THE CATALOG

Do you remember that classic Bette Davis postcard -- the one where she’s holding a needlepoint pillow that reads “old age ain’t for sissies?” Well, I’m no sissy! I have been gallant into my sixties. And I only occasionally check as I leave the ladies’ room to make sure I don’t have toilet paper stuck to my shoes. There are only three things that frighten me about growing older: 1) not being self sufficient; 2) not being self sufficient; 3) the arrival of The Catalog. The Catalog! Just when I’ll think I’ve mastered defiance (per Melanie Griffith); when I’ve found a style reminiscent of ‘40’s movie stars or at the very least -- Golden Girls; when strains of “koo-koo-achoo Mrs. Robinson” still occasionally hum in my inner ego; just when I’ll think I’ve created timelessness through elegance -- it will arrive. Wrapped in brown paper. Ominously nondescript. And the book enclosed will read The Catalog. And only that.

You know what’s inside, don’t you? Those fashions women wear so you’ll know they’re old farts: Polyester print dresses in awkward pastels. Cardigan sweaters that must be ordered a size too small. Dime store brooches you could no longer buy at Woolworth’s, (if there were a Woolworth’s). Coats with slightly natty fur collars. Directions for applying prophetic blue rinse. Eye glass frames with gems and pearl chains. Pink sweat suits with floral jewelry to match.

Well, you know what I mean. You see the ladies on the street. In Boston, Columbus, Chicago, New York -- these gals are not only visible in front of bingo halls. Be honest -- haven’t you wondered how that happens? Didn’t that “look” go out with pin curls and hair rollers in the supermarket? Or can one still see hair rollers in the supermarket? Uh huh -- and you’ve said to yourself, “Where do they get those clothes?” Ergo -- The Catalog.

The Catalog. It doesn’t matter if you avoid joining AARP. Or if you never ever play beano. Or sign-up for a Golden Agers’ bus tour of autumn leaves in Vermont. You can evade lunch specials at Grant’s or Denny's and always pay full price on the subway and never go to the shopping mall on Wednesdays. Someday that nondescript brown paper envelope will arrive. You can move without a forwarding address; get medical referrals from Phyllis Diller; make biannual trips to Eden Rock. It will arrive. You’ll put it in the toss-away pile and feel safe because you’ve committed Deepak Chopra to memory. But curiosity will be too much for you. You’ll open it. And no doubt, you’ll laugh. “No way I’m gonna be caught dead in this stuff.” But The Catalog defies trash collecting or recycling. One thing -- one small item will seem “not so bad” and you’ll hang onto The Catalog because maybe you’ll order that one small item -- and then before you realize it, you have a list and the next thing you know -- well..... It will arrive as surely as hot flashes and gray roots and yellow toe nails. What ever you do -- DON’T OPEN IT!!