I’ve met Lloyd exactly twice — in corporeal form. The first time was in Montreal in the dim dark days beyond recall: 1970? The second was when he crashed with us in Chicago in, I think, 1975. Then there was a twenty year gap, until the internet brought us together again. God bless the internet.
Lloyd’s gonna hop the Empire Builder from Seattle (he’s a Train Guy) and stay with us in our hovel in the ‘Ville for a week, in eleven days. This makes me happy in a special way I can’t describe: personal history, sure. The long attachment of — may I venture this: Soul Mates? Hmmm. He’s spent his life as a bookseller. He’s progressive, politically. He likes chamber music. He likes cats and architecture. Snap!
I met Lloyd through his sister Llyn, my bff at McGill and my travelling companion in Europe. She was my roommate at the Locanda Anna in Florence where I met my Chicago husband. She was the witness at my wedding. She flew in to Chicago to help when my baby was born. Then she disappeared, to me and her family. It breaks my heart.
Moving forward: When you know you’re having a house guest, the cataracts are peeled from your eyes. Good God, what a dirty dingy dump! We were planning on a new roof, but that can wait until after Lloyd leaves. I will hire a cleaning service. I’ll make new curtains for the guest room. For our anniversary on Tuesday we’ll go to the mall and buy a new set of cookware, new sheets and towels and have dinner out. I’ll dust the bookcases.
Lloyd, if you read this, know that you’re a force for good, although I’m sure you’ll find a dust hippo somewhere. Sometimes I need to get off my lazy ass and take care of the things I should always have been taking care of. Can’t wait to hear you and L, after a coupla beers, talking politics. You could head up a ticket together. As for me, I think Im going to look up upholstery cleaners. Or not.