mjj (flemmings) wrote,

Whoever is alone now, will remain alone*

I would say 'Good-bye, August; don't come back' but alas, August has not left yet. Temps may be under 30 today but the humidex was pushing 40. The maitre d' of my favourite Japanese restaurant was condoling with me on the subject when I entered its dark icy depths at 4:30. 'Young people don't understand how worrying this is because they've never known normal.' Agreed, oh agreed. No more cool autumnal Labour Days, not for years past. It's always a continuation of August's soup.

The more surprising then that I should pass the merry Morris dancers dancing in Taddle Creek Park as I did, I could swear some time last year but can't find the entry for it. Enquiry informed me that this is nothing seasonal, like May Day; is merely a meet up on the long weekend and will continue tomorrow at Dufferin Grove. The merry Morrisers are all middle-aged and grey these days, unlike the happy days of my youth when I dated one for a couple of months. I fancy they're all the same people as 35 years ago. Well, except for that one long-haired youth who came bouncing a foot in the air at each step, the show off.

Last month again failed to stick in the mind, even though I bought (unsatisfactory) new singlets at Old Navy and semi-satisfactory new shoes up at Eglinton. Went to AGO Bistro two or three times. I find the place soothing, even if the prices outside Happy Hour are heart-stopping. Finally figured it's because the staff, or at least the ones I get, are solidly middle-aged and trained in the decorous European tradition. They have a gravitas lacking to the bright young 'Hi, I'll be your server tonight' wakamono. They're certainly amiable enough, but with a reserve that makes me feel, oddly, like a cared-for child: oddly, given that I'm ten or twenty years older than they.

*Rilke didn't write "Whoever has no house now, will never have one." He wrote "Whoever has no house will never build one." Or something like that.
Tags: rl_18, verse

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