street life
the lovely man
You know how sometimes two souls collide in a fleeting way, like two bells chiming in different trees, and you never forget that person even if you never again see them or think of them. Well, that happened to me today. A most beautiful man. I went out to buy eggs and to finally drop in and see my friend who runs an exquisite New Berlin gift shop – it is filled with lovely things – he sells liquors and vodkas brewed locally. He sells handmade cards on creamy laid paper which have perfect arrangements of tiny dried flowers on them. Each card is initialed by the lady who makes it and inside is a little sheet of paper with her wavering handwriting – she is quite old, he says, and lives in Bavaria – explaining which wildflowers she used for this card. After much hesitation among the meadows I chose one with violets and something called in German “geese flowerlings.” The lady’s name is Rotraud – that’s her first name. I imagine her an elderly maiden, Germanic, pure-hearted, fieldly.
While we were standing chatting a woman walked in whom I had passed on my way into the snooty health food store, she has a seamed and brown face round like a nut and he showed me the cards he also sells with her photographs on them. I was still reeling. Ahead of me browsing in the health food store opposite I had seen this lovely man, baby straps wrapped around his chest, long wrinkled pants and comfy shoes and somehow the back of his head attracted me. At the egg shelves we ran against each other and looked into one another’s eyes and smiled. I like you! I like you, too. As I was walking home feeling so filled with ardour and friendship he cycled past, slow and leisurely, making faces at his baby who lay smiling in the little wooden cart pushed in front of the bicycle. Hey, I said. Hey, he said. I came home to the man whose loveliness is known to me in more compelling detail and the sound of whose voice from outside the door lifts my heart. He took a photo of me in my crowded overalls, every pocket bulging with spinach, bananas, nectarines, tea. I put some water on to boil the eggs whilst telling him all about it. We gloated over the four different kinds of amazing German breadrolls I had chosen and their funny names. My favourite breadroll name is ‘Schrippen,’ a kind of ordinary light white bun. I bought potato rolls, farmer’s rolls, dinkel rolls and poppy and sesame fruit rolls, lifting each one out of its hutch with the long-handled scissor provided there for just that purpose.
27 comments on “the lovely man”
Leave a comment
You might also like to read:
Today my boyfriend discovered the illicit dried flower factory I have been running in his apartment. At first glance it looks as though a two-dimensional squirrel has made herself a nest out of private papers ...read more
In the late afternoon I walked down to the square. I've been indoors now every day of eight weeks. People were sitting round the edge of the grass as though it were a swimming pool ...read more
In the supermarket I queued for the African check out dude who's always calm in the midst of all the Germanness. A blonde woman behind me set down, emphatically, a bagful of fresh pak choy ...read more
tbose mandads they are adorable – and they are like completely new – a mutation maybe –
Mandads! I completely agree, Jennifer, and did you just make that up? The word itself is adorable too. It sort of makes me want to run up and throw my arms around it though this may be simple transference…
i did just make it up lol;
That. Is so good. I shall use it and always credit you.
First you ask him out: that’s your mandate. Then you get him pregnant: voila mandad. Few years later when young parenthood has driven you both a bit bananas: Mandada. Eventual widowhood: Mandead.
how much they love it – their first chance for a VERY LONG TIME to be close to their babes – they are just nutz about it
next you get grandads
and they are nutz about babes
True. And grantdads… that is when trustafarians become papas.
oh they are gorgiss those grandads – slow and slinky and sly – they get to those babes
It is blissful to see the deep love and trust between grandpapa and grandbaby.
it’s true – men just want to have babies in their arms
women are going like – i have just had a thirty hour labour – i have pancakes to flip – get the fuck out of my kitchen
About how if you encourage your son to play with dolls he might turn out to be – gasp! – a good father:
http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/let-him-play-with-dolls/
‘I have pancakes to flip’ is pretty great.
we all have pancakes to flip – but those guys – they are looking for a new adventure – and how adorable are they!! completely adorable
They are entirely adorable. C’est vrais.
and so we roll over and do it all over again (why any woman ever rolls up for the second time in the labour ward is a complete mystery)
give the men what they want – shut trhem up – we have pancakes to flip right
we are the mothers of men right – i have given birth to a man out of my very vagina –
That must’ve hurt!
you cannot even imagine – but he is so adorable – my precious –
I just bet he is. Also: he must have been somewhat smaller then. The mental image of him struggling his way out fully formed was vein-popping.
well the trouble with a baby is that although they are usually almost possible to deliver via a vagina (but not always) is that they are who they are – so it is a bit of a shock to look at them and realize they are sopmeone else
although they are really tiny they also contain everhyhone they will be
so no wonder the mandads suddenly let into the mystery feel a bit special;
Just to be an utter bitch about this: You know the cute primary-carer (or even occasional-carer) dads know they are desirable. They really work it, too. There are a couple of “cool dads” at our primary school and by god, do people fall over themselves for them, no matter how entirely unengaged they are in any task other than standing around looking kind of cute and cool in a detached way. They know and they work it. It actually gives me the pip when i see the “man dads” hanging around cool shops. I think, the mums are at home getting a million unglamorous things done on their days off work; the dads are hanging around looking cool and soaking up the unspoken approval.
Och, this is so true. I don’t think you’re being bitchy at all, Cathy, it’s quite reasonable. As other women have pointed out elsewhere, men tend to expect (and get!) lashings of fawning praise just for doing stuff which is taken for granted when women do it and which in the case of a shared household or shared child is no more than their job. I’ve even heard of the concept of ‘choreplay’ – would you believe – softening your woman up for some sex later in the evening/week/etc by gallantly pitching in around the house. Argh.
I hope the falling over ourselves that happens with such cute cool dads might (a) spread to a better appreciation of women’s parenting and the work it entails, too, and (b) bring more men out of the woodwork to take up their tasks – including the less lauded and publicly noticeable Toilet Cleaning, Puke Wiping, and Endless Finding of Cast-Off Tiny Shoes at home – and mature into a better equality for everybody.