He Took My Buggy

Having learned my lesson from the other day I dressed with more care at 6:30 in the morning in case I did have a chance encounter.

I made my way through the jungle of a grocery store searching for anything that I may want to eat later in the day.  I was not hungry and none of the fresh fruits or brilliantly colored vegetables tempted me.  I made another circle through the entire store settling on food for my cat and a quick breakfast sandwich I could grab on my way to my early 2 mile hike the next morning and salad fixings.

I paid and pushed my buggy out to the nearly deserted parking lot.

But it was not so deserted. Oscar Wilde had come out shortly after me and was advancing across the parking lot. He looked over and greeted me with a cheery “Good Morning!” which I returned.  He loaded his car as I loaded mine. I was pushing the grocery buggy over to the “bar” as my daughter calls them so it could converse with the other buggies when Oscar steps out with hand extended to take control of my buggy and save me the walk. I thanked him and he gave me a slight head nod and says “Yes Ma’am’. 

Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.

Oscar Wilde

He Did Not Hurt My Feelings

A gentleman is one who never hurts anyone's feelings unintentionally.

Oscar Wilde

I am on an errand and of course it would be one of those times when you are behind your own self-imposed schedule.  Not one for a client, or parent, or sibling, those I take a more relaxed view of. This was for me to get done now, so I could tend to a very selfish need. 

Since I was rushing myself I chose not to care in my dressing. Who would see me? Rush in and rush out. Look at no one. I could do this.

I made it in. I made it out…

Out of the door and there, in front of me something I just had to take a photo of.  A vehicle from my high school sporting a very bold logo other than the familiar Logo I was so enamored of. I am snapping away without realizing that there is someone in the vehicle who is now on their phone staring at me.  A lady passing by asks of the vehicle had been driving recklessly and that is why I am taking photos. She sounded eager as though she wanted to jump on my angry band wagon. I told her no and she shrugged as she wandered inside.  The panicky woman in the vehicle gets out and asks if she has cut me off or done something. I smile and assure her that no, I had attended the High School.  She relaxed and asked if I wanted her to take a photo of me with the logo. Sure I said to her still trying to ease her fears and knowing I would edit myself out later. She snaps one and just as she is about to hand the camera back I ask her to take a couple more just in case.

I pose and as I am asking if I look fat Oscar Wilde who happened to stride by slams to a halt, and looks at me.  I point to him and say “You say nothing!” and pointing to the woman I say “and you take the photo.”  Oscar grins and says “No my Luv not at all do you appear to be fat.” I point at him and declare “I shall not Marry you!”  He winks and goes through the door into the building.  Handing my camera back she bursts into a fit of giggles.  

Thank you and Good Day.

I smiled for hours.

He Asked If I Needed Help

I was rushing from my home to attend a Ribbon Cutting for a Business I was curious to get to know.

 I opened the car door, slid in, put the key in the ignition and nothing happened. Ok, not nothing. There was a clicking and then nothing.  After a phone call to my brother (whom is younger than I and... whom is now no longer the head of the family) he informs me I should call my daughter or her boyfriend. Which I did. 

He is not her boyfriend really, he is her fiance`. He rushed right over to help me. Jumped the  battery and called me later to follow up. He is not Oscar Wilde but he is gallant. 

The battery was too dead to be tested so it had to be removed and charged and then tested. It was very, really dead. I bought a new battery and tootled along on my merry way. I posted on Facebook with a photo about my little adventure.

                                 
 Within moments there was Oscar Wilde. He asked me if I needed help. I have not seen nor have I heard from him in months. Maybe I gave up looking. Maybe I just quit caring or believing. Maybe I set hope free and it went on journey without me.

I have many male friends and many live within a few miles of me. Did I hear from any of them? No. Do they think me capable and independent? 
Do they think I have family who will help? A boyfriend? Do they not care, not want to get involved, sigh with relief it was not them?  Pray someone else will respond and "deal" with me?  I don't know they are all silent.

I am happy Oscar is back. I have missed him. I have needed him. Something I would never have dreamed I would say out loud. What is so brilliant is Oscar has no fear of me and I am so grateful. He takes me seriously and difuses how serious I take myself.  He tells me the reason, apparently for everything concerning me, is that I am no ordinary woman.

He says... 

Ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their century. 
No glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. 
THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY
                             
I have a strange fancy for you Oscar... he just winks and smiles.

Oscar and I at the Alley Grill

I have formed a habit I once maintained in California, and that is having lunch with my friend Oscar Wilde. We are having wine with a wee bite of food. Yesterday it was Tempernillo and Garlic mashed potatoes with sauteed spinach. Today it is vegetable soup with a spicy Cabernet. Oscar is charming and disarming. He speaks to me of his impression of the other people in the restaurant. 

A group of 6 men come in accompanied by one woman. She appears to be the alpha whether by design or mutual agreement. They sit, she smiles at us and the men start to dominate the conversation. Three more men arrive and join the party. She becomes strangely quiet. The group as a whole chat about contracts and technical issues. What to tell upper management and what to tell clients. We are under the impression that they know each other, and work together but not in the same cities.  There is a mutual respect for each other, much like people who are in a club have a bond that exists when they are in the company of each other. 

There is a woman in what at first seems like a conversation but as she wraps it up was actually a job interview for a man who is a photographer.  She says she likes his work. We do not see a portfolio. Oscar winks at me. Maybe it was not a regular job interview. 
Oscar and I are the only ones drinking wine in here in the middle of the day. He raises his glass and toasts the room.  The soup is a clear broth with root vegetables, I think it is turnip, kale, celery and onion, and is awful. Bitter and stringy, we are sure we are being punished. We should have ordered a cup not a bowl.  Being offered some bread would make this more tolerable Oscar says aloud. Still the wait staff ignores us.  I suggest we order some chocolate dessert. Oscar leans in to kiss me and says “whatever the Lady likes!” 

We decide on the double chocolate cake. Perfect with red wine. Oscar is euphoric and is draping himself over the chair like a slinky silk dress. Half in, half on and half off the chair. 

                                                    Some of the artwork in the room

A man across the room has ordered a greyhound. It comes out pink with the salty rim sparkling in the dim diffused lighting of the room.  Oscar decides that we shall feast on greyhounds at our next meeting. They are sophisticated and unexpected he says. They command a nod from the bar tender as they are slightly old school and don’t contain dead baby bulls as Oscar calls the ingredient in most of  today’s mixer Red Bull. 

The cake is 5 layers of moist dark chocolate, layered with dark chocolate Grenache, raspberry reduction, blackberries, and a strawberry sitting on a dollop of vanilla whipped cream. I think Oscar is in the middle of sexual overload judging by the sighs and moans coming from him. Two men have turned around and a woman is giggling. Oscar winks at her. She is wearing the obligatory woman who wants to be taken seriously but still appear feminine suit with a skirt. Her hair is straight and long, blonde and the slit up the back of the painted on skirt had Oscar on his knees gazing longingly after her.  

                                              The lighting in the room.

He is so adorable. 

There is a man in the room, black suit, white shirt, red tie. I will spare you Oscar’s dissertation on the qualities of a man who needs to sport a vagina on his chest. However it has me and the Lady next to us in stitches. 

We order coffee just as a bacon cheeseburger is delivered to the Lady at a table near us. “Well we ordered wrong” Oscar sums up. We all laugh. 

Afternoons spent with Oscar are simply magical. 

He Asked If I Was Happy

Oscar Wilde found me at a bar one evening where I had slipped into the billiard room to sit quietly, to watch. He sauntered over, sat across from me, and engaged me with a question. This somehow turned into a confessional and I poured out a tale of my daughter. He just sat and listened. He looked imto my eyes and listened. He commented twice. Once he asked me if she was happy and the second was to ask me if I was happy. There was no judgement, no accusation, no hint of surprise or shock. There was an acceptance, a reverance for how I felt. Surprisingly it was easy. Me, who keeps her secrets secret willingly expelled one of them into the calm eyes of this stranger I rather fancy.

Perhaps it was the summers he spent with his siblings. Those that were from the marriage of his parents and those that were from previous loves of his father. Perhaps that, that was normal for him made my not so normal for others link us in a bond of rightfully unacceptable.

He lit a cigar and we sat in silence. He asked me about the melancholy shadow that stepped up beside me just then. It was James. A memory of James and our few stolen moments out of his short life when we, James and I would share a cigar and a botlte of Jameson and ponder the New Year. He signaled the waitress ordered 2 shots of the golden whiskey and after they arrived he toasted James and before he drank he said "It is good to keep and to have such a precious memory." He then leaned back into his chair and we silently watched the game at the billiard table. It was the warmest after James moment I have had.

Thank you Oscar Wilde.

Fancy Oscar Wilde

I participated in an on-line quiz called Which Classic Author Is Your Soul mate?

My soul mate is Oscar Wilde. You’re a real charmer, and you need someone who can match your charisma and witty banter. Oscar dines at the best clubs with the most interesting people, so he’s also your ticket to a wicked (pun intended) social scene.

This sounds very accurate about me so I have decided to investigate it further. I am very skeptical about a soul mate so seeking out my Oscar Wilde should be challenging. I do not believe I have one and therefore have ceased to desire or look for him.

This is why these letters will be called Fancying Oscar Wilde. I will call him Osy as though we are already acquainted. It will be about my various encounters with him. Like the first night I met him, Oscar, Osy, my soul mate.

We were in a Casino. Not together mind you. We had arrived separately and I had no thoughts of him as of yet. We had not met. I had traded $20,000 for some chips with the cashier, order a lovely vodka and soda without the fruit; that is a drink from another time and staked a claim on a spot at a roulette table.

It was about half an hour into the festivities when I had that "somebody is staring at me" feeling. I looked around and saw only familiar faces a few of which were smiling at me but, most were engaged in conversation or black jack or a rowdy game of poker.

Then I saw him. His eyes slid over to me and he gave me a quick appraisal. I dismissed him him immediately with a flick of my eyelashes and proceeded to place chips on the table. I forgot about him until he stepped up to the table almost an hour later, threw down a $10,000 chip on a red square and grinned as the evil white ball landed in just that spot on the wheel. My table mates cheered, I glared, he winked. The first word to cross my mind was insufferable, which made me think of Jane Austen and her Mr. Darcy. That thought turned into a giggle which spilled out of my mouth as I looked at him and his quirky grin again. He of course caught my look and cocked his head ever so slightly.

I kept wishing for him to leave as he was annoying me with his ever so subtle, downright covert, flirting. At last Osy asked where the food was and abruptly left the table. A breath escaped me that I must have been holding in for a long time and I again dismissed him from my thoughts.

Much later I thought about taking a turn about the room with my camera and capturing my friends in the throes of gambling. As I turned to pick up my camera out of its bag Osy stepped up to me and said, "I must go. Please have my $50,000 in chips" which he spilled into my goblet. He then turned on his heels and walked briskly out of the Casino. I was stunned, speechless and being congratulated by everyone at the table.

What Osy really left me was a smile. Every time I think about that moment when he gave me his chips I smile. Not because of the value of the chips but because the value of the gesture. He wanted me to play, take risks, and enjoy the evenings adventures without the hindrance of guilt I would surely feel if I lost all of my money foolishly. Osy gave me freedom and it was amazing!

I could fancy this Oscar Wilde....