear that was the label) alone in my cottage was sad and funny and exotic. It's what happens when you hit 50 if you are single. It happens to men and women. And sometimes to men and women who are not single. You begin to fantasize about the way things could, should, would have been if only you had done this or made that choice or hung in there with that guy or or or. Amor is a female porn movie with a story by a Nobel Prize winner and Sean Penn's ex having amazing sex with a guy young enough to be her son. Ooops.
And that takes me to the subject of dogs. Women my age and some men end up with either cats as companions or dogs. I ended up with a dog who I named Brando because I could. I like saying, "Brando, stop eating the grass." Or Brando, "What a good boy you are." I like walking with Brando and running down the bike path and smiling at strangers who stop to say how cute he is and ask his name and my answering, "Brando. You know like Marlon Brando." I like it because it makes me as human and sad and funny as Marlon himself when he was a middle aged, paunchy, feisty take no prisoners kind of guy. It gives me hope of true love at any age which is what I have come to believe in. True love at any age.
And that takes me to the subject of men. In general. And specifically to some I have encountered recently. But you know I think I will wait on that part of the story for now. Because I don't quite have the energy to explore the.. let's just say... mixed messages I now get from men who in the past I would not have even considered good enough to trim my hedges. Metaphorically speaking that is. True love at this age? Yes, absolutely. I can prove it happens and I will.
Now back to the garden. It's getting closer to spring. Adore.