Mad At The Boy

I feel quite certain that some gay person, born on this very day, contributed in a directive & positive way to our civilization… but damn, if my research could drag one out of the past to from a post for you.

I felt that empty place deep inside me & I wasn’t feeling confident that I had a post for today. After some consideration & several glasses of Pinot Grigio, it came to me that I could, perhaps, let you dear readers just have a little peek at the Bohemian Life.

During my new life as a stay-at-home-mom, the rhythm goes rather like this:

I awake each day between 6 & 6:30am. Early, you are thinking? Well, for me it is sleeping in, reasonably, if you have been awakening at 3:45am, as I have for more than half a decade.

I feed & water the canines- Lulu & Junior, plus the pussy- Henry, & make tea for The Husband & myself. At 6:50am, I rouse The Husband & turn on the TV to catch the local weather followed by the first half hour of The Today Show, a tradition in this family since the amiable J. Fred Muggs in 1952, & we both check our Emails. The Husband makes oatmeal, the best oatmeal… the long way… with berries.

Lulu, Junior & I then go for a walk, for at least a ½ hour. This time is not just for dogs to pee & poop, but also the time that I use to settle the sounds in my head & sort out my feelings, rather like meditation/ therapy/ picking up life’s poops.

Off to the gym for a ½ hour of cardio, a ½ hour of weights, followed by an hour of senior circuit training class. In the circuit training class, I am the youngest person & the only male. The old broads look on me with pity & pride. Tuesday & Fridays include a yoga class.

When I return, the time should be Post Apocalyptic Bohemian time, with equal space for writing, reading & working in the garden. Dishes, laundry, picking up & vacuuming are a given.

Because I so very much value time just for myself, the universe has always tried to thwart the possibility of a peaceful & productive day. So much shit can be tossed my way, but of late it has been Dan, the Red Neck Neighbor & Spencer, the Red Hot Hottie, who are crushing my spirit.

Red Neck Dan is my nearest neighbor. He almost has some sort of corpse, sometimes an elk, sometimes a salmon, often it is mystery meat, that he shoves in his smoker on his back patio, a mere 15 feet from our bathroom window. Dan has 4 children from 5 different women. His property is abuzz with kids in the yard, in an above ground pool & adults drinking, screaming & fighting. Yesterday, Dan used a pressure washer powered by the world’s loudest generator for 12 hours. I suppose he was hosing down his house, his boat, his children, & the dead deer on the patio.

I have lived with neighbor Dan for over decade. I am used to it & strangely, we are cordial to each other. My dog- Larry & Dan’s dog- Buddy were lifelong enemies, each snarling on the other side of a fence. When they coincidentally died hours apart, Dan & shared a beer & a cry.

Of late, my new life as a stay-at-home mom is being compromised by the new neighbor in the house behind Post Apocalyptic Bohemia. The very young, hot, tight bodied, gay Spencer has moved in to the rental behind us with his 2 large Shepard mix dogs, a brood of chickens & his sidekick lesbian- Olivia. The Husband recently inquired: “Have you seen the guy who lives behind us? I caught a glimpse of him mowing his lawn. He was wearing just the tiniest of short shorts & he has the mightiest thighs I have ever theen!”  Leave it to The Husband to see the bright side when I have asked for it.

Spencer plays his music, with speakers in the windows aimed at his back yard. The volume is so pounding that it might as well be originating in my own house.  For one so young & gay, Spencer has fairly good taste in music, or I might go mad, but I still might have opted for silence on a nice afternoon. The problem with young Spencer is not his thighs, music volume, or chickens. You readers know that I love canines more than people, but Spencer’s dogs bark constantly when Spencer & the sidekick are away from their house. I don’t how they do it, but the dogs actually yap & cry without interruption for 4, 6, sometimes 10 hours, all this, just 15 feet from what would be the best spot in the back garden for reading, meditating, medicating or napping.

I delivered a witty, buzzy note about the situation to young Spencer. I explained that I was home during the day & on sabbatical, loving nothing more than spending time in my garden abutting the set for The Grapes Of Wrath that he calls a backyard. He has answered with louder music & additional barking. Apparently, he does not understand who he is dealing with.

My thoughts were drawn this afternoon, to my idol- Sir Noel Coward. Why, I do not know, except that after loving him for 45+ years, Coward continues to inspire & amuse. I was somehow brought back to this anecdote:

Coward had invited a boy to come up to his apartment. When the elevator doors closed, Coward moved quickly across the floor & kissed the boy full on the mouth. Once upstairs, he changed into a smoking jacket, poured some white wine, lit a cigarette, placed it in a holder, & coquettishly stood at the mantel.

The young man mustered up the courage & said: “Mr. Coward, I am afraid I must tell you before we go any farther, I am not gay.”

Coward took a deep drag of his cigarette, looked deep into his eyes & said: “Yes. I knew it when I kissed you.”