Party Time

Today's Times has an article on the designer Valentino, who in his retirement moves between his five residences in various parts of the world, maintaining a daily schedule of social engagements in every one of them.  I envy him, not that I was ever endowed with his brilliance, fame, sense of self, nor money for that matter, but I miss the life of constant social activity.  When I was in my fifties and no longer involved in keeping house for children, nothing stopped me from going out to lunches with friends every day and to dinners and events with others every evening.  Some people grow exhausted on that schedule; I thrive.  Well, now I am in my mid eighties, and no longer bopping around Cambridge Massachusetts or New York City.  Having removed to Sarasota Florida, I dared myself to take on a very different life.  Of course, my decisions were not mine alone since my husband has been along for the planning and executing all along.  We know very few people here, and do not have the money or inclination to enter the social scene which has more to do with very rich people working on philanthropic projects in common than academics sitting around dishing one another.  My husband does not suffer small talk gladly and is absolutely happy holed up in his room sitting at his desk all day and all evening.  Whether he really likes to or not, he genially accompanies me to the theater, the symphony, the opera, the chamber music concert, all of which are very much in abundance when "the season" begins down here.  But I have a lot of what they call down-time, so I have had to learn the life of a recluse.  It suits me at this age; getting around is sometimes enough of a chore that staying put has maximum allure.  Maybe if I had a car and driver, as a New York friend does, I would seek the bright lights and loud conversations of years ago.  It's like disco; I hear that beat on the radio and I want to dance, but, hey, as my trainer at the gym tells me, disco is dead.  Most of the time I live in my head, and actually seem to myself to be fumbling when I am called upon to engage in conversation.  Yesterday I went the "date" to a fancy lunch when a woman friend's partner was unavailable to take her.  I had not been so animated for a long time, could scarcely hold the knife and fork at the table, or so it seemed to me.  It was exhausting.  I guess I really am ready to live largely in a life of my mind.  Let's just hope it continues to function.