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Quests for the Aged

The older I get, the more I am convinced that quests are important. They’re linked to purpose, I suppose -the need to be seen to be going somewhere through whatever is still untarnished in the golden years. But quests come in several flavours. A selection of colours.

When I was younger, I was advised to find a career. And then it was a partner -but let’s face it, these things fade over time, and the best-before dates offer little in the way of encouragement. I had a career -check; I had a wife -check… well, actually I get a couple of checks there, but I don’t imagine that earns me any more credit than just one though, eh? Anyway I’ve come to a stage where I am bereft of boxes to tick, and I find I am left to my own devices.

In theory, that is a good thing -neuroplasticity thrives on it- but when you are travelling, it is more than that. Sometimes the very survival of sundry parts of your anatomy depend on it. Take the teeth -no, not out, but consider where they live and work. Teeth need to be watered and cleaned on a regular basis if you expect them to stay put. Where they live is not exactly a pristine environment at the best of times, especially after a salad, or an attack on a couple of beets, so proper equipment is essential. But I’m getting ahead of my quest, I think.

I have found that electric toothbrushes do their job very well, and they save me from the drudgery of repetitive and essentially boring movements. I don’t know why, but I recently settled on a toothbrush with those little brushy wheels that resemble the floor polishers my mother used on weekends when she was expecting guests. Although I haven’t entertained guests in there for many years, I figured it was probably best to keep the gang happy all the same. I’ve given up on white teeth in favour of functioning teeth, by the way: a clean tooth is an in-the-moment tooth, I think -a tooth I can count on. And just so I don’t let them down, I even carry extra batteries on my trips -you have to plan for every contingency when you have teeth that depend on you.

Anyway, imagine my dismay when I opened my suitcase after a long drive bumpy drive through the mountains of new Zealand to Mount Maunganui one morning. I heard something that seemed to be scratching to get out of the little satchel where I carry my mouth supplies. It was weak, though, as if it had almost given up any hope of escape.

Because I had just come from Gisborne, and because you never know there, I wondered if I could have trapped something when I brushed -sorry, floor-polished- my teeth in the dark that morning. I do things in the dark sometimes just for the challenge; I know my mouth pretty well by now, but I relish the adventure. Of course, when something scratches unexpectedly from your oral bag, that is also an adventure.

I like to think I am prepared, however, so, ready for battle, I grabbed my keys in one hand, and unzipped the case with the other -carefully, though. Slowly. I was ready to stab whatever lunged at me. My best guess was a cockroach or something, but I couldn’t rule out a small bird, so I didn’t want to strike until I was sure.

I have to admit to a certain disappointment when nothing attacked, or even directly threatened my welfare -nothing with extra legs or exaggerated mouth parts headed for my hand. Unless, of course, you count my multi-bristled toothbrush whose moving parts, I could tell, were pretty well on their final orbits. I could have wept. The poor thing had been pleading for help as I drove, unheeding, through the hills of a foreign land.

But I suppose we all fear the unknown; we all wonder what will happen when our own batteries run low. I consoled myself with the sure and certain hope that toothbrushes are used to it -that it’s not loss of power that worries them, but loss of owner. Unlike dogs, they seldom trade masters -the loss of a familiar mouth is like a diagnosis of Cancer.

I picked it out of the little bag with a smile and figured I had to undo the buttons on its nether parts. There’d be a brief moment of non-existence for it, of course -a loss of consciousness- but I could plan for that by deftly removing the little batteries and quickly substituting two new ones. I sighed at how seldom we think of all the life we’ve saved over the years: but, Samsara, eh?

The particular model of toothbrush I’d brought with me was gifted with a timer, so no matter what I do, it was supposed to shut itself off in 2 minutes. I like fail-safe things that work in tandem with my occasional lapses. But the Gisborne weather must have overstimulated it or something, and in direct contravention of Asimov’s Second Law of Robotics, unbeknownst to me, it had refused to turn off.

In fact, only by finally withdrawing life-support -ripping the still-beating batteries from its thrumming behind- would it cease to threaten me. I have to admit that I was a little anxious about what I should do if it didn’t stop even then, but I suppose circuits only work if there’s something going through the circuit, right? I imagine that the laws of electricity are just as strict here in New Zealand as in Canada.

So, once again, I realized I had just discovered another quest. Perhaps replacing a toothbrush doesn’t carry the same gravitas as replacing a partner, but really, who ranks these things? I began to replace the now-dead robot with a similar trepidation to that which accompanies the replacing of a now-dead relationship, and discovered a remarkable existential similarity: you never get what you had, even if you look for it. You just have to settle for something different -a surprise or nothing.

In both cases, though, I got nothing. I didn’t want a replacement toothbrush -or partner, for that matter- who functioned even remotely like what had failed me. But that is where the similarities part company, however. I have accepted the one outcome, and found a way to compromise with the other: ever try brushing your teeth with two hands -one holding the batteries and their little cover in place, and the other trying to find your mouth before the toothpaste comes flying off?

Like I say, we all need quests…

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