Day Four: Triangle

I was looking for a quiet spot yesterday and I found one.  On the other side of a walkway beside the lobby bar is a little sitting area, shaded by a canopy of big green leaves over a trellis.  It was full of wicker chairs, with comfy cushions for the back and bum.  No waiters coming by with an offer of drinks.  Just peace.  As well as exploring the pages of Birdie, I watched the flow of humanity across the way.  Since I was well to the side of their field of vision, nobody seemed to detect me.  But I detected them.  Couples holding hands, young kids scampering ahead of their parents.  Folks with canes.  Most of the guys had facial hair, unlike a certain observer I know.

Twelve wooden posts supported the trellis.  The hard branches of the plants wound their way around half of them.  On the ceiling’s edges, green leaves waved in the wind.  And such a sublime breeze.  The fairies tickling my face.

I needed this.  To be alone, without conversation.  To reflect on life, on my love of golf, on what it means to be an aboriginal woman in Canada.  Some of me was here and now, watching the high-pitched black birds hop from chair to chair and then hoist themselves into the nest of branches above.  Another part was there and then, imagining myself on the practice tee at Tarandowah, actually hitting shots high in the air.  I’m fine with both ways of being.

I have a favourite spot in the lobby bar.  I’m sitting here right now.  It’s where I tap on my laptop and go on the Internet to obsess about Brooke Henderson.  From my chair under the birdie trellis, I could just see my place in the bar.  That felt good.  Bruce saying hi to Bruce.  I was also looking at the tall windows of the Italiano à la carte restaurant.  Later in the day, I would be enjoying a meal in there.  The exterior was decorated in white and pale green.  It looked very Mediterranean.  I saw my future me and wondered if I’d get a window table, so I could look back at my chair under the trellis.  Bar, trellis, restaurant … all Bruce.  I don’t have words for the peace I felt, for the love I felt for me.

At 6:00 pm, a smiling waiter ushered me to a window table in Italiano.  And there was my wicker chair, with the cushion supporting the back of an earlier visitor.  And over yonder was my blogging spot in the lobby bar.  Bruce hangs out there too.

All is right with the world.

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