The post-holiday season got me into a contemplative mood. After the rush and noise of Christmas shopping, a hush descended on me as I drove through virtually deserted streets on December 25. The quiet and lack of immediate demands gave me a few moments to let my imagination run wild.

I began to think about the concept of my last Blog – do women really want sensitive men, those special men who are in touch with their feminine side? Or, are women unconsciously repelled by the very same qualities they say they need? Then I thought, Santa Claus appears to be a sensitive man. He’s a philanthropist of the highest order. He is applauded around the world and never even took an income tax break for charity.

So, I thought, what if Santa came into a bar where the older set hangs out and sat next to me? How would I react? Here’s the picture:

I’m sitting in an upscale bar in Center City Philadelphia. The bar is made of carved oak with a black marble counter top. I’m looking at brightly lit glass shelving holding top-drawer bottles of liquor. It’s the day after Christmas so it’s quiet. I’m drinking an icy vodka martini and chilling out. A man, two seats down, is staring at me. I give him a small smile. He moves over and sits next to me.

“Want to buy me a drink, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Not really.” I say.

“Just kidding.” He looks up. “Hey, barkeep, give this nice lady another, whatever she’s drinking.”

I look over at this brash man who didn’t even ask me if I wanted another drink and find his appearance pleasing. He’s wearing a navy, cable knit sweater and tan slacks. His salt and pepper hair is cut short, but several strands sweep over a high forehead. His nose is large but quite appropriate for his tall, thick size. He’s solidly built and in his early sixties.

“I’m Jimmy.”

He extends his hand, and I shake it. It is cool and smooth to the touch, not a hand that belongs to a manual worker. It’s how I picture Jimmy to be – plastic. “Okay. Are you married or otherwise engaged?” I ask

“Nope. Been there, done that and have given it up for Lent. Just want to have fun now.”

At least he’s honest. Do I dare sound corny and tell him that I’ve been there, too, but want to have a committed relationship? I decide to keep quiet.

“You’re a pleasant looking lass, he says peering down my v-neckline at my cleavage. Well, can’t say I didn’t wear this outfit deliberately. We’re smack in the era of cleavage and skin showing. I am much too old to do the hip-skin thing, but a little cleavage works wonders. Oh, why are men so simplistic?

“Do you know why your marriage or marriages didn’t last?” I ask.

“If you want to count that I wasn’t home much because I’m a workaholic and when I was around I watched sports on TV, you might count that against me. What man doesn’t do that? I just didn’t get the woman who would tolerate that? But I’m not changing.”

“Did you enjoy intimacy? Were you a good listener and give your wife quality time when you were together?”

“Hey, that’s chick stuff. I’m sure I was a good husband. I’m not good with domestic stuff. As I provider, I did the best and loved my kids. Isn’t that enough?” He shook his head. “Look, if you want to have fun, I’m your guy. I’m good in the sack.”

So, I’m face to face with a man who has the bad boy syndrome, and, I must say, it has some appeal. Why not be carefree and enjoy every second? No strings attached. Hey, next year arthritis might get me or some other damned illness.

Thudding footsteps sound behind me. I turn. Santa Claus is standing in the middle of the marble floor, removing his big, white mittens. He walks over and sits next to me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks. His beard had several tiny icicles hanging from it.

“Sure, Santa. What are you doing here?”

“No one is home. I haven’t publicized it because it will upset millions of children, but Mrs. Claus passed away last year. The elves have gone to visit with their own families. I’m lonely.”

“Santa, you’re a super star. Thousands of people would invite you to dinner.” Jimmy, seemingly not surprised by Santa’s presence, moves away and sits next to an attractive woman.

“It’s one of those oddities. You see, because I was busy pleasing everyone, I never developed close relationships. Children love me, parents love me, but with limits. It’s sweet and pleasant, but I’m not really an integral part of their lives.”

The bartender delivers the drinks. Santa had ordered a mint martini. We click glasses.

“I realize since my wife died I was remiss in our relationship. I used my enormous fame and generosity as a ploy to keep from getting close to her emotionally. We only talked about my work and the stresses that go with it. My wife complained that I didn’t listen to her, but that used to make me angry. I insisted that making toys for children superseded her demands for attention. So many people depend on me.” His expression turns weary. “It’s only since she’s gone that I see how I feared love because it would make me vulnerable. The woman of my life meant so much to me, gave me everything within her capacity. I cut her off so that I might devote myself to the world. Giving my all to others was easier than working on my marriage with the one person who mattered most in my life.”

I finish my drink, grab his unfinished cocktail and down that quickly. Was this real? Or was I having a psychotic episode? I admit to being a bit strung out from guzzling bourbon eggnogs yesterday, but this was beyond hallucinating.

“I opened up to one woman since my dear wife’s passing,” Santa continues. “She had champagne waiting for me when I came down her chimney. She’d heard about Mrs. Claus’ demise and thought we’d get along. I poured my heart out, telling her that I’d reevaluated my life and knew I’d missed so much in the pursuit of success. I wanted to change now, discover who I really was under this hand-tailored, red suit. I wanted to discover poetry and learn to cook. I let myself cry in front of her, told her how upsetting it was to always act strong even when I don’t feel it. I lived in constant fear someone might not like me and became the epitome of a crowd pleaser. I want to be off of all those greeting cards. I would willingly trade my celebrity for obscurity if I could fine a passionate love interest.

“Suddenly, this woman got a look of horror and said she had always suspected my relationship with the elves and was I having an affair with one of them? That did it. With a clatter, I zipped back up the chimney. As I sailed through the air in my sleigh, I decided that I wouldn’t let her attitude stop me from seeking answers within myself. Somewhere, a woman exists who truly wants a sensitive man. I’ll search even if I have to miss next Christmas.” He sighs and his blue eyes get a mischievous twinkle. “When I first saw you, I thought you might be that kind of woman.”

I look over at Jimmy. He sits alone now, gives me a big smile and a small wave.

I stare at Santa, little beads of water from melted icicles cling to his brilliantly, white beard.

“I’d love for you to dance through life with me until the music stops,” he says

Or my tits fall off – whichever comes first. I say a little prayer in hopes that Santa is a vegetarian. Then I remember his fondness for his pet reindeers. “Santa, do you want to come back to my place?”
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Men have roles thrust upon them by society. Call it the John Wayne syndrome; avoidance of chick flicks, disdain of inner reflection, keeping emotions in check, using sexual conquests as power, exhibiting fearlessness and obsessing over sports. A man who displays too much emotion is called a wimp. Yet, the manliest men I know are capable of being vulnerable in their relationships and break the role taboos imposed upon them. Agreed, that type of male is certainly not in the majority, but they are out there.

I dare say, the men who step out of the prescribed tough-guy image are braver and, generally have better relationships – and better sex lives, to boot. Women who truly relish that type of male respond in kind. Then there is the woman who says she wants this open, honest man who exposes his innermost feelings, but in reality she can’t handle it. Although she, too, is a victim of brainwashing of stereotypocal roles, she sends the man signals that she cannot tolerate his sissy behavior. In response, some men emotionally distance themselves. These issues go to the heart of difficulties within relationships.

The image of the beer guzzling, couch potato, swaggering, sports addicted, non-responsive mate has been fodder for comedians and humor writers. It is not funny! Married men brag about their extra-marital affairs, even if they don’t have one going on. Conversations about sexual prowess are a badge of honor in the locker room. Women, on the other hand, say they want emotional support, quality listening, and a connection with their mate yet, can be repelled by the really nice, sensitive male.

Women who tend to be needy are even more demanding of their men. They want them strong, decisive and unflinching – never making a wrong move. It chills them to hear the man reveal his deepest fears and insecurities.

The most frequent lament from women is the difficulty in finding a responsive, caring, loving man. A man who can cry, read poetry, send flowers, react when a story is sad and even kiss their hand in public is their fervent wish.

I have to wonder if, deep down, this is really what they really want? Some sincerely do, while many others have the macho man image wired into their brains and, as a result, give off mixed signals to men. Women have to take some responsibility for perpetuating these male images that destroy relationships. An evolved man said to me recently, “Women want a sensitive man up to a point.” I think, for the most part, he’s on target.

I have heard women of all ages question the sexual preferences of men who are too sensitive, even women who are highly intelligent and non-traditional. How many sweet, attentive guys are heroes in books and movies? Would Hollywood ever select a Mr. Rogers type to play the action/tough-talking roles that Bruce Willis or Sylvester Stallone portray? What’s wrong with showing male heroes as a heterosexuals who expose their feminine side and can also do a car chase?

This divide between men and women drives them apart or makes for an uneasy alliance. It is easier for men to watch umpteen hours of escapist football, and to be disengaged rather than deal with confounding issues. Men and women must thoroughly self-examine themselves to know exactly what they want from the other and then set out to achieve it.

I think we need a new way of thinking, and it has to start in early childhood. The best time for molding minds into becoming creative, intelligent adults is in the pre-school through third grades. If they are infused with the three R’s, books, language skills, story telling, uninhibited art skills and a myriad of other activities, they have an excellent chance of continuing growth and mind expansion throughout life. So, too, this is the best time to introduce the acceptance of intermixing roles for both sexes. Children can learn to breakdown the barriers of predetermined conduct.

Men and women are raised from birth to behave and react differently. We tend to be tougher on boys that cry than girls. We’re terrified when little boys play with dolls. Boys are given a sense of entitlement and women are told to be nurturers. I speak not just about an older era, but to the continuing blind spot in child rearing. It is somewhat better than it once was, but it still exits in a more subtle form these days. Parents swear they make the effort to avoid gender differentiation. I believe them. But this attitude is institutionalized and insidious. Teachers, even avowed feminists, will let little boys misbehave or tolerate rudeness more than they will with girls without realizing it.

As I said many times before, I don’t believe men are from Mars and women from Venus. If we accept this, we are doomed to continue the high volume of divorces. Partners must dare to step into each others worlds. And you guys who are always complaining about your wives getting headaches, I know this change will improve your sex life. Minds in synch make great foreplay.

From the sexy grandmother
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BLOW JOBS! So there I’ve said it aloud. One night I might indulge in wild, intoxicating, sultry romance and the next day visit the grandchildren. These diverse events, don’t stop me from from bringing children’s books, DVD’s and having sweet, delicious conversations with the little tykes. Like younger generations, I, as an older woman, can compartmentalize my activities, and sex has its own enticing section in my life.

The prejudice directed against the elderly who indulge in sexuality is especially pronounced when it comes to single grandmothers. The fact that she can have another life that might take her into darkened bedrooms, sensual touches in forbibben places, incense, candles and oiled bodies is fairly abhorrent among younger people — even among some of my contemporaries. Sometimes when I talk about about eroticism, I’m labeled as a horny, frustrated woman who needs a good lay. Well, who wouldn’t like a good lay with the emphasis on the word good?

If you want me to act age appropriate, I can’t because I don’t know what that means. A big culprit to older people acting “groovy” is society’s demand for designated behaviors. A friend of mine who teaches at a prominent local university had an interesting reaction from his freshman students to older people having sex. My friend is forty-four and just about the age of the parents of the students. For the most part, the students didn’t believe their parents indulged in sex (forget about oral sex). It blew him away.

What are the reasons for this? For a long time, older people didn’t talk about sexual issues even if they indulged. It wasn’t considered polite, to say the least. And so, as people aged, they aided in creating an image of a sexless existence.

In my view a big contributor to this incorrect myth of the sexless older person is “tradition.” It acts as a narrow interpretation of how to behave. There is always this fear of “stepping-out-of-line.” People tend to congregate and set-up what’s appropriate and what is not and then spoon feed this to like-minded others.

For our basic mode of behavior, the Ten Commandments say it all. But the parts of tradition that hinder mind-growth are those that dictate; what is an acceptable career, modes of dress, body types, prescribed gender roles, gender choices, age appropriateness, religious beliefs and general comportment, and the list goes on. To follow these dictates takes a lot of energy. To assure we do not stray from those prescribed boundaries absorbs much of our attention. In other words, we are so busy presenting an acceptable image to the world, we neglect to develop our creativity and sense of adventure. We rubberstamp each other to the point of being terrified of self-examination which leads to brain death and a lack of a sense of humor.

Why not seek a lifestyle that feels right to you and is open to new ideas? In truth, a free-wheeling approach may make the individual vulnerable when they have exposed who they really are inside. You become the same person behind closed doors or in front of people. Few are willing to take this risk because it opens them up to criticism from the followers of a defined set of behavior. Those people can be awfully judgmental. It takes courage to go against the tide of opinion because the punishment can be ostracism.

Why not be tolerant or amused by an older person using colorful language, dressing and acting out of character. I’ve reached a point in life where it’s time to dislodge my repression. I’ve held my emotions in check, my desires buried too long. Why is it inappropriate for a mature person to say blow job, going down or fuck me? It doesn’t mean I’ve gone senile. It means I’m a robust, lusty creature — just like you younger folk.

I advise you all to get out there, no matter what age and not give a damn about the notoriety sure to follow by simply opening your mind, your heart and your intellect about any topic that pleases you. Go to the edge and talk about subjects that make you uncomfortable. Think outside the prescribed box. Show no fear or shame. Kick ass!!

By the way, I welcome responses, questions, disagreement or curse directed to my blog address.

So long from the sexy grandmom.
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