It’s the people watching. The coffee for sure. I’m at Continental and it’s always been one of the best. I’m having a delicious mocha prepared for me by a barista with curly cherry died hair and blond moustache.
I liked that he complimented my gold earrings. India gold from Nanda Jewelers. I was asked at a medical conference recently why I had earrings. They’re studs.
It’s been years but I remembered the first one. I’d known this wonderful old Jewish mariner who had one large gold earring. He told me the sailors and pirates had earrings so if they died at sea and washed on a beach this would pay for the burial.
I asked ‘Which side did a sailor get peirced?’
I,d thought it was a gay things and didn’t wish to be seen as ‘coming out’
He laughed, his face, wind and sea wrinkled. “Not a few of us worried when the gay crowd began that. I’ve forgotten which side. That was decades ago . I don’t think it matters any more.”
My other patient a gay man also in his 80’s had told me these ‘secret signs’ had been really important when. He was young. It was illegal to be gay. “The police were forever trying to entrap people in those days. As soon as they’d get on to what was the fashionable sign, we’d develop a new one, like cryptography. Then the artistic ‘in crowd ‘ would pick up on the old fashion all to the amazing confusion and consternation of the super straight homophobic police. They really were lost. If anyone got caught we just figured they wanted to. Some of the guys didn’t mind the jail.”
I had the single earring for a long time, proud of it. Outside work my life was sailing. An executive member of Blue Water Sailing Association, I was gaining skills in off shore sailing, dreaming of sailing to the tropics of Gauguin. I identified myself as a mariner, albeit amateur, until I sailed solo across the Pacific through winter storms . Alot of the romance was lost. It became a mode of transportation and way of life. I became accomplished and. no longer needed to declare my belonging. I just was.. I loved sailing but I no longer needed the ‘identification.’
One day I got the second gold stud because it spoke symmetry. Besides by then I was no longer concerned to be called ‘gay’. There were a lot of other things I’d care to be called less.
A young man dressed in a long loose fitting suit dress just walked by. He really looked like any young business pperson but truly unisex. Handsome, beautiful, gay, straight. I couldn’t say. He was fashionable, well dressed, and young. I liked that.
Immediately following him was a beautiful young girl in a bright turguoise mini skirt. A tight white tshirt emphasized her well formed breasts. She was definitely looking to be looked at.In comparison the young man seemed to walk as if he just wanted to go about his business dressed as he liked. He did know he made a statement.I looked at both identically but the latter gave me a look that said, ‘I’m glad you noticed but if you look any longer than a second I’ll be offended.’
My dog meanwhile had moved in on the two delightful young women chatting amiably at the next table. He has no sense of ‘timing’ and invariably meeting Fifi he spends far too long getting acquainting himself with her genitals. Neither Fifi or their owner are ever bothered, female dog owners being like the horsey set, are more down to earth, less flighty and comfortable with animal behaviour.
I’m embarrassed. I pull him back from nuzzling the young lady’s crotch. She laughs in response, “I love dogs and he’s my little dog who was just sitting on my lap before we came out.” It being Commercial Drive I wonder if she and her friend are Lesbians. I’ll never know.
I’ve just picked up my electric bicycle from Motorino Electric. That’s the Italian connection. I immediately thought of my friend Anil, spending weeks there painting and sketching. He’s posted his work for weeks on Face Book I loved the fine details of his architectural sketches.
It brought back memories of reading of the greats of literature in the `18th and 19th century doing the Italian ‘tour’. Byron and others. By contrast I’d loved the BBC documentary sent to me by Graham of the sacking of Rome by the Celts. Being Celtic I love all things Celt. Which brings to mind sitting writing at a coffee shop in Dublin when I took Laura to Ireland and we searched the graveyards for our ancestors.
Laura always comes to mind when I think of Rome or Milan. She so loved our time there making every fountain and every church special with her laughter. I loved the Vespa ride. We’d been riding from church to church trying to put together the skulls and bones, matching the relics of saints.
I loved the narrow cobblestone streets, the crazy traffic and the dinner in the cafe with outdoor tables on the lane. The drivers and waiters would negotiate the passage of cars through the romantic diners. We complain of construction in Vancouver. Evening driving in Rome is a whole other matter.
I also think of Suzanne and George and Alive on the Drive whenever I’m here on Commercial.Fond memories. Where does time go. Joe’s on Commercial Drive was the first destination I bicycled to when I first moved to Kits in the 80’s. It’s still very much alive. More traffic but still the best coffee shop experience in the city, my favourite people watching. , even if one has to beware of the gaze police and the anti freedom of speech social justice warriors.
I love listening to the conversations from other tables. A couple of Huffington Post girls are nearby with their sensitivities and emotions while two men with thick accents are further over and talking business and women as naturally as any men of the world would. For a moment I forget I’m in Canada.
I like the Harley parked on the street. I am impressed with the haute couture black leathers a couple are wearing. I watched as they climbed off their machine and came over for a Continental désigner coffee.
A lovely lady in long flowing bright coloured flowered summer gown just walked by , straight black hair. Polynesian. Before her was a 50’s lady, young but dressed like she stepped out of a magazine featuring washing machines and baby clothing. She was voluptuous with fluffy western square dance skirt and baby blue frilly short sleeved top. Sensible afternoon shoes. No doubt in the evening she’d change to something more revealing with high heals. She’d want to be most alluring when she brought her man a martini or Manhattan.
Lots of Vancouver outdoors clothes. Beach wear and gym wear and hiking wear worn for the trip to the market. Vancouver’s a kind of Village People athletic wear place. There’s a suspicion looking at some of the bodies the clothing never has served the purpose it was designed for.
I liked the little tyke riding on his mothers’ shoulders, beach hat to keep the sun off his face. The baby buggy another mother is pushing is so sophisticated it may as well have been made by BMW. Probably has disc brakes on the wheels.
It’s a politically incorrect thought but I like that VPL’s are all but absent. The man who introduced me to that term one summer of girl watching a decade or more ago, is now Ill and housebound.. Hard to believe we once were considered frisky. ‘Visible Panty Lines’. When they’re absent it’s leaves tantalizing thought that only the thinnest fabric separates the naked from the environment. The young men are commonly wearing their jeans without underpants. I did.
Not us old guys, well, things change. I’m considering going to the Scottish Games today. The first thought was whether I’d fit into my kilt. I’d needed help from Laura getting the belt buckledfor Robbie Burns Dinner.We’d needed all her womanly expertise with skinny jeans. Lying on my back on the bed the two of us got the waist buckle done up.
Then next question was what to wear under the kilt, knowing well, “nothing’s worn under a kilt, because everything is always in perfect working order.’
My elderly aunt told me when I’d commented on her concern one outing about locations of the washrooms, ‘they’ll come a day when you’ll be the same ‘. So let’s just say, I don’t know if I’d want to wear nothing under the kilt in public if there’s a shortage of toilets. I’m thankfully always from ‘depends’ . But when Laura and I were in New York the idea of waiting on the cold New Year’s eve for many hours, without access to a toilet ,made watching the Midnight Ball fall on the hotel room tv far more attractive.
I like the girl’s pleasant educated voice at the next table. She’s sat down with a friend and they are discussing biology and college instructors.
Gilbert loves it here. So many dogs. He’s blind but the smells must be wonderful. He’s such as social little fellow. I’m suspecting my parking will soon be up. I locked my electric rad bike into the box of my white Ford truck. Despite that It has been long enough in this district sadly known for drugs and theft. My doctor friend who’d bought a condo nearby left saying it was too depressing to have to pick up used needles in her doorway.
I love Commercial. I love the shops where I’ve bought the best Italian spices and meats. I love the coffee shop where the men watch soccer. My Spanish female professor friend could be seen there shouting at the screen. I love the bookstore where I sometimes see my brilliant orthodox poet friend. He always knows the most original literature and so often has guide my reading to the most insightful uplifting creation.
I might ride my Harley over to Coquitlam now that Gilbert has had a walk and outing. I missed seeing men tossing telephone poles last year. I do like the pipes and the elegant ladies country dancing.
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