Cycles of Change

Sitting here on Earth Day, as one of many called to action in salving Gaia’s wounds, in an attempt to perpetuate her cycles of progression and dormancy, the symbolism used in Robert Henrick’s poem, “Hesperides, To The Virgins, to Make Much of Time” has a haunting effect on the dramas (and comedies, as you like it!) of this weekend’s affairs.

Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying:
And this same flower that smiles to day,
To morrow will be dying.
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he’s a getting;
The sooner will his Race be run,
And neerer he’s to Setting.
That Age is best, which is the first,
When Youth and Blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, goe marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

Everyone is beholden to the cyclic changes of The Universe…powerless to initiate, force, deny or stall any and all motion that is required by The Divine…The Wheel keeps turning as we cling to it, and slide about its curvature.

The Prideful and their Achilles Heels
“I can’t keep this up- I need to see you!”, this desperate voice could have belonged to any man, but its call of urgency was only answered because it was one man- Miguel, our neighbor’s son. He and I had been taking long walks unbeknownst to our parents, as his mother was prone to bragging and speculative gossip, and mine was prone to fits of elitist’s drama and domination. We were like teenagers (eww! not so much) as we stole brief glances, when he would visit his mother and I would ‘happen’ to be outside, that would have exposed us if noticed. We giggled while alone at the thought of two adults ‘hiding’ from there parents. My body would tingle wherever he’d touched me; these purloin moments, together with Chester’s (my new employer) over-the-top flirtations, had me tempered like a brass statue being thermo-contoured.

‘This cannot be happening!’, I thought haughtily, ‘I have control over my hormones and this cannot be happening!’ . Afterall, the man this should be happening with, was presently out of the country, awaiting my daily phone calls. Had I enough faith in her, I should have invoked the Roman goddess Vesta. So long she has been associated with the virgins that kept her flame, few remember she is the goddess of sexual ‘choice’ for women. To touch or not to be touched, were the choices, not the questions. I invited him to the Polo matches on Sunday, as he said he had never been. “I get so jealous when I see you riding off with your mother and her boyfriend looking so beautiful…”, was Miguel’s take on my trips to Wellington each week. We had to get through thirty-nine more hours without seeing one another. My mother would occasionally wave and greet Miguel’s mother from the mailbox, arrogant enough to believe she’d foiled any interaction between us. Miguel’s mother had taken to greeting me quite dryly, as though speaking to me was unbearable. It was a maternal form of sour grapes. Their Achilles Heels were that we knew them both too well to let them in on our secret.

The Celebration of The Pride-filled
The most promising part of the festivities on Saturday was the participation of Legacy couples displayed during and after the parade. With all the pro/con discourse concerning Same-sex Marriage legality, it was a source of ‘pride’ for me that one of the stereotypes alluded to by a journalist I felt (until that statement) was quite intelligent, was nullified: homosexual men aren’t merely horny, humping, monogamy-spurning creatures, akin to the more primitive of animals. I really become physically ill at the mention of that falsity, especially when I am confronted daily by horny, humping, monogamy-spurning creatures of the HETEROSEXUAL kind! Dear reader, c’est très simple et très vrai: people are people; their choices have little to do with who they are attracted to and everything to do with WHAT they are attracted to. If you are a ‘physically-generous’ person, you will be such whether you are hard-wired to love men or women.

My present lament is at the intolerance of some Same-sex lovers that refer to ‘my kind’ as breeders. Still possessing the capacity of either fertilizing or being fertilized with the help of modern sciences has not lessened the reversal of aggression between them and us. I would not ask my brothers and sisters of same-sex love to forgive me, as there is nothing I have done to forgive. Nor would I ask them to forgive those that HAVE oppressed or abused them; instead I ask that they at least realize if I am in their midst during the first-ever Gay Pride Parade in Miami Beach…I must be there for a GOOD reason. Over all it was a great time (I heard the May versions of Lupercalia and Bacchanalia didn’t get started until dark, farther down the beach).

Her Pride-and-joy Made Poison
My younger sister called my cell to give me the blow-by-blow account of my mother’s harrowing search for her prized possession: a rare jewel known as a pretty unwed daughter. She simply REFUSED to leave home for the matches without me! In Palm Beach County during the Polo Championships, this item can open doors and solicit invites with the mere show of a pleasant smile; ne’er too many “Nos” ; and the right ensemble. The economy is so unstable men whom normally kept wives and girlfriends have had to let go of girlfriends (and occasionally wives) in an effort to secure the family wealth from blasé squanderings. Courting has come back into play; safer sex abounds as men cannot be totally sure a young woman will not simply keep a child to insure future financial security. In otherwords, everyone is a bit pickier. Some have even begun re-evaluating past declines: Rey is one of those people.

When he saw me arrive with Miguel, he silently made it known that he needed a moment to speak with me. It has been many seasons since Rey and I attempted to get to know one another…many seasons. He had just returned from Paris and our affinity for the 17eme arrondissement with its social contrasts (société exclusif and BoBo- bohemian-bourgeois), as well as the Aux Couleurs du Monde’s Asian/Central-american menu and atmosphere deeply rooted in our memories, we seemed to have so much in common. As I walked over to him he smirked as though he’d won some triumph- over Miguel or me, it was unclear. “A FRIEND of yours?” “To be sure…” Rey glanced toward Miguel, “Sorely to your mother I am sure”. Rey was all too familiar with my mother’s strict policies on whom I dated. “He is escorting me, it is nothing to bother yourself about”, I stated dryly, as I turned my nose skyward and began to walk away. Rey grabbed my arm, gently. “But IT is a bit of a problem if I want to come for a visit-“ I shook his hand away, “Not if you are calling upon my mother and Quinn!”. I took care to move more than arm’s distance away this time before I trusted turning around and leaving his presence. I prayed he would not be the catalyst to my premonitions of war with my mother over Miguel.

As I returned to Miguel’s side, I heard the strangest murmurings “How many have died!” I recall hearing one woman squeal. The rest of the time spent at the club that day is recalled in slow motion for me. Having loved and indirectly cared for horses for most of my life, I could not believe my ears, and later my eyes. “Let’s go see what happened!”, Miguel shouted as he began pulling me toward the horror of a fallen animal. Rey appeared from seemingly nowhere and stood firmly in front of Miguel until he looked up. “Take the young lady HOME! This not the sort of sight SHE should see!” Miguel looked toward me and I immediately looked toward the ground, when I looked up again Miguel and Rey were staring each other down. ‘Is my scent in the air?’, I wondered then I feigned weakness, “I feel…faint”. If only to get away from what I was hearing and knew to be happening to the creatures we looked upon as beloved champion athletes. We cmae to cheer on these majestics, rarely the riders.

Miguel kept questioning me about Rey, but I sat silently and hoped that my mother was home. As we pulled up, I saw her car and barely waited for Miguel to stop before I opened the door and leapt out. “M.~! Wait!” I burst through the door, ran toward my mother's voice in the kitchen and grabbed her from behind in a desperately childish embrace, as she spoke on the phone, “Yes, well she is here now…I believe she is quite troubled by this whole ordeal…Yes…” As she hung up the phone, she turned toward me and held me tight, then she whispered softly, “I spoke with Rey…How has one come so lately to being a deceiver?” I attempted to step back to look at her, but she would not release my head and shoulders. My heart and head began to pound; I began to wonder what it was about disappointing my mother that struck so much fear in my heart. “My head needs release, Mother…” I whispered, but Quinn was seated so close he heard me speak. “What was that?” My mother answered, “She said her head needs RELIEF. Be a dear, Quinn, and fetch something for her head, please?” When Quinn left the room my mother pushed me away, and glowered at me. “I hope he was worth it! To take THAT MAN around our friends- on a day so memorable!-“ “THE NEXT TIME will make certain no tragedies are occurring!” My mother stood shocked that I would raise my voice to her as Quinn re-entered the kitchen. “She’s so delicate one could not remember if she took one of these or these”, Quinn joked as he alternately held up two bottles. I walked over to him with an outstretched hand, “I take one of these Quinn, thank you” then turning to my mother I added, “Do call upon Gin, I believe I saw here car pulling in as we were leaving”. I did not wait for a reply from my mother.

A friend of the family’s, Ginny Powell, was one of the medical technicians on-site, and when we got through to her late on Monday, she was still quite distressed and confounded.