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Long live all maidens

easy and beautiful !

Long live mature women also,

Tender and loveable and full of good labor. 

Gaudeamus Igitur

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Sunday
Apr252010

Jerks, Creeps and Charismatics

Hi Sarah,

It's just a bit late right now. Long day at the Green Living Show. Since our time for any gabbing is so short on Mondays (I’ll be a half hour late tomorrow ... extra coaching for Brianna) I'll answer your last emails and comment in more depth ASAP. I feel it's important we don't lose the thread in some of the issues we've touched on (sometimes rather too briefly).

Yeah! Things are getting pretty personal in our writing classes. I get the feeling that we all rather like it though. It's like theatre or performance art. I see Sherry sucking up to her and it’s obvious F’s got a bit of a hold on Eddy too. She’s got this strange charisma and has our riveted attention. Some of us are almost in awe of her (like Sherry), and others, like Marion, feel like they have to please all the time, hanging on every word, affirming with all that nodding ... uhh huh, yah … up and down with the head. A little sickening. Oh well. At the very least she knows how to stir things up … well … gets some half decent writing out of us really.

See the attached the attached piece that uses swear words. Hopefully you'll get a chance to look it over during the day and then you'll have a copy before I arrive. What I want to know is (and these are your own words) Do I have the possibility of such language within my realm of personality or psyche? OK, I know the answer. But does it come across naturally? I know it still needs more editing.

So thanks Sarah and sorry for throwing this at you so late. You are a true friend indeed.

Adria

 

Chariots and Cherry Orchards

Taking a bus into the Niagara fruit region is such a civilized way to travel. It liberates me, albeit just for a while, from the increasingly risky manoeuvres that have become part of my daily life. It wasn’t always so. The birth of the mighty SUV has changed the kind of driver I have become, judging by the expletives I utter daily within the privacy of my subcompact vehicle. I recognize the pattern that accompanies an altercation, imagined or real; the rise of colour in my cheeks, a light beige becoming pale pink and soon a ruby red, how I grip the wheel, how my legs lock and how my heart beats.

           “ Jerk! OK … Move over, you fucker!” 

This Easter weekend I have chosen to forego the possibility of any such scenes developing. I have decided to regroup, refresh and be driven … in a coach.

Far away from Toronto’s sci-fi downtown, in grape country, I discover tranquility in the planting pattern of fruit trees that dot the fields. Snug in my cushy Greyhound seat, I see the world through a pale green, sun-warmed window. I sense a calm that smacks of normalcy.  Adjusting my small plaid pillow I sink into a delicious daydream.

I imagine a tour de force through a cherry orchard, revving the engine of my blazing red Sunfire, a grotesque Lexus LX 470 hot on my tail. My turns are daring, swift and angular as I swerve around evenly spaced trees as in an Indiana Jones, medieval type obstacle course. I am in the lead. I will win this lap. Cleverly, I am leading the silver beast astray, and slam my Gucci clad foot heavily on the gas pedal. In attack mode I grip the wheel firmly and find all the traction I need. I am wearing my red kid gloves. Pedalling the gas with all my power I zoom off to the left but purposely change my mind at the very last moment. I’ll get the bugger. At once I angle off and pull sharply to the right. Almost airborne, the deep ruts in the soft orchard soil are no deterrent. I lose sight of my pursuer. But only for an instant. A loud thud and then the crackling and snapping of branches. In my rear-view mirror I witness the demise of Lexy, banked up against the deep-black bark of an exquisite fruit tree. A budding beauty in full spring regalia, its white-blossomed branches drape themselves over its hood like a sheet pulled over the dead.

The highway is denser now that the bus approaches the city of St. Catharine’s. I wonder whether the phenomenon of SUV pursuit is a reality here, in a smaller, calmer community. Some days I encounter polite folk. Other days I deal with selfish, rude bastards and cannot maintain my genteel exterior. Daily, I drive my car into the upscale neighbourhood where I work and brace myself to face the inevitable challenges. Already I see them parked in the school’s circular driveway: enormous, shiny, black, hearse-sized vehicles taking up space for two. There is the white, gold trimmed vehicle with its solid gold running board, handles and knobs gleaming, grillwork baring its teeth. Attendants at posh dealerships polish these chariots to perfection. When I meet them nose-to-nose on elegant tree lined streets, personalities, not cars, lock horns. 

“Creep. Are you gonna move over or what!  Outta my way! Smartass!”

Once, in my madness I knocked the mirror off a parked BMW in front of a mansion. Left it hanging by its electronic threads, like a broken neck. Scary, the sound it made: me, a vandal. Good: their just desserts. An oncoming vehicle had squeezed me toward the side of the road, compromised my space. How smugly I had kept on driving.

I recommend that for the good of all, this species, the almighty SUV, become endangered and disappear from the planet. Less greenhouse gas, for one thing, more room on the road for others. As for diversity, consider taking the bike once in a while.

 

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