This is 64.5: Alice Kaltman Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire
"I feel less important, in ways that are good. There’s a certain pleasure in embracing that all we are is 'dust in the wind.'”
From the time I was 10, I’ve been obsessed with what it means to grow older. I’m curious about what it means to others, of all ages, and so I invite them to take “The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire.”
Here, author Alice Kaltman—who published her first book at 58—responds. - Sari Botton
Alice Kaltman is the author of the story-collection STAGGERWING, the novels WAVEHOUSE, THE TANTALIZING TALE OF GRACE MINNAUGH, and DAWG TOWNE. Alice’s stories appear in journals like Lost Balloon, The Pinch, Joyland, Hobart and BULL, and in numerous anthologies. She’s not thrilled by the sound of her own voice, but you might like it. If so, you can hear her read her work at Micro Podcasts, Elevator Stories, and No Contact. Alice splits her time between Brooklyn and Montauk, NY. where she lives with her husband and her dog Ollie.
How old are you?
Woman alive, I’m 65! Actually, I just wanted to make a rhyme. I’m really 64-and-a-half.
Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?
Up until recently I felt perpetually like I was 18 years old. Spry, knowledgeable to some degree, but still curious and ready for new things. I think it had to do with my basically optimistic outlook and zippy constitution. I was (am?) an athlete and a dancer. I’m not quite as spry as I used to be, though by most people’s standards I’m probably still annoyingly energetic. But that optimistic outlook has definitely started to wilt given the current state of the world.
Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?
I guess I’ve finally landed in the “just right” category. Took me a while. And as someone who up until recently felt young, “just right” feels pretty fucking weird.
I was (am?) an athlete and a dancer. I’m not quite as spry as I used to be, though by most people’s standards I’m probably still annoyingly energetic.
What do you like about being your age?
Lots of semi-seniors talk about the glorious freedom in giving up the self-doubt, compare and despair bullshit we put ourselves through as younger people. There’s great relief in letting go of that useless energy for sure. But here’s a different type of letting go I’m into these days; I sometimes enjoy being forgetful, flaky, scatterbrained. I used to have an incredible memory. Almost photographic, but not quite. It was one of the things I prided myself on, that I got kudos for. I can still rally that steel trap most of the time, but not always. Most of my newly lost memories/associations are unimportant fluff so I’m not too worried. When I give into the new forgetfulness, a nice sort of foggy peace settles in.
What was it? Where was it? The name of that restaurant in that neighborhood we went to with those people? When was it? Last week? Last month? Ah, there it goes, flittering down the drain. Bye, bye. Peace be with you.
Diminishing energy levels. The lack of buoyancy in my joints. When I was a dancer I was known as a great jumper. I could really leap, do double tour en l'air (two revolutions around off the ground while spinning), that sort of thing. Now I’m lucky if I can get off the ground a few inches and land without my knees saying…what the fuck?
Sleep disorder. I used to be a great sleeper. Now it’s the least predictable part of my 24-hour cycle. Thank the goddesses for audiobooks and podcasts, those middle of the night enriching distractions that keep the morose, middle of the night doom and gloom thoughts at bay.
Here’s a different type of letting go I’m into these days; I sometimes enjoy being forgetful, flaky, scatterbrained. I used to have an incredible memory. Almost photographic, but not quite. It was one of the things I prided myself on, that I got kudos for. I can still rally that steel trap most of the time, but not always.
Invisibility. My first book, Staggerwing, came out when I was 58, and my fifth book, Almost Deadly, Almost Good comes out this year, my 64th. As an older writer without any ragged edges to my personal history that might attract attention, I’d say I feel inconsequential in the larger marketplace of the publishing industry. I’ll admit, that’s a bit tough, but also not the end of the world because I never expected I’d be a writer, much less a published author, in the first place. I was a dancer, a triathlete, a social worker, a mom. Writing snuck up on me in my mid-40s. So now I’m grateful for my small following. The good thing about being a tiny, wrinkled fish with no cache in a giant bountiful ocean is that when someone tells you they love your work, they usually really mean it.
What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?
The difference between how I feel and how I look is usually shocking. When I’m surfing, for instance, I’ll be holding my own in biggish waves with surfers, most of whom are at least 20 years younger than I am, mostly men. When my session is over and I’m feeling pumped, I’ll walk back to my car and see my reflection in the window and think, OH MY GOD! Who is that old lady? She can’t be the same person who took off and made those drops. Alas, looks are deceiving, even to the self.
On the other hand, I like when a polite younger person offers their seat to me on the subway. Or when I’m offered senior discounts without being asked my age. Bring on the freebies and perks! Stop coloring your white/grey hair, stay away from freezing your face and the world is your oyster! I’m not crazy about being called “Ma’am,” but it’s a small price to pay.
As an older writer without any ragged edges to my personal history that might attract attention, I’d say I feel inconsequential in the larger marketplace of the publishing industry. I’ll admit, that’s a bit tough, but also not the end of the world because I never expected I’d be a writer, much less a published author, in the first place.
What has aging given you? Taken away from you?
Given: Perspective, acceptance. Unfortunately, age has also given me despair over the shitty state of affairs in our 21rst Century world. Now I feel like a disappointed, heartbroken child and an old fogey at the same time.
Taken: Brain cells, self-supporting boobs, my parents, my blind faith in the goodness of humanity.
How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?
I feel less important, in ways that are good. There’s a certain pleasure in embracing that all we are is “dust in the wind.”
What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?
I’m really looking forward to being a grandmother at some point in the not-too-distant future. I hope my daughter is reading this.
What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?
This may be some kind of halcyon hindsight, but I think I really loved my mid-40s. My only child, the aforementioned daughter, was in grade school, sweet, brilliant, and unconditionally loving as kids can be before puberty takes hold and wreaks havoc with their bodies and minds. I was performing with a small troupe of dancers, also all in their 40s. I’d learned how to surf and I’d just started writing. The surfing and the writing I still do, but now I only dance in my kitchen.
That said, I also do love my current age in terms of where I’m at personally and professionally, so I think I’ll stay put.
I really loved my mid-40s. My only child was in grade school, sweet, brilliant, and unconditionally loving as kids can be before puberty takes hold and wreaks havoc with their bodies and minds. I was performing with a small troupe of dancers, also all in their 40s. I’d learned how to surf and I’d just started writing.
Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?
My best friend, Candy, is 10 years older than I am. She’s always had more energy, more brain capacity, more curiosity than anyone I know. She runs her own travel business and has been all over the world. She reads many giant classic books. Books we’re all supposed to read, but never do. Well, maybe you do, but I don’t. I’m woefully not well-read for a writer. But back to Candy: She’s just an all over amazing person. Ever since I met her when I was 25 and she was 35 I thought, “Well, if I can be/look/act as young as Candy when I’m her age, I’ll be okay.” This continues even now, when we’re in our 60s and 70s.
But in a reverse sort of way, I’d say many of my aging idols are women writers younger than myself. In particular, those who are moms of young children, who might also have demanding day jobs, deal with chronic illness, or care for ageing parents. Writers who have financial or housing insecurity, or other distractions that could get in the way of their writing lives. Somehow these determined women still find time to devote to their craft and to the literary community. They astound and inspire me. They get me to say to myself: Stop your moaning and groaning, old gal. You’ve got it made in the shade, so just get on with it.
What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?
My mother was a Depression era Williamsburg Brooklyn born Jew who grew up poor. While all the other wives/mothers in the cushy suburb I grew up in were full-throttle high end retail junkies, my mother only shopped at discount stores with communal dressing rooms. I proudly wore my inherited bargain-hunting sensibility like armor for years. I’d get a secret thrill when my Mandee Shop blouse was mistaken for Marc Jacobs, or the Payless Birkenstock rip-offs were just as comfy as the originals in spite of being made of pleather (before pleather even had a name). But I’ve recently decided to veer away from the cheap stuff for political/environmental/social reasons. Now I try to only buy stuff that’s sourced ethically. It costs way more. Suffice to say, it helps that I don’t shop much these days.
I refuse to monitor my potty mouth because to do so would dishonor my dead parents, both of whom were master curse-slingers. They gave me other things; intellect, street smarts, a sense of humor, love, money…but cursing with abandon is one gift I particularly and perversely relish.
What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?
I continue to curse like a sailor, which is probably no longer a phrase one should use, but what the fuck. At my age I really should take in to account that some people take offense at unadulterated cussing. But honestly, I could give two shits. I refuse to monitor my potty mouth because to do so would dishonor my dead parents, both of whom were master curse-slingers. They gave me other things; intellect, street smarts, a sense of humor, love, money…but cursing with abandon is one gift I particularly and perversely relish.
What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?
I think people should do whatever they want, however they want. Despite my background as a performer, I’m not a huge fan of big parties for myself, but I like going to other people’s birthday celebrations. These past few years, I’ve just celebrated with my husband, and my dog. Celebrating means I get presents and my husband plans/cook/arranges special meals for the day. Which isn’t really that big a deal since he usually does his fair share of that stuff anyhow. If my daughter is in town, she joins in and then it feels like a real party.
son of a b*^#h, love this! thanks
64.5! You are an inspirational youngster for me at 66! Surfing 🏄 is on my bucket list! More power to the freedom to cuss!