Everything's Better With Two

Since stepping into the wait line on purpose, I find I am actually quite a good waiter.

Well, not as in 'waitress' type waiter.

I mean: wait - er. A person who waits.

I think that patience was taught to me by my mother. Even when every muscle and nerve in me is strained, screaming out "LET'S GO, PEOPLE!!!" I still have the ability, developed, mind you, to maintain a sense of poise and composure.

I've been in a que of sorts, for the past six weeks, of waiting on my children, twice a week, for an hour and a half, in the Arts District, whilst they attend class.

This time has, to varying degrees, been productive, and enjoyable, and useful, and all-out B-O-R-I-N-G. Not necessarily in that order.

So, to my suprise, and quick re-adjustment, the past few classes have been nothing short of thrilling.

You see, the GilGuy has been my companion during the [seemingly] interminable wait. This has produced Root Beer Floats at a nearby diner, a gander at ageless photos of actors past in a gallery of sorts, an auto tour of the nether regions of the area ~ and, as of last night, a delightful walking tour.

I've watched countless numbers of folks walk the city sidewalks. I know the sleeping zone of numerous homeless people, and could probably pick the local [to that area] out of a line up of sorts, of homeless folk at large. I've seen kooks and normals; artists and haute couture; buses and bikes and cars, and even an accident not 60 feet from me.

I wasn't quite willing, previously, to take on pedestrian mode by myself with baby in tow. That is why, when stepping out of the cocoon of our vehicle, criss-crossing this busy thoroughfare gave me great delight. I was finally right in the midst of the character and personna of life that runs amuck here.

I only wish I had a host of photographical evidence to show you. Images of the vitality that I've described above. Alas, in the midst of my own personal adventure, my batteries failed. YIKES!

So, you'll have to use your own vivid imagination when I tell you about the homeless couple that bedded down for the night beside the elementary school. How the woman, long white-grey hair matted, called out to her husband (?), saying "Hey! Look at that cute baby!" and saying "Awwww . . ." as Keller dutifully returned her comment with a smile, gently cocking his head to one side.

You'll have to envision the man on the 5 foot tall bicycle, as he walked his transportation to the sidewalk crossing to push the button, and mounted the device as one would a horse, only to ride off into the sunset of a Hollywood theatrical strip, never to be seen again.

You'll have to gasp as we discovered the high end grocery store,

hidden and tucked away, imbedded into the backside of a bank building.

The tattoos we visually took in are almost impossible to describe.

The litter in front of one storefront contrast with the neatly swept area in front of a restaurant, complete with a waiter (there's that word again!) in a crisp white linen shirt, standing at attention for his next customers.

The open air cafe - the people and their dog, the man and his guitar, the sunglassess and high heels, the tennis shoes and back packs . . .

All part of a thread of life the lives and breathes on a timetable all it's own.

Experiencing this breathtaking series of scenes was only made better by one fact: he was by my side the whole time, laughing and loving and living it with me.

I am madly in love.