Wilbo has a plan for making his life in Virginia happy, and if not happy, less anonymous. He's keeping statistics on his plan. He's meeting thirty to fifty new people a day. It's not too hard if he sits at a cafe in Ghent and offers conversational gambits to men and women passing him. One night, as sundown was darkening Colley Avenue, every man and woman with a noble hound marched their mastiff in front of the Naro Theatre. One woman followed her magnificent Dalmatian on its leash, a slack leash, and Wilbo could exclaim, "what a magnificent Dalmatian!" A compliment given to an owner of a pedigreed dog always returns a thank you. Wilbo is full of mischief lately. He followed up with, "And you look nothing like Cruella D'Ville." She and her Dalmatian walked ten more steps, and she turned to say over her should, "You should see me on Halloween"!
That was last Wednesday night, and four women from PETA sat on a wooden bench waiting for Naro's 9:15 PM showing. PETA had not organized a mutt march, but yet PETA was represented as the dogs promenaded. PETA is headquartered near downtown Norfolk on the north shore of the Elizabeth River, on an inlet of a bay (or is it a lagoon) called the Hague. A young man was showing off his dog to the righteous babe foursome. Only one of them wore a purple PETA tee-shirt with white lettering. His puppy with thick, curly black hair strained the leash, but the poor puppy couldn't introduce himself face to face with the PETA foursome.
Wilbo was blocked from walking by the strained leash, and the young man apologized. Wilbo said no matter, it's nice to see a dog meet such good animal advocates as PETA. A lovely and tall woman with dark, curly hair, as pretty as that on the dog, jumped into the scene as smoothly as a improv comedian, and announced, "Since PETA is here, I am going to pet your pet". The puppy turned from the foursome and gave the tall southern woman some sugar. "Oh, are you going to hump my leg, are you? Are you going to give me a puppy kiss, yes you are. Smoochie poochie !" She had bent down to smoochie the poochie, and she drew herself up to her six foot height, called to her friends that it was time to enter the theatre. And she and her friends entered the theatre and the man followed his happy hound, exiting sidewalk south.
Wilbo talked a little with the PETA quartet, wondering if they ever held fundraising parties in the shoreside office. Tonight, the four had volunteered to prepare a mailing at headquarters. Some nights, they raised funds selling memberships street side. Other nights, they sold vegan hot dogs to raise money and share vegetarian alternatives to meet. Wilbo wanted to dress up in a tuxedo at PETA headquarters, but he would feel uncomfortable wearing polished leather shoes. "So wear slippers", said one woman with a British accent. "Or flip flops made with recycled tire soles!" suggested a woman with a Swedish accent. "Have a good night," offered a woman with an Irish accent. The fourth PETA woman didn't say a word.
Wilbo found a pair of nights each week when the Chrysler Museum stays open until 9:00 PM. On Wednesday, a smaller group sits at nice round tables made of steel painted green, sitting on chairs that would not be out of place in a garden. The chairs could be safely left out in the rain. Weekly, a local jazz groups is paid to play to this small assembly, gathered in the Huber Courtyard. The stonework of the Huber Courtyard is renaissance in feeling, Greco-Roman in design, and the courtyard is kept dry by rathskeller rafters supporting a glass roof. It is spectacular to listen to jazz as a lightening storm flashes along the panes, strobbing the courtyard with flashbulb lighting. When dark falls over the courtyard, one feels as protected as a peasant in a walled city. It is a good place to be when night finds that particular day of ones life.
Unlike many courtyards like it in American museums, Huber Court does not have a sign telling how it came over from some German burgher town stone by stone. Jazz is wonderful music, but the three story chamber soaks up all its nuances when twenty to thirty people sit and listen. In a courtyard that grand, to spend time there is to demand that destiny reveal an insight into your fate. Wilbo met a couple who had met in Huber Court during one of the Thursday evening soirees. The couple had invite him to sit with them at their green table. Now the pair make an once yearly visit to a summer soiree. Recent parenthood keeps them to busy to come to all four summer soirees.
On a Wednesday night, a man was reading a book alone at one of the roundtops. Wilbo flipped out his Moleskinne journal and his Lamy fountain pen and began writing about his day. A woman returning from the wine and beer table with a bottle of Miller was focused on him, a slightly annoyed look on her face. So he invited her to sit down and share a few moments with him.
It was the right invitation. She explained that she was often annoyed to sit in a Starbucks and watch a man play with his laptop for hours, maybe completing MBA exercises or playing a multiuser domain game, wondering why that man is playing with a keyboard rather than talking to her. Wilbo was enjoy this unexepected conversation, and being full of midsummer mischief, Wilbo asked her what fragrance she was wearing.
It was an okay question to ask. She pointed to her right neckbone and said, "there's two fragrances". "Please," still pointing at her neckbone, "feel free to lean close so you can tell what this fragrance is". Wilbo complied and he recognized a fragrance of Lady Stetson. Pointing a her left, high cheekbone, "now what is this fragrance?" Wilbo leaned in, but he couldn't tell. "It's Cody powder," said she. "My grandmother wore it every day of her life. When I apply it, I always think of her. She was the strongest person I have ever met." Then she rose, and returned to a table of her friends.
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