Turning 50 a time to reflect on life and relationships

The senses were heightened and energy levels seemingly restored. Food was devoured. Then came the unmistakable sound of a knock at the door. In fact, it was much more than a knock. The door was being pounded.

This week, I turn 50. Neither of my parents lived to be 80. Time is ticking away.

I could fill this column 10 times over with things that I have not achieved. There’s no nest egg for retirement, no house or mortgage or significant material assets. I have never managed to earn over $30,000 in any calendar year.

I have not sired children, been elected to public office or given blood. I’ve escaped New Zealand’s national borders just twice. I cannot cook, resist driving a motor vehicle whenever I can and no longer play squash rackets.

Let’s stop there. What about the positives? A newish job reviewing films on Radio New Zealand National is something of a dream come true. The opportunity it afforded to interview Quentin Tarantino earlier this year will not be easily surpassed, though, in my own mind at least, it’s rivalled by a long discussion I and another chap had once with John Clarke on what was then Hamilton Community Radio.

Another project I was involved in has timely relevance. Affixing a plaque to the Founders Theatre to mark the 50th anniversary of Louis Armstrong playing the venue involved in some small way recreating the event itself.

Most of those who attended the unveiling had been at the Armstrong concert and many had actually met the great man. Even if Founders ends up a pile of rumble, consigned to the dustbin of history by a city indifferent to its past, I will always treasure the memory of that night.

One thing I hope I will be remembered for, if only in the short term, was facilitated by others.

Auteur House, a business now 91⁄2 years old, is a DVD rental store that opened and has operated in an era when DVD rental stores are not meant to exist. It was financed partly by my late father but in the main by a generous business partner.

A few months ago, in a few hectic hours, Auteur House played a part in my gaining some insight into the meaning of life.

The day began ordinarily enough. I was all set for a standard 12-hour Saturday shift when the bleeding started.

They say a coward dies a thousand times, a brave man but once. Faced with a nose bleed that just would not stop, I assumed the worst. As it turned out, I survived. With the assistance of a rock-solid wife, I was ferried from A&E to hospital and the wound was duly cauterised.

Depositing me back at Auteur House, my spouse stepped out to source some prescribed medication. I was given strict instructions not to open the shop. The doctor who had ‘‘operated’’ on me had suggested rest. Janine thought I should eat something, then go to bed.

I was in a euphoric mood. The senses were heightened and energy levels seemingly restored. Food was devoured.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a knock at the door. In fact, it was much more than a knock. The door was being pounded. I went down the stairs, fully intending to give my apologies.

Opening our return slot from the inside to better communicate, I described my medical condition as best I could.

Though there was some sympathy evident in the would-be customer response, it was secondary to a determination to gain entrance.

They had driven a ways to check out the shop, making a special trip. Could I not open the doors?

Faced with such sentiments, how could I do otherwise? The dead bolts were pulled back and the return box taken off its hook.

Auteur House was open for business.

The couple quickly ascended the stairs and started browsing.

They were followed shortly thereafter by two other groups of people. By our humble standards, it was a stampede.

When Janine got home, she found me running about the shop, giving advice, engaging in conversation, stooping down to find DVD cases and then scurrying off to obtain the corresponding disks. Beside herself, she gave me a tongue lashing. What was I doing?

Here’s the point. We require a degree of social validation in all that we attempt.

Never before had customers so wanted to gain entry to my shop that they screamed and shouted. How good did that feel?

Yet the sensation would be empty without someone to share it with.

When nearly 50 years old, to have another so care about your welfare that she acts like your mother, that’s priceless.