Maspalomas, Canary Islands February 1, 2011 5:22 a.m. GMT
Yesterday, as expected, was a special, special day.
We worked until eleven a.m. (six Eastern time), then, went and visited our neighbors Henry and Wilberforce (“Please, call me Wilber.”) and took a walk with them to the Faro, had some lentil soup, as their guests, at a gay bar on the beach, and walked back home — chatting all the way.
At night, René took me to the Villas Blancas Bistro where we had the most delicious supper: Canarian Tomato Salad, Chicken Filet with Wild Mushroom Sauce served with potato and belgian endive, and, for dessert, Mango Mousse which was served on a slab of slate. As I stated, this dinner was not only delicious, it was relaxing, served with elegance and flair, and, most importantly, the two of us were extremely happy.
Happiness is building. René promises that today, being the first day of our next thirty years together will be very, very Happy. He is full of surprises.
During our walk with Henry and Wilber, we learned a great deal about their lives in Great Britain. In fact, Henry just came out of the closet a few years ago. He never thought about sexuality much. He married and had children because he thought it was expected of him. Wilber has always been uncloseted. (Wilber is eighty-three.) Wilber certainly has a jovial, roving eye. He lost his partner of fifty-three years and is now happy introducing Henry to a “happy, gay lifestyle”. Henry, though, does have his adult children and grandchildren who “know and don’t talk about it” which, naturally is “a bit of a bump” in their relationship which is three-and-half years along. Wilber understands. He wants Henry to be as happy as can be. When Henry looks at Wilber one does see pure happiness in his gaze. We talked about how Life is too short not to be happy.
I, myself, can’t imagine ignoring, and fighting against, my natural instinct. How utterly sad my life would have been. Life, indeed, is too short for such a profound sadness.
I have whisked pondering sadness from my fertile mind. I will leave sadness within the pages of books.
Henry brought us three books to read. I told René that it looks like we shall bring just as many books back to Zwerglipatch as we brought with us. No matter. We do like our books. Glancing at our newest additions to our library, I think Clayton Littlewood’s Dirty White Boy - Tales of Soho may be appropriate for an oral reading. René likes to listen and I like to exercise my vocal cords. Should be fun.
Yesterday, I awoke feeling tired. Today, I am fresh as a daisy which I have always thought to be an odd expression but I can thoroughly understand how it came into being as there is nothing happier than seeing a field of blooming daisies bouncing in the wind. If I can evoke a bit of that happiness, a lone daisy in a vase, I shan’t be disappointed. But, please, don’t pluck my petals for that “he loves me — he loves me not” bit — He Loves Me! That fact I do know. René is my man. He can do whatever he wishes. I know he will always rest in my bed.
René is resting now. I hear him breathing in the next room. Gracious, it isn’t even six-thirty. I’ll let him sleep a couple of hours more, then, I think I will go wake him today being the first day of our next thirty years and bring some of that “fresh as a daisy” energy into his half-awake, half-sleepy, vulnerable minutes when he slips in and out of his dreamland. When he awakens, he will be sure of his — our — reality. When eleven o’clock arrives, he will be ready for another day to play here in the Canary Islands. I know this will be so. We have thirty years of experience behind us.