# Gromen 5 .   A Special Day for an Old Man



## Divus (Dec 11, 2010)

It all happened quite recently. On the 27th day of the month I reached the age of 72. 

Looking back, all in all it was a quiet day. Some parcels had been placed on the dining room table and the postman had delivered a few extra letters, amongst which there were birthday cards wishing me well. All of those friends and family members whom I wanted to hear from were to make contact one way or another during the day. Several phoned and a couple sent emails which after all is the modern way of keeping in touch.

I had been asked by my long suffering wife to decide whether we were to go out for dinner or lunch or whether she was to cook. I chose that we would eat at home since I knew that in the fridge there were a couple of very thick fillet steaks courtesy of one of the local beef farmers. I also knew that there was one bottle of my favourite Zinfandel left. But since my wife does not drink red wine, I would just have to open a bottle of Alsatz Gewurztraminer - Vendanges Tardives.     It would be necessary to drive to a small village on the very edge of Eastern France to get such wine and this bottle was one of the few remaining of a case which I had bought twenty years ago. There was also a bottle of Bonnezeaux lurking on the lowest shelf of the wine rack. (I never describe the Big B to anyone, it is already too expensive to drink). 

My wife had asked at what time we should be eating . About 3.00 pm seemed to be a good time to me. Breakfast was easy to organise. It would be scrambled egg on toast flavoured with caviar accompanied by a glass or two of champagne. I opened the presents but one I knew would be very special. It was a collection of photos of the horses in my life, complete with captions made into an A4 sized book. The photos had been sent by my wife over the internet as jpeg files and they had returned by post as a book of glossy photos. Magic. The photos reminded me of the early 1970s and a couple of them showed myself in my 30s when I had black hair, a black beard and a trim figure. When looking at the second page of the book, I almost had to ask myself who was the handsome chap on the beautiful palomino horse.

After breakfast we took the dogs for a walk around the village. Rocky the Rottweiler had anticipated the walk and he was standing by the door before I had even put my coat on. Jenna, bless her, was not far behind yapping excitedly for all a terrier bitch is worth. We met a couple of villagers and as usual we had a little gossip. No one else was aware that it was my birthday. Surprisingly there were quite a few birds flying about, those which had not flown off to warmer climes. The cows meandered over to see us and up on the hillside there were at least half a dozen of the livery horses grazing on some remarkably green grass.    Sadly my horse DiDi was not amongst them.    We walked home slowly.

I slumped down into my reclining chair and looked up on my laptop to see how some shares were doing. On this day our cars were to stay on the driveway. 

The big meal was easy enough. Previously I’d made sure that the prawns were ready to be fried in garlic flavoured oil, the mushrooms and asparagus would be easy to steam. The steaks were brushed lightly with olive oil and placed on the grill. The olive bread from the Italian baker had been wrapped tightly in foil and was still fresh from the day before. Desert was a deep dish of syllabub to be eaten with almond biscuits. A ripe stilton cheese and a selection of German dark chocolates finished off the meal. All I had to do was to choose from my collection of antique crystal the appropriate glasses for each wine.

My wife and I ate at a leisurely pace. We reminisced about the horses. By the time the coffee arrived, I was almost asleep in my reclining chair which is strategically placed in front of the big picture window over looking the garden. It was a cold day outside but the views of the garden from the house can be spectacular at all times of the year. On this particular day everything was green but of different shades of green. Here and there I could see traces of frost.

By about 4.30pm it was already quite dark outside. I stood up and just as I moved to draw the curtains the phone rang . It was from the young woman who has been training my horse DiDi. She wished me a happy birthday not only from herself but also on behalf of DiDi who was already rugged up and stabled for the night.   She lives now eighteen miles away in livery over the other side of the river but it is all for her future benefit from  becoming a possible Dressage Diva.   

Without a doubt this body which I live inside does not function as well as once it did. There are pills which nowadays I must take each day. But I can walk, talk, hear, see and feel, although I can no longer smell. I am doing well compared with a lot of other senior citizens which is undoubtedly what I am these days.

What a day. We had no visitors. We did not go out. My wife of 46 years and I had enjoyed just a few simple pleasures together.

Upon reflection I realize what a lucky man I am.


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## Sync (Dec 11, 2010)

Hello

An interesting read. I started reading non-fiction when I began critiquing bio's. I find it a different kind of writing than prose. You have to find your voice to make it really good.

I believe you found that.

There were instances of present tense flickered here and there, not a lot but I've been looking for things like that for too many years not to have to mention. If you read through you'll catch them easily. 

I seen one or two sentences that took me out of the moment you so drew in so well. for example 

you wrote:

But since my wife does not drink red wine, I would just  have to open a bottle of Alsatz Gewurztraminer - Vendanges Tardives. *     It would be necessary to drive to a small village on the very edge of  Eastern France to get such wine and this bottle was* one of the few  remaining of a case which I had bought twenty years ago. There was also a  bottle of Bonnezeaux lurking on the lowest shelf of the wine rack. (I  never describe the Big B to anyone, it is already too expensive to  drink). 

all of that bold could be removed, because it takes us away from the wine at home to off in some very edge place, which isn't so bad to do, but, you go back to your home and the wine in it in the last sentence, so I wondered why the deviation. You see, even if things are true, that indeed you'd have to go to this small village to replace it - the reader doesn't need to know about this, not enough to break apart the moment you are drawing in the readers mind, because every time you tear a readers eyes away, it makes it harder each time to bring them back or make them want to.

Now it can stay as is, and there are a few other ones, not many. But this can stay as is, and it will still be a great read of which I have enjoyed. What I mentioned above is just how I see things in my mind, I try to fine tune using your voice, eh, sometimes i'm just crazy 

anyway, sorry for the ramble

I enjoyed, and learnt some things

Sync


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## Divus (Dec 11, 2010)

Sync
Thank you for reading and taking the trouble to critique the article. It is interesting to read your opinion.
Here is the fine tuning. 

This article was a deliberate piece of understatement
To buy that bottle of wine would cost maybe $45 - but because it was produced by a very small vineyard probably it is nowadays unobtainable by the general public. To use price to describe the quality or rarity of the wine would be inappropriate but to leave its rarity unmentioned would be to devalue the occasion of drinking it. The article is directed at someone of mature years who would know that I am very privileged to have a wine store containing some rare wines. 

Indeed I am privileged in many ways. Have you ever eaten home made syllabub? Have you been married for 46 years to the same woman?

I deliberately understated the scene, as it was experienced. 

The article is directed at a narrow audience - it will be dismissed by most of the young folks but I hope it will appeal to those viewers over 55.

I have looked at the instances of present tense but I don't like to use the past tense for someone still alive or a situation which still exists. I'll bend the rule - if there is a rule. 

B G


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## Sync (Dec 11, 2010)

Opinions are always free. 55 is the cut off eh? I'm soooooo close. 

For most parts I do not read the stories, I read the lines, it comes from critiquing so many pieces. My critiques reflect in that way.

Thanks for explaining.

Sync


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## IanMGSmith (Dec 11, 2010)

Hi Divus,

Enjoyed this read. Especially appreciated the honesty and understated emotion.

You 72 year olds were/are a good year. 

Making a comeback at 60 (after 40 year apprenticeship as a chair jockey) I am sorely embarassed by 72 year olds running 5K under 20 minutes! 

Best regards,

Ian


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## Divus (Dec 12, 2010)

IMGS

Welcome to the Forum
You'll discover that there is a 'mature' section on this Forum but you will have to put finger to keypad to find it.
In turn we need an article to find the code you use.

The lines of poetry - where do they come from?


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## Jane Martin (Dec 12, 2010)

Can as I say, Divus, that as a 27 year old I really enjoyed this piece.  The value of simple pleasures and the wonder of being married to the same person for half a lifetime or more wasnt lost on me, it sounds magic.  Age is not a barrier to appreciating these things, I know people your age who wouldnt get this.  On a different note, its nice to encounter another equestrian enthusiast on the forum


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## Divus (Dec 12, 2010)

Jane

Age is indeed no barrier to appeciating things but sometimes recognising them as special calls for a few turns around the bloc.

I too am pleased also to have found another horse lover on the Forum. Look up Joe the Delinquent on Writing Forum 'Fiction', there are a few tales about a horse in that thread. I have no reason to suspect Joe was Irish but his succesor was born near Cork.

D


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## IanMGSmith (Dec 12, 2010)

Hi Divus,

Fortunately, haven't matured yet. (smile) Thanks.

_The lines of poetry - where do they come from? _

If you refer my demonstration of empathy with Kimberly? _"Love is an old ship that sails on the sea..."_ from a song I wrote in the 60s called "September Moon" and "_With a face like that..."_ from one of my posts in a fun 1990s poetry game on Muses Muse where I had to begin "_With a face like that_" LOL 

Signature (below) written March 2010 is just a newfound passion for life and a play with words to express the magnificence, bursting into existence with dazzling beauty, so precious in fragile flight through space and time. 

Thanks again,

Ian


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