What's Important

After a 2-week-ish absence I have much to report. Two farm-stays, one on an estuary near a cluster of "islands" (all estuaries, really -- as an ex-Vashonite I must disdain the misuse of the term 'island' by wannabes), and one at an "eco" B&B ('eco' most often deserves to be surrounded by quotes, unfortunately).

But tonight, with free internet at my disposal at this lovely backpackers (much more like a B&B), in a perfectly lit living room with lovely French and Brazilian music playing, and the sun room with a comfy bed waiting for me, I've only got one story to tell.

Today was lovely, a perfect beach day. Back in Nelson - the biggest town in the region where I've spent my last 2 weeks - before crossing back to the North Island (and my worklife) tomorrow. I concluded the day at the fanciest restaurant in town, because when I'm dating myself, I roll baller style all the way.

I really can't describe the meal as anything other than sensuous. The wine was all from Nelson and amazing, the kind that makes you feel "sophisticated drunk," yknow, like smart drunk. I had a deep-sea fish that is a big deal in New Zealand; it's got a complicated name, the memory of which got lost somewhere in the wine. There were courses, and finally a brulee with poached rhubarb (didn't know this was possible, but it turns out to be a fantastic idea). And there was a fight at the next table.

Of all the tables to people-watch during my solo dinner, theirs had the "it" factor from the moment they were seated. She was a bit overdressed (in that way that you try to dress up when you aren't used to going to upscale places), and they both swore a lot, loudly enough for everyone to notice. The first fight drew me right in because they kept talking about g-spots. I couldn't hear enough of the context but I was dying for details. It was a hetero couple and I made the rather safe assumption that he was on the wrong side of the g-spot argument. I suppressed urges to cross the aisle and moderate.

The main course interrupted their dispute and I was disappointed that they didn't pick it up again. They ate too quickly and didn't share. As I basked in the post-coital embrace of my brulee, he started yelling. For some time he'd been leaning aggressively across the table, and she'd slanted herself back in the corner, legs crossed towards a quick exit. I heard her say a few times that she needed him to let her be herself. He retorted, "It's always about you." She slammed her glass down and catapulted towards the bathroom.

I'd just peed and paid and was mulling over the fact that they'd given me 2 mints instead of one (would 1 mint be too lonely?) but I had to follow her.

She wasn't crying in the stall like I expected, and she smiled quickly at me as she exited. I had some liquid courage and I said, "You're doing a good job. Sticking up for yourself." That's when she cried.

She confessed how their argument had started. She'd noticed me happily dining alone, "drinking fancy wines," and told her husband that she longed for time alone like that, and hoped it wouldn't offend him. Of course it did. She was American too (or Canadian, but I think her accent was New Yorkish), and the social impropriety of our exchange made her thank me deeply but also try to smile it off. I had not a thing to do and would've been happy to talk with her for hours about it all, give her the attention she needs. But that's not how it works, at least not when your table's waiting.

She said, "I think I might like being alone better. I'm good at it."

I smiled. "Being in a partnership is hard. And being alone can be hard too."

"I know, I forget that."

"As long as you're respected. That's the most important thing."

She blotted her tears and thanked me again. I told her she looked great and walked her back to her table. I didn't bother looking at her husband, and I left with both my mints.


Of course who knows what's going on with those two. What she said to him about wanting to be alone could have had a harsh delivery. And I may be making assumptions based on only a bit of field data, though I think the body language was pretty clear. Regardless of judgement stuff -- I mean, wow. I'm totally bowled over. It was a real honor to connect with another human like that.

And of course I cried to myself as I walked away and got on my bike back towards my B&B. Over lunch today I was reading a book about East Timor in the mid 70s-mid 90s. I remember being outraged in college because I was supposed to be, but damn, to really think about it now.. The book was a photo essay, including a picture of a woman about my age, covered in blood from holding the wounded, standing defiantly in a doorway, looking beautiful somehow, and I don't even know how to explain it. So of course me and my white guilt had my fancy dinner and thought about how maybe next time I have the urge to indulge I should donate the money to charity instead. By the way, I realize that simply having and admitting guilt doesn't fix jack. It's all such a shitshow.

Mandi (my hostess back at the Blueberry Farm) asked me what I'd do with my life if earning money weren't an issue. And I knew it had to do with women and confidence. Or people of any oppressed gender or sexuality being able to take charge.

Lots of time alone in the woods, on the beach, on the road.. no phone, no internet, no friends.. you get into "your material." It's tough and good. For sure a big bunch of mine involves oppression of women. And finding your confidence without any models. People are said to have natural talents.. I had to take dance lessons, I can't memorize for shit, my spatial reasoning is lacking.. but dammit, I made my own confidence through some shit. There's more to be made, always. But I think NZ is going to be a springboard for making my plan to do patchwork - and preventative work too - for women being yelled at during dinner, without being heard.

So yeah. Fuck yeah! That's my story. For now.

Thanks for continuing to send love.