THE ENCHANTED CO-OP

 I was going to submit this piece to NPR's Next Avenue until federal funding cuts were putting it to bed permanently. Since I couldn't find any other senior-related sites that paid for submissions, I figured if anyone was not going to give me money, it might as well be me. 

Ever since Thomas Edison released a 26-second short called The Kiss in 1896,
people have flocked to romantic movies. Nothing moves audiences like two people who meet, fall in love, and confront seemingly insurmountable obstacles before winding up in each other’s arms.

Then there are even rarer occasions where people claim to identify with the onscreen lovers. Not me. Oh, I appreciate a well-made romance but have never lost myself in the reverie running into an old flame in Casablanca, standing at the bow of a doomed ocean liner, or dating a mermaid who looks like Daryl Hannah.

That feeling would change, however, after being married half my 69 years. Appropriately, it was a silent movie made a century ago, when filmmakers were unafraid to display their hearts proudly on their sleeves, and audiences enjoyed having a good cry. Which is why I watch movies like that after my wife has gone to bed.

The movie in question, The Enchanted Cottage, all but demands that you keep a box of tissues close at hand. War veteran Oliver Bashforth, his body twisted and maimed in battle, his eyes sunken and hollow, leads a hermit-like existence in a small town where nobody knows him. Laura Pennington, a homely spinster, enters his life as his housekeeper, leading Oliver to eventually propose marriage. Not out of love, mind you, but to stave off loneliness.

But on their wedding night, the two magically see each other’s beauty, and fall deeply in love. It’s only when Oliver invites guests over are he and Laura reminded they’re as homely as ever. And one of those guests is blind! (Never let a sightless person run his sensitive hands over your face.)

With their magic spell broken, Oliver and Laura go to bed dejected, depressed, and otherwise defeated. Yet upon awakening, they once again see each other’s true beauty. No longer willing to be controlled by what people say about them, the couple are determined to face the world as they are, knowing in their hearts that beauty is far more than skin deep.

Corny? Like a farmer’s market in the middle of summer. Old-fashioned? Get out the whisky and bitters. Effective? On a corny, old-fashioned sucker like me, for sure. There’s something ethereal about silent movies like The Enchanted Cottage that makes it seem like you’re experiencing a dream come to life. In a time where cynicism seems to be life’s default setting, something so unabashedly romantic is startling in its innocence.

Was it possible to replicate that feeling in real life? I got the answer some days later.

My wife Sue and I had spent the afternoon walking around lower Manhattan looking for home supplies I didn’t know we needed. It was the kind of hot, sticky humid day that New York City happily offers its residents every August whether we want it or not (and we never do).

We must have looked pretty beat when stepping into the crowded subway car for our ride home. A younger couple – like, by roughly 45 years – insisted on giving up their seats for us. While my wife is always happy to accept this offer, I tend to refuse, taking it as an insult instead of an act of kindness. I mean, what do they think I am, a senior citizen?

This time, the 85-degree heat and 90% humidity made me think twice. Actually, I didn’t have to think at all, seeing that I pretty much collapsed in the seat barely before the young man was entirely on his two feet.

Sue and I didn’t find it necessary to say out loud what we were thinking: We. Are. Old. We had a good run as an attractive, energetic young couple for many years, but there’s no stopping the wrinkled hands of Father Time.

That evening when getting into bed, we talked about our day – mainly how we didn’t buy what I knew we didn’t need. As we turned on our sides to face one another, a strange thing happened. As I gazed to Sue, I said in astonishment, “You look just like you did when we were dating!”

“So do you!” she replied, equally stunned. Whatever ravages of time were there earlier in the day had vanished. Suddenly we were no longer seniors. We were now the age when we met almost 35 years earlier.

Our eyes locked, as we lay stunned by what was happening, caught up in the near mystical moment, delighting to be in our thirties again, feeling the promise of a long, shared life still before us.

We were reminded how beauty is right in front of us when seen through eyes of love. And despite the occasional bump life places in front of us all, love and, yes, beauty are always there. All you have to do is look for it.

Now, it’s not like we think we’re living in a black & white silent fantasy. Last I looked, Sue was facing another birthday. As for me, I still can’t take ten steps on a humid day without panting like a Newfoundland dog in Bali Bali. But those bumps disappear when we arrive home once more. Our enchanted co-op always works it magic on us.

A good air conditioner in the living room doesn’t hurt, either.

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