I am enjoying refuge at Starbucks, in their clean well-lighted place, but I am not Hemingway, he was more closeted than I ever have been. I sorta feel bad for him. An honest adventurer who couldn’t consider the whole picture, a real man who didn’t understand.. but I digress.
There stood a time, once, for me to linger in the wardrobe. I still am there, a bit… you laugh? Ha. It makes me laugh to think on it, too. I remember an evening where I had been acting ‘normal’ (I thought) but casually and accidentally speaking of my ex-husband. The couple I was chatting with were young and a bit right-wing. I thought they were adequately in the dark about the maze of my sex/love life until the woman awoke to my conversation and said, “OH! You are gay?”. Her husband then, in a matter of fact manner? said…”Well…he was talking about his husband, after all.” They didn’t seem too disturbed at the revelation and we only did a bit of ‘investigative conversation’ afterward. They were sweet people. She was tipsy and he was self-assured, secure. I wish more young men were. The self-assured, the secure can smile. There should be more smiling.
Last night, I was reminded that when I was in Italy, my Facebook posts were positive, cheerful. I had been smiling. When I got home, the newsfeed changed back into growling bear observations on modern life. Grrr. No smiling. It is true, I stopped smiling when I got to Canadian Customs. Ha. I really don’t like the government comparing my passport picture to the visage I presented at their darned machine. “Don’t smile. Don’t fidget. Stare into the camera.” Nuts! we are back in the real world.
Sigh.
So, then. It has been some time that Gladys has been on retirement from neighbourhood observation duties – I need to get back at that. Lots has happened. The city exercised their ‘lord over all’ option and tore up my whole block, all the little streets and our laneway as well. The whole world was turned into a muddy mess, garbage collection and mail delivery have stopped and I have to park a minimum of one block away from my home. The consolation for this window-view observer? Men. Men in construction outfits. Big men. Strong men. Mmmmmm. The one crew-leader fellow came to the door to warn that I won’t be able to park at home ‘for a while, probably’. He was extra nice and very shy, has a sexy beard and a tiny little beer-belly…well, a beer-belly that enhances the manliness, anyway. I guess I am a funny homo, I like it like that. Do you suppose my sexy growl in response made him a little nervous? Ha. Maybe that wasn’t a very closeted thing to do? I was in my housecoat, after all.
My dear aunts and remaining cousins are getting nervous, themselves, at this moment. ‘What is he going to say now?’
It is raining today and big men are taking out a rogue tree. The power is off, said tree had been hoping for the protection of having its arms wrapped around the high voltage. ‘Nobody will get me now!’ he might have said. Sorry, magnificent tree, Mr. Beard has the on/off switch and you will have to go. The big men and big machines are very elegant, a little snip, a roar of an engine and the huge tree eases to a supine position on the church front lawn. ‘Rest, brother tree.’ It is a Statue of St. Michael that breathes the last words. In a couple of hours, the power will be back on and I can return to Facebooking at home.
We have had a hard year/s. Trump has pooped on elegance, grace, humane ways. His rich white man poop is everywhere. It is quite a thing to have infected the entire world with ugliness. Really something, eh? We can only turn the other cheek, remembering that ‘what goes up, must come down’ as it ever does. Our task is to smile again, knowing that the Beatles will bring colour back to Pepperland some day. I hope like hell that the Blue Jays win the world series because that would show ‘em!
“little darlin’, the smile’s returning to the faces/ little darlin’, it seems like years since its been clear/ here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say – its alright”
(JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo).
PS. That would make a great name for a rock n roll band wouldn’t it? This, too shall pass.
Robert On The Air 