Short for a “compromised old” is “cold”

Fedora for contemplation in slow motion 

Aging process can compromise mobility and hit the bones with surprising agility. Also, like aging cheese, especially men start emitting a clearly distinctive smell as they get older. In general, the human body gets saltier and calcifies over the decades of life. So, the bones should as a matter of fact be on the winning side. However, that’s not the case; it’s the aging that takes all the agility, and the bones are only left with “fraud agility” i.e. fragility. I personally know that my sixty-year-old bones do not scream out of joy when the bus leaving for downtown is two minutes early, and I’m only one. They do scream, but out of the fear of a falling knee-cap or my chronic trochanteric bursitis. The latter is my favorite; anyone intending to bother me with a personal health issue will get fret as I pull it out of my sleeve. Hearing the mere word can conjure up all the beasts of Apocalypse if one’s imagination is any good (woe betide the hypochondriacs). Old people immediately relate it to cancer, and the younger find it a VD. 

Not so long time ago, I discussed aging problems over dinner with three old friends who all are about the same age with me. We all agreed that the mobility issue really stinks, but the stink wasn't bad. It was also suggested that men actually like this odor, and move slowly as they don't want it to fade away. I myself had an old idea that the smell has its origin in disintegrating bones, and that I had tried to find some supporting evidence. By the way, is personal hygiene an incongruous topic as much as in a dim-light restaurant?

So, I was dining with my old friends, and occasionally some of us had a need to use the local facilities. Getting up from the chair was almost with no exception accompanied by a barely audible sigh, although the effort wasn't that exhausting, and there was no obvious hurry. The voice effect wasn't for the relief in sight, but for a job-well-done. This was followed by some tentative small steps, carefully moving the chair backwards, and turning in the walking direction without pulling the tablecloth down. The accuracy of the movements was beautiful to watch; the eyes of many a fellow diner widened in admiration. What happened in the facilities is not essential. However, it was concluded that, in near future, some flow issues might be lurking in that department. Slow moving and smells seem to walk hand in hand in the life of an aging man. Our fellow diners in that cozy restaurant cocked their ears.

When you already have a half century plus ten in your pocket, most major tricks like moving the weight from one foot to the other require concentration. A pertaining sigh is well deserved. We all agreed that the time for major athletic efforts is starting to fade, but instead some smaller things like walking past a gym or turning down bellboy’s services will provide us with mature satisfaction. It wasn't long ago that I myself, right before a young waitress, carried two full loads of meatballs in multigrain porridge to my breakfast table. Her hesitating look bothered me for a second, but the table wasn't far.

Moving carefully could also be the result of refined mental processing entailing healthy anticipation of possible untoward happenings. Smells can be anticipated less often. Not breaking bones is one goal, but there also has to be something else. There is a chance that over the years some muscle memory has been lost, and especially complicated movement patterns have to be studied every time over on the spot. But, on the other hand, couldn't this be considered as an ability to really fast consider, review and polish whatever you’re slowly doing: minute meditation, tablecloth yoga, transcendental masculinity… any apt description you can find goes. Even the sports professionals and specialists would say that the most simplified and economical path of movement is the most efficient and winning. As getting to this phase has taken lots of time, this could be all but the top of our individual evolution. Also, pertinent odours appeal perfectionists. See what I mean? At the dinner table, our conversation dealt with lots of issues that the fellow diners in the restaurant found invigorating.

The odour discussion was still short of conclusions. A strong body odour may be for the bearer himself too hard to recognize or possibly likable, but the next of kin could be too kind to tell if it disturbs them, we thought. Showering every day wouldn't necessarily help if the stuff surfaced in a continuous flow. But if the odour was related to the aging of bones, the bearer wouldn't be to blame.

The last time I broke my arm I tried to find some hard evidence to support my theory. Unfortunately the actual fracture line was covered by soft tissues, and sniffing the skin above gave no results. Thirty-six years earlier, when I broke my arm the first time, this didn't even occur to me.

The friendly surgeon, who operated my arm a few weeks later, wasn't of much help either. His good friend the anaesthesiologist stubbornly made me pass out before any smell from the opened fracture site possibly escaped. So, no evidence for my theory was gained. On the other hand, the smell has to penetrate all the tissues, and it takes more or less time for it to get into the atmosphere. Perhaps some more mileage has to be clocked before the guys of our age need to go shopping for cologne in a wholesale. My friends listened to my talk with a serious expression on their face. The claimed link was worth some serious research, but according to their calculations, reckless empirical studies wouldn't provide strong enough statistical strength. Power analysis alone would be a pain in the neck. The three scars on my left arm were admired by the fellow diners in our fine restaurant.

When writing these stories and reading books, I have learnt that finding the author’s pace of expression is essential, not only for understanding the text (despite sloppy punctuation), but also for finding the underlying mood. The manner of conversing of these three guys I was dining with had changed over the years. We had known each other more or less since the preschool age, but during the last good twenty years we had met only once. Although our company was never boisterous (as far as I remember), now there was a sort of pleasant pace in individual talks and in exchange of thoughts. Or, was it a sign of approaching senility? Is there a chance we simply took our time for trying to understand what was being said, or tried to avoid losing the train of thought in order to say something worth listening? Is it possible I’ll be getting all the ciphered stuff first next week? I completely ignore the alternative that the odour concentration of four 60-year old men could have blurred our minds. Anyway, I have an impression that our fellow diners in that pretty restaurant had adopted a sedated page by the time they walked home. The next time we four meet, we'll most likely have a new audience. Break a leg…! 

Caution in walking is good, but so is discretion in talking. In world literature, there is no shortage of quotations where "talking" has been defined as a somewhat female domain. As over time walking gradually slows down in men, does talking respectively lessen in women? Are "walking" and "talking" in this respect parallel phenomena? After getting the report of the main lines of our talks, the spouses of these three will perhaps squeeze out the truth about whether our night out was a social and sincere rendezvous or undermined by pretension. Women tend to do it by nature. It’s just so hard to visualize this casual and laid-back ambiance in the company of four girl friends after not seeing each other for twenty years. Alone the required preparation time for such an evening would speak in my favour. Or, is it only that the world actually is what it seems to, and my conception of women is simply based on too many assumptions. Would Mr. Ockham agree? It is no assumption that the bones of postmenopausal women start losing minerals faster than in men as the female oestrogen levels run low, and thus the positive correlation between bone loss and cautious talking doesn't work. Moreover, whatever stuff the women lose from their bones, and even if it ended up on the skin, most of them would still smell better than men.

As the evening got old, and our discussions drifted in the direction of grandchildren and other mundane issues, we decided to call it a day. But the next time we'll meet, we'll first have sauna.