Rad note » this entry originated from another page. It was moved here because the subject drifted far enough to warrant its own, separate page, which lets me focus on and reference more easily the concepts under discussion here.
At the end of this entry (that you're reading now) I have included a link that will return you to the exact place from where this entry originated. Here ya go ...
» The Willowy Educated Cultured Welsh Fashion Girl From York
While I was living in Lancaster. (I shit you not.)
I did not know about the War of the Roses then.
Unlike the cities in England, we never fought. Tho I did not like that she smoked.
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"If we ever did have an argument," she once said, "it would be about your driving."
The war(s) between York (symbol = white rose) and Lancaster (symbol = red rose) .. lasted from 1455 to 1487.
.. and the most culturally sophisticated girl I ever dated.
She took me to my first real French restaurant (in Georgetown) .. with the too-small tables set uncomfortably close together.
"How am I doing?" I whispered across the tiny table. "You're doing great!" she whispered back .. like she really meant it.
And to the Moshulu for a cold beer on the deck at sunset in the middle of the summer heat. (Best beer I ever tasted.)
She had great parties. All girl's from the women's fashion industry .. wearing all the latest fashions. (And me.)
Now I am going to parties with lots of girls. All pretty girls. Nice girls. Smart girls. Educated girls. Professional girls. And where I am the only guy. Perhaps you can see why I often felt with her like I had died and gone to heaven.
She was notable in other ways that I probably shouldnt say.
I was 2 or 3 years older than her .. cuz I had spent 6 years in the Navy. So the age-differential seemed to be optimally set.
She even met my mom.
Her best friend's father was my boss's boss. "She said that her dad said that you're the only contractor who's worth a shit down there."
So it was too perfect .. until it wasnt.
» The Bold Older Woman Who Thinks Nothing of Talking to You While She Tinkles in the Toilet with the Door Open in an Otherwise Quiet Apartment
[[[ That would be due to Puerto Rico for a long Thanksgiving weekend with another girl. Mom was dying of cancer at that time and I was all fucked up, emotionally and this other girl was saying all the right things and lived a lot closer.
"I have this extra ticket," she said one day, "that will just go to waste because something came up at the last minute and my brother can't go. Have you ever been to Puerto Rico? We have twenty minutes. Get your suitcase. I'll help you pack. [ she checks her real Rolex. ] We can make it."
Come to think of it .. this was also the girl who, after a night on the town, came back to my apartment and went into the bathroom to pee.
But she left the door open and continued the conversation that we were having .. while she was pee'ing. I could hear the tinkling sound echo throughout the quiet apartment .. before I had a chance to put on some music.
She obviously thought nothing of this (.. pee'ing with the door open while talking to me). But it sorta freaked me out. Tho I did not let on that I was freaked out. I discussed this near the end of this entry » Dating the Single Parent.
This girl was a few years older than me. She was living with a successful business man at the time (.. who she later married). "Come on," she once said, "let's go buy you a fur coat. A man like you should have a fur coat."
When I wore that coat out, women (there in Pennsylvania) who I didnt even know would come up and grab hold of me and hug me and bury their face into my chest. (Because they wanted to feel the fur up against their face.)
The first time it happened I was like » "Uh, do I know you?"
They're like » "No. Shut up. You cant expect to wear a coat like this when it's freezing cold out and not expect girls to come up and hug you."
My point » you get used to it.
Her oldest son, later, after she married, come to think about it, looked a lot like the Bug. Beautiful boy. Downright serene. He looked very intelligent for such a little thing.
I stopped seeing her after she got married. Tho I did go to one party there with Matto some years later .. when he said, "She told me to bring you along to the party this Saturday. She says she hasnt seen you in forever."
But that's where I saw the boy.
"You're obviously better off here," I thought.
This girl rocked my world. I think of her sometimes when I see pictures of Maureen Dowd. ]]]
The Welsh fashion girl from York totally enchanted mom. "Oh, honey. This is a nice girl. She really likes you."
[ The night that we went out with mom .. she wore a very nice dress. Long, flowing. A color you never see. ]
Mom would never officially endorse a girl, cuz she knew that was the kiss-of-death. (I mean, if your mom likes a girl, how exciting can she be?) But I could tell that she liked the college-degreed girl. A lot. (Mom had not been to college, no.)
After the trip to Puerto Rico with the other girl came to light .. her best friend told me that she couldnt get out of bed for days.
I felt very bad about that. Cuz she was such a nice girl. Such a nice, sweet, gentle, kind, sensitive, caring girl.
This girl represented (for me) » the EASY way vs the HARD way. Because she made life easy. Very easy. But that's another story.
I know it is a different word, but when I think of the Welsh girl .. I sometimes think of Florence Welch. Who is actually English. As in » grew up there. Who I like. She wails. A wailing machine. (She's the real deal, for sure.)
Perhaps I will return to tell you WHY one makes me think of the other. Tho that should probably be a separate entry, all its own.
Anyway, back to Dylan .. the non-Welsh Dylan.
But let me just say .. that when I read the poem by Welsh-Dylan (Thomas, 1914-1953) sitting there at the beginning of Sophy's book on writers and writing .. as her tone-setter .. it touched me. And I have always had artistic respect for him ever since.
If you want to talk about the real deal .. he be it.
And also let me also say (.. because it is so worth it) .. that Welsh-Dylan's most famous poem and certainly one of his finest is probably » Do not go gentle into that good night (1951) .
Powerful shit .. very powerful .. when either one of your parents are dying (.. as you probably know).
Not easy to deal with .. even if you are already grown and mature and have a loving and compassionate support group surrounding you.
Certainly worth mentioning .. but this is not the place to discuss this topic .. which I discuss here » A Comfortable Deathbed (.. which my dad did not have).
♦ Uh, this section on the Welsh fashion girl from York has grown large enough .. that I should probably move it to its own separate entry-page. Remind me.
Subject-drift always seems to be a risk.
Update May 15, 2015 » this is now done.
The end. ■
This is the first time that I ever moved the lifted section far in advance ..
.. from January, 2014, when it was originally created .. to May, 2015. (Now.)
This is not a time-sensitive entry. So the change-of-date makes no difference.
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