Pushing 60: INFIN8

I lie in bed seeing 8 on its side looking like infinity and remember first drawing 8, one circle on top of another.
My granddaughter’s name begins with O. She asked me when she first realised this
‘What is the O for Marcia ?’
Indeed.
She draws circles freely and regularly.
I learned to draw a circle last week end.
With a brush full of black ink I waited for the moment and exhaled. It was perfect. Maybe not Giotto perfect but bright black and alive.
I want to paint circles not go round in them.
Back to the fresh start earlier today. It was 8.15.
I thought of the chocolate and mint cream squares called ‘After Eight’ which I once believed to be the height of sophistication.
Imre used to offer them with a cunning smile ‘it is always after eight’ he would say suggestively.
I never quite got it. I did understand the same look and tone when he’d give my friends his phone number with an emphasis on the 69.  This was quite embarrassing when we were 19 and he was pushing 80. I think of him and me at tea after seeing Leonardo’s anatomical drawings at the Royal Academy in the seventies.
He had paid for my ticket and bought me a catalogue so I wanted to pay for the tea.
I went to the till, took out my purse and was intercepted in an impatient manner. I mentioned the exhibition, the catalogue, my pleasure until in a very loud voice he shouted
‘I am not a gigolo’
The Piccadilly tea set tittered, some even laughed out loud.
‘I don’t think anyone would think I had paid to be with you’ I retorted loud enough to entertain strangers in a tea room.
I didn’t add ‘especially as I am 60 years younger and 5 inches taller than you ‘.
Recently a body builder wrote to me from Fort Myers, Florida to say he had a painting of my father, Imre Goth.
And even more recently an author who was wondering about writing a biography. He also wanted information.
Maybe I’ll write about disinclination to engage at another point but this morning’s hour of writing after eight and smiling back at Imre got interrupted by an email entitled ‘not very good news’ and left me shouting ‘fuck’ again.