Good Luck to You, Emma Thompson

Another crazy old lady . . .

You didn’t think I’d model it, did you? I’m barely comfortable with the duck being there.

When I was much younger, being 60ish was considered “elderly.” You’d read it in the newspaper all the time, “An elderly woman in her 60s was robbed today as she got into her car after picking up her prescriptions at the pharmacy . . .” or “One of the attendees, an older woman of 64, said she’s always been a fan of Ms. Steele’s books and was tickled to see her in person . . .” My Grandma was a little old lady with gray hair and an apron and a little chuckle that could be both adorable and disproving. I don’t really know anything about her life except that she made amazing Swedish meatballs and lip-smacking Spritz cookies. Now I have to deal with the fact that she probably had a sex life, because, let’s face it—I’m a Gramma and I do. You remember how hard it was to imagine your parents having sex? Try imagining your grandparents having sex!

Sex and the 60ish came up recently because I watched the movie Good Luck to You, Leo Grande starring Dame Emma Thompson and some super hot guy, I didn’t catch his name. Emma (and I feel like I can call her Emma now since I’ve seen her naked) plays Nancy, a woman in her 50s who, after her husband dies, indulges in her desire to discover what a sex life could actually involve, not having had much of one with her deceased husband. Lots of sex ensues. And I don’t think it’s a spoiler to report that Emma stands stark naked in front of a full-length mirror for several very long minutes. With the lights on! In real life, Emma is 63 years old. What kind of crazy old lady agrees to strip buck naked for all the world to see—on purpose?

The movie, and both character Nancy’s story and Emma’s performance of it, reminded me of other crazy old ladies I know: (I didn’t use their names, but they know who they are.)

My neighbor up and sold her house in Connecticut last year, sold most of her belongings, packed up the rest in a Suburban and drove those to her brother’s house in Iowa. Then she returned to Connecticut--all the while solo--to finish the closing and move to Israel with her beloved. During a pandemic. She’s 68. What was she thinking?

Speaking of transatlantic moves, another close friend had been eyeing houses in France for some time and, when she and her husband finally found one, they jumped on it. They also sold their house and some of their possessions; the rest they packed into a shipping container and moved the entire household to France. Including their cat. She’s 66. (That’s two friends who moved overseas…I hope it wasn’t something I said.)

I have a long-time friend on Frye Island who lives in Colorado. An artist, her summer studio is on the island and she hauls her 71-year-old self (and this year, her dog) back and forth to and from, mostly by herself. Driving. From Colorado to Maine and back again. Another friend on the island, 73, has largely maintained her cottage on her own for the last couple of decades. She usually rents the cottage out, but now she’s considering renting less, enjoying it herself more. Her favorite dinner when she’s there? Potato chips and ice cream. Crazy.

A woman I’ve known since college enjoyed a successful career in the non-profit world. Seems like once you’ve had that experience, you could reasonably hang up your rolodex secure in the knowledge that you made a difference. But no, not this 63-year-old woman—she went back to school, got a teaching degree, and now teaches ESOL in the largest school district in Maryland, but not before getting a hip replacement. What a nut job.

In other COL news, my 78-year-old friend is being extra cautious these days, not because she’s 78, but because she doesn’t want to break her hip since she just reunited with a former boyfriend and then how would they have sex?

COL seen in the wild

I often think of all these crazy old ladies when I have to do things that cause me to grimace or delay action. The craziest thing I’ve done lately is buy myself a two-piece bathing suit, which I haven’t done—or worn--in 30 years and still don’t look good in. But I did it anyway and while I may not wear it at the public beach, I am enjoying wearing it in the privacy of my own home. (I could wear it in Italy, I guess. Italy is chock full of crazy old ladies.) I expect there are other things that will come along that might be challenging or difficult, but I will rely on my crazy old lady friends—including Emma--for inspiration because as my 70-year-old friend said after she remodeled her attic, because it was something she always wanted to do, “I’m not done yet.”  

I wonder if Emma has a two-piece bathing suit?