Racing Report
Cosmic Song, always close on the rail, moved to the leader at the eighth pole, was blocked and taken up, moved outside that one and finished well, placing third. While she was encumbered, the winner was blasting down the stretch outside horses for a facile victory. That’s what happens sometimes when you’re the rail horse in a 5 ½ furlong sprint. We’ll go further next time. Meanwhile, Sharon needs to come up with a prayer for blocking on the rail. And that reminds us:
Alleluia, Alleluia, Let The Golden Anthem Rise!
For all those who have been asking, Pat Brown called the other day and reported that her tumors were diminishing. She’s celebrating with a trip to New Mexico. This does not mean everybody should put away their magical implements of healing, which are obviously working. Either that or Pat has good doctors.
And how about a good thought for poor old Torrey Johnson, recuperating up in Pennsylvania from not only hip replacement surgery, but also double-knee replacement. Ah, for the days when everybody we knew had the measles.
Fairfield, Benevolent Home of the Turkeys
Those turkeys in the photo up in the corner are just four of the two dozen or more who live on our and the surrounding properties. They’re here year-round, probably aware that Siobhan watches over them, casting an ill glance at anyone who would do them harm. Outlanders are aware of our burgeoning turkey population in this area and every so often some fool asks Siobhan if would be okay to come out and do some hunting. This is like asking Barack Obama if it would be okay to bring some Klan friends to the White House for soup and a sandwich. Nobody ever asks twice.
The Battle For The Intergalactic Cup
Irana keeps badgering me to tell you all about the great struggles for the Intergalactic Cup, but really, what is there to say?
The Intergalactic Cup, which looked like a gigantic milk jug, was the trophy given the winning croquet team in battles between the Subterranean Circus and the University of Florida Architecture Department, held on what Danny Levine called “The Old Golden Land,” some exotic acreage I once owned on Newberry Road a few miles west of Gainesville. It really would be “The Old Golden Land” if I owned it now, having quintupled in value since the early seventies.
Anyway, on many Sundays, great crowds of croquet fans and camp followers made their ways out to The Old Golden Land to view these great battles. The tension was so great, it often required drug-taking and drinking of ceremonial nectars to calm the nerves of the crowd. Other people (like, for instance, Irana) paid scant attention to the croquet match, preferring instead to drive their yellow motorcycles through the forests, crashing into trees willy-nilly. There were also reports of people consummating relationships deep into the wilderness, but irresponsible tales of lewdness are not appreciated here. It could also be mentioned that people occasionally forgot things when they left the property, a lot of times their clothes.
The Architecture Department was led by Professor Leland George Shaw, a merry bon vivant and world traveler of the first stripe. I never thought much about it at the time, but Lee, though married to the cute and tiny Suzie, often seemed to have an eye for the ladies. And Suzie was a little flirty herself. Save this useful information for later.
At the time, I was involved with Claudine (of earlier blogs’ LSD fame), ace photographer and sexual rascal. Eventually, Claudine departed for a summer in Europe and I took up with others. Years passed. Then one day, Rose Coward, one of my employees at the Circus (and a would-be matchmaker if ever there was one), looked out the window and saw a girl approaching.
“Bill!” she exclaimed, breathlessly. “There’s a woman coming down the street who is exactly the type of girl you should be dating.” I looked. It was Claudine. She came bearing gifts of photography. We reminisced, to Rose’s delight. Then she decided I should meet her for dinner that night at the Shaws in Micanopy. What the hell, why not?
Dinner, as always with Leland and company, was exotic. Nice music. Good wine. Great meal. Eventually, Claudine and I were left alone to converse and, I assumed, get friendlier. After a short period of banter and Claudine’s apparent discomfort with any increasing friendliness, she excused herself for a moment. This seemed odd. After all, what was I here for? I soon found out, naïve fool that I was. Suzie entered the room and sat down to talk. I thought she was holding Claudine’s place. I soon found out this was not the case.
“Wow,” said Suzie. “I needed that.” Obviously, there had been sexual drudgery in the family and arrangements had been made by the other principals to rectify the situation, no need to advise old Bill.
Gee, I thought. I’m only a pawn in their game. Somehow, this sad revelation did not prevent me from smiling all the way home. My first (and last) experience with wife swapping. Or something like it.
What I’ve Learned: Sometimes You Have To Remove The Hook And Throw ‘Em Back In
After ten years of marriage to Harolyn, we split up in 1980. Danny remained with me to finish high school in Gainesville. I wanted to think about the failure of the marriage and my contributions to that so I avoided dating for about seven months. Then one night, when I and several of the Circus crew were out gallivanting around Gainesville bars, I somehow wound up with Dani Hughes, 19. I was 41 at the time so you can tell this would not be a popular result. Nonetheless, we got along great. We played racquetball together (and with Danny), listened in amazement to each other’s music, went to the beach, etc. Just like normal closer-in-age couples. Nobody seemed to care. Well….except Danny, who had a bit of a crush on my new friend (and, for that matter, any other girl with a significant rack).
“Bill,” said Danny. “You’re 41. And Dani is 19.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and?....”
“Well, I dunnow….”
“Danny, it’s not like she’d be dating you, y’know….”
“Yeh, I guess.”
Danny grew to accept the relationship, particularly when Dani drove him and his friends all over the place when I was working or when we showed up at his high-school wrestling matches and she was the loudest person in the stands.
“Dani’s cool,” he said. And Dani was cool. Even when we had our horrible episode at Washington Oaks State Park.
This place is located just south of Marineland, on both sides of the highway. On one side is a very nice garden and on the other side is the beach. It’s not the best beach, but it’s very scenic, much of it covered by unusual (and large) black rock, big enough to lay out on—or in, the erosive persistence of the waves having hollowed out the centers of some of the rocks. The place is usually almost uninhabited and a photographer’s delight.
Having had a couple of drinks while meandering along the beach, we eventually found ourselves naked in the waves and having a great old time. Until we heard, in the distance, a loud whistle. What the hell could that be? Well, it could be a man calling his dog or it could be a cop with binoculars standing on the rocks, peering out at lawbreakers. Guess which one it was?
I left Dani out in the waves while I trudged in to get her a towel.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing out here?” asked the cop. “This is a public place!”
“Well, you’re the only public I see,” I told him. “And you could barely see us without the binoculars.”
I went out and gave Dani her towel and we both walked back in. The cop let us follow him back to the station in our own car, oblivious to the fact we’d been drinking. He continued to act appalled.
“Jesus!” he said (jealously, if you ask me). “You’re 41 years old, just like me! This girl is only 19!”
“Oh, come on,” I told him, “you mean you’ve never had anything going on with a young girl?” You can always nail guys with this one.
“Well, there was that time in Germany….” He smiled. I had him right where I wanted him.
“Look, we’ll pay whatever fines there are. I just don’t want this to be a bad experience for her. Let’s make it fun, as much it’s possible.” And the cop did. By the time Dani left, she was bouncy and smiling about her Great Experience. I was less ebullient, being lighter in the wallet by $400, but glad to see her unruffled by it all. The drive home was full of laughter and outrage.
We had been living together for few months when Dani approached me with a letter.
“My brother wants me to spend some time with him and his family in Palm Desert (Cal.),” she told me. “I always wanted to go out there and see him.”
“You gotta do it,” I told her.
“But, you know….I’ve never left a relationship when it was going well.”
“Dani, we don’t talk a lot about it, but I’m 41. You’re 19. My father died when he was 63. My mother was 38.”
“Oh, Bill—you’ll never die!”
“But just on the off chance….”
So Dani went to California and ports beyond. We didn’t hear from her for awhile. Then, two years later, she came back to Gainesville to show off her new husband. He was trying hard, but, truth be told, he was a little bit of a jerk. But then again, what can you expect? You don’t get Prince Charming every time ‘round.
That’s all, folks….
