Now and then a spate of serendipity
comes along. The stars align, one can’t believe one’s good
fortune and we live in a benign, even benevolent, universe for a
lovely while. Last night was one of those times.
I was invited to read at an event
called “Wordier Than Thou,” in St. Petersburg, Florida. Tiffany
Razzano, the spirited and inspiring editor of the LGTBQ blog in the
local alternative paper, “Creative Loafing,” organizes this
occasional gathering for the gay writing community in the Tampa Bay
area. It’s held in a small space called The L Train Theatre Lounge
which serves as both a performance space and a wine and beer bar.
Readings are not among my favorite
activities. For one thing, I can’t sit still that long. For
another, they take a lot of preparation and exhaust me because of the
emotional duress that accompanies getting in front of an audience.
This reading was different. To tell the truth, they are all different
because once I’m there, I meet other readers and writers and my
world expands. Gay people are an incredibly diverse and talented
bunch.
I met a woman who practices spoken word
performance, something so far from my sphere of reference I had to
ask for an explanation. I met another woman who has plans for a
lesbian speed dating service. I met a PhD candidate who works in a
new independent bookstore that, amazingly, opens at 6:30 a.m. And I
listened to a singer called Cuba Luna whose throaty voice was
thrilling.
As if those gifts weren’t enough, I
turned a corner from a hallway into the performance space and came
face to face with two friends from Nottingham, England. As I recall,
I looked from one to the other literally gaping. What were the
chances that I would finally agree to read on a night that they would
be visiting in the vicinity. That they would stumble across a Tweet
announcing the reading. That they would be willing to leave the beach
and tackle the insane Tampa Bay traffic. That they would be in the
front row with my sweetheart to cheer me on during the reading. No
way!
Way! This is just how we happened to
find what we hope will be our retirement home in the Pacific
Northwest. Not that we’re retiring anytime soon. We’re simply
never going to move again, so when we do retire, that’s where we’ll
be living.
We were actually in Oregon to visit our
friends the Handydyke and the Pianist. As we plann to move back there
eventually, we stopped in to see my old realtor and she kindly
printed out some places to look at, to get a sense of the market. The
last place we checked was a manufactured home. My sweetheart had not
gotten out of the car to walk around any of the other houses, but
this time, maybe because it was the last, maybe because the stars
were aligned just right, she did. Then she called me to join her.
She was looking at a distant view of
the Pacific Ocean. I can’t begin to describe how far out of our
price range a view of any ocean, river, lake or pond is for us. But
there it was, gray-blue, wild, an unobstructed and unobstructable
view from this hilltop house. As we peered in windows and walked the
miniscule, miniscule grounds, the next door neighbor headed our way.
Not to shoo us off the property, but with key in hand, smiling,
friendly, eager to let us inside. Afterward, we sped back to the
realtor.
The next morning we were at the
mortgage office, applying. By that afternoon we had our insurance
binder. Everyone was available just when we needed them. We are
thinking positively that the lender will give us its blessings and
we’ll be crossing the country soon. In the dead of winter, of
course, leaving an unsold house behind us, but no matter how much I
worry about such little details, by hook or by crook, that’s our
hilltop house, that’s our future.
The UPS guy confirmed it for us this
afternoon. Out of the blue, he delivered a package from our
auctioneer friend. Last month, when a family member was going through
a rough patch, we sent her a care package from a teddy bear company,
with a bit of chocolate and the like. I hardly have to say that’s
exactly what the auctioneer sent us on a whim, because the bears
reminded her of us.
Just in case I had doubts, and despite
my aversion to Facebook, I went to friend one of the incredible
lesbians we met last night. On the top of her page was the word
serendipity—and the definition: “Finding something good without
looking for it.”
[Editor's Note: Lee Lynch is the author
of over 13 books. Her latest, Rafferty
Street, concludes her epic
Morton River Valley trilogy. You can reach Lynch at
LeeLynch@ontopmag.com]
Copyright 2012 Lee Lynch