On a Saturday night at Golden Gardens, celebrating a Jewish holiday with a beach bonfire and singing, I locked eyes with a man who then came over to talk. He introduced himself and explained that he wasn't Jewish, but he likes to take the number 49 bus from the central district to Golden Gardens with a bag full of musical instruments to find people to jam with.
Ponder that last sentence for a moment, and tell me it's not the most Seattle-ish thing you've ever heard.
We kept talking and then he paused when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and said, "Oh, it's my lover."
I was a bit confused, thinking that I misread his social cues, until he explained that they were in an open relationship. She, naturally, is a doula and labor and delivery nurse. "We take care of each other," he elaborated. "Do you have a lover?"
"No," I said. I don't have a lover, I don't have a husband, I don't have a boyfriend, I don't have a friend with benefits or even a decent date. I am completely single. Thanks for the reminder.
He asked if I wanted to jam with him. How could I refuse? I played the shaker while he played his homemade didgeridoo made out of PVC pipe decorated with handpainted Aboriginal patterns.
The chill of the night on a Seattle beach set in, and I decided to head home. We exchanged numbers, and then next day he sent me a text message asking to see me again. He gave me three potential evenings that he was free, all at least two weeks in advance. "Why are you so busy?," I asked.
"I'm not that busy. I just have so many wonderful people in my life to share my time with."
Oh God.
He invited me to a dinner party at his home the next night. I wasn't planning on going, but I had a date earlier in the evening that was so painfully boring I decided I needed some entertainment afterwards. Quirkiness I can handle. Boredom is a dealbreaker.
I showed up at his home in the central district, where he and five of his White friends were smoking pot and celebrating the night with their own tribal drum circle. I joined in again with the shaker, and as the howl of the didgeridoo filled the room he started chanting:
I will sing this song for you
So you know my love is true
Music goes into our soul
When we all smoke a bowl
I remembered I had a job to be at the next morning, and I left.
He called me the next day to chat. I asked how his day was, and he responded "I just had a really good conversation with my roommate about white privilege. I hadn't thought about that in awhile." Said by a man who painted his own Aboriginal symbols on a PVC pipe and called it a didgeridoo.
A week later, I received the following text: "Greetings from the green man! Care to join me for a spring Beltane celebration this Sunday? Noon at Ravenna Park. Dress festive, you could win a crown!"
I was in Chicago for the week and had never heard of Beltane in my life, so I declined. That was the last I heard of him. I trust that he is being taken care of by his lover.
Ponder that last sentence for a moment, and tell me it's not the most Seattle-ish thing you've ever heard.
We kept talking and then he paused when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and said, "Oh, it's my lover."
I was a bit confused, thinking that I misread his social cues, until he explained that they were in an open relationship. She, naturally, is a doula and labor and delivery nurse. "We take care of each other," he elaborated. "Do you have a lover?"
"No," I said. I don't have a lover, I don't have a husband, I don't have a boyfriend, I don't have a friend with benefits or even a decent date. I am completely single. Thanks for the reminder.
He asked if I wanted to jam with him. How could I refuse? I played the shaker while he played his homemade didgeridoo made out of PVC pipe decorated with handpainted Aboriginal patterns.
The chill of the night on a Seattle beach set in, and I decided to head home. We exchanged numbers, and then next day he sent me a text message asking to see me again. He gave me three potential evenings that he was free, all at least two weeks in advance. "Why are you so busy?," I asked.
"I'm not that busy. I just have so many wonderful people in my life to share my time with."
Oh God.
He invited me to a dinner party at his home the next night. I wasn't planning on going, but I had a date earlier in the evening that was so painfully boring I decided I needed some entertainment afterwards. Quirkiness I can handle. Boredom is a dealbreaker.
I showed up at his home in the central district, where he and five of his White friends were smoking pot and celebrating the night with their own tribal drum circle. I joined in again with the shaker, and as the howl of the didgeridoo filled the room he started chanting:
I will sing this song for you
So you know my love is true
Music goes into our soul
When we all smoke a bowl
I remembered I had a job to be at the next morning, and I left.
He called me the next day to chat. I asked how his day was, and he responded "I just had a really good conversation with my roommate about white privilege. I hadn't thought about that in awhile." Said by a man who painted his own Aboriginal symbols on a PVC pipe and called it a didgeridoo.
A week later, I received the following text: "Greetings from the green man! Care to join me for a spring Beltane celebration this Sunday? Noon at Ravenna Park. Dress festive, you could win a crown!"
I was in Chicago for the week and had never heard of Beltane in my life, so I declined. That was the last I heard of him. I trust that he is being taken care of by his lover.
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