Diminished

Yesterday we were invited to a celebratory brunch by the founders of the Urbanite Theatre of which we have been ardent supporters since first we heard of it.  One of the two who created it is a former student at the Asolo Conservatory who was, as the expression goes, one of "our" students, that is, we shared in the annual tuition paid to the University for his training.  So we have always been his champion and he and a fellow student were lucky enough to gain the support of a local developer who built them a black box theater which it is their obligation to maintain by putting on plays and selling tickets.  They have been wildly successful and now in two years time have one thousand subscribers.  Yesterday's brunch was a very cheerful affair; the invitees were like proud parents  rejoicing in their kids' graduation from school.  I was surprised how little I interacted with those present, and it reflected, I decided, how much I have withdrawn from the world.  Years ago I was aggressively the center of attention, or at least a social force to be reckoned with deploying my wit and intelligence in rapid fire delivery thither and yon.  Of course, I have such severe balance issues that getting around is a challenge, and that makes for seriously diminished star turns in a social gathering.  I noticed it the night before when we, as the expression goes, "hosted" our current conservatory student and his girlfriend to a dinner celebrating their end of term.  Granted, our student who is well over six feet, exceptionally genial, ravishingly good looking, and his equally tall companion, also an actor, and well trained to hold her own on any center stage she chooses to create, were both serious competition for my trying for the limelight, but actually I really did not try.  Physically I felt like a pygmy among giants, and as the genial host I had encouraged everyone to order lots of food--it was a Chinese restaurant-- and somehow I could not see my guests over the mountains of food which those two ate up heartily, helped by my husband always a lover of such cuisine.  The conversation between the other three at the table was lively, I registered the laughter, but only intermittently managed the sense; the room itself, cavernous echoed with the laughter and talk of what seemed huge amounts of people.  I picked at the food, sampled the conversation, and was not unhappy, rather better described as not really with it.  That mode of table manners carried over into this morning.  The others are our table were certainly genial and outgoing, and we all confessed our absolute love of the Urbanite Theatre and its founders, but suddenly I realized I was too tired to make conversation, and I  could not really hear, although the ambient noise was minimal.  I felt myself withdrawing, and decided that this was what old age is all about. And then I looked across the room to behold one of the mainstays of any gathering involving the arts in Sarasota.  When yesterday I had been sitting next to her waiting to go into the student presentation I overheard her describing the day's events, her having to cut one event after another short so as to fit everything into what seemed a schedule that began well before noon and was projected into the nighttime.  She has a faded glamor that recalls days gone by; she is exactly my age.  Whew!