Talk Of The Times Sometimes It Takes A Translator To Figure Where Conversation Is ‘Coming From’

Sometimes I think I should have some kind of instant translator gadget to take with me when I lunch with my young women friends. I’m 75 and I’m always flattered that they seem to want to be with me, but quite often I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Here’s an example. I’m dutifully eating a healthy veggie sandwich, while longing for a peanut butter, dates and jelly one, and I hear my cute young friend say, “I mean, I have to get my head straight.”

I try to keep the alfalfa sprouts from slipping out of my mouth and, at the same time, give her a surreptitious inspection. As far as I can tell, her head and neck and everything else are aligned perfectly. What can I do but nod and try to look compassionate? Then, last month, I was having hummus - where are the London broils and potato au gratins of yester-years? - and the young woman across from me, who manages a Spokane bank branch, said something about her biological clock ticking. I was somewhat alarmed. I mean, these days, I don’t want to be around anything in a public place that I can hear ticking. But I tried to give her a warm, understanding smile and stop thinking about explosions and such.

Then there was the lunch where my young CPA friend said, “I have to know who I am.” Oh, oh, I thought. Could this be the beginning of some kind of youthful dementia? I mean, all she has to do is look in her wallet and find her driver’s license.

But, of course, I couldn’t suggest that to her, so I told her, desperate for something to say, that I hadn’t had a nocturnal charley horse for three months. She said something about that being great. But I was sure she was slightly puzzled at why I seemed elated with my health news. Last week, at a lunch with a young woman who is a dental hygienist and in her late 30s, I was really mystified. She said, and I swear she was looking at me in a way that meant she was sure I would understand, “You know how important our biorhythms are.”

I toyed with my pasta salad - why can’t I find a pineapple, cottage cheese, maraschino cherry salad on the menus anymore? Then I nodded as if to say I certainly did know. Then, while I was thinking how smart and pretty she is, I heard the words “birth control.”

Well, quite obviously, birth control is not the most timely subject in my life right now. But I did spend a few seconds silently pondering if biorhythms had something to do with two people dancing. Then I decided it couldn’t, as I’ve never heard dancing touted as a deterrent to conception. Once in awhile one of these young friends tells me she just has to know where she’s “coming from.” I always want to tell them the names of their hometowns, but instead tell them the latest developments in my life, that I’m having the brown spots on my face removed, or that I found one of my tiny stud earrings in my pill bottle the other day.

I’m just trying to get them to laugh, although frankly I wouldn’t like it if they laughed too loudly. But usually they look a bit baffled, as if I have been speaking a foreign language.

Well two can play that game. Sometimes they tell me they are survivors. And they look pleased and proud of themselves. So I try to look pleased, too. But I think to myself that we’re ALL survivors, for God’s sake, as long as we’re still breathing.

But I must be honest. If they tell me that they admire me because, they say, I’m really a survivor - and I can tell it’s meant as a compliment - then that’s completely different. I’ve worked hard and suffered not a little to be this age and I know what they can’t possibly know yet: There are survivors and then there are survivors.

Just the other day, I had lunch with a young woman who’s a writer. We both ordered green salads - nothing on them but lemon juice - and some 12-grain bread. I wanted to order a quiche and a piece of carrot cake but these young women with their wonderful figures unconsciously intimidate me.

As we were finishing, she said, “Jane, I’m almost positive my analyst would say that your life has been one of codependency. Although, just between us, I wouldn’t agree with her. What do you think?” I hadn’t the slightest idea what “codependency” meant so I tried to look enigmatic and change the subject at the same time. When I got home, the first thing I did was grab a handful of chocolate chip cookies - I’ve convinced myself that too much of this new “health food” is not good for my body - and then I got out the dictionary.

You see, I wanted to find out what kind of life I’ve had. Or haven’t had.

MEMO: Jane Lavagetto is a free-lance writer based in Spokane.