A man no longer in my life paid me a vast compliment by saying that the quality he admired most was my ability to listen, to look and then change my mind. He, at the same time, called me warm and vulnerable but I preferred mind-changing. Anybody can be warm and vulnerable. Hahahaha
I did watch the royal nuptials to the bitter end and was quite impressed – actually mainly with the USA contingency. Meghan’s mother the image of class, dignity and pose. I mean compare her hat and dress with that of Camellia??? Camellia’s hat was a travesty – I could never quite figure out that woman’s appeal, she must be good in bed. The expression on the bride’s mother’s face was full of empathy, she paid rapt attention to what was going on. The Royals looked bored, looked away and might as well have been picking their noses. I could never quite figure out how Harry and William made it through those terrible years but it was clear – they had each other. Their closeness and concern for one another was palpable. Now here is the greatest turn around on my part. Meghan’s dress was really rather perfect, her veil extraordinary, it was diaphanous and the embroidery – what a grand touch. It is most interesting to compare the dress and veil of Harry’s Mom to that of Harry’s Bride. The Mom’s dress was puffy, the train unmanageable. a definite win for the Bride. The little kids were so cute. The Duchess of Sussex’s decision to march down part of the aisle on her own absolutely brilliant and apparently when Prince Charles took over Harry mouthed: “Thanks Pa!” Now that makes me cry. The Queen looked absolutely bored out of her mind. Well think of how many weddings the poor woman has gone to in her 90 years. It is rather laughable listening to the vows speaking of the permanency of union surrounded by divorce on every side. By the way, Kate looked absolutely miserable – perhaps because she was being upstaged. The sermon so stirring and such an extreme surprise. All in all a very nice time was had by all, or at least by me.
Then I awoke to comments by the New Yorker. They began by speaking of the courtesy and cordiality of Windsor denizens on the day. “Ordinary citizens initiated conversations of their own free will rather than, as custom dictates, either waiting for their dogs to sniff each other or deciding not to speak at all.” I mean THAT is funny, Anthony Lane you are funnier than I am. He was on the ground, so to speak and could provide this insight. “More than two thousand members of the public had been invited into the castle grounds and were guaranteed a clear view of the proceedings. The invitation was, in part, a vote of thanks for services rendered. One such guest, Helen Mack, had worked in the hospice movement for thirty years, providing care for the terminally ill; another spectator, Cavita Chapman, is not only a senior manager in the treatment of mental health—a cause to which Harry has lent outspoken support—but, as I learned, an expert on the insanely complex plot of “Suits.” Chapman was crisp in her assessment of the real-life couple, expecting great things of Meghan (“She’s a feminist”) and the Prince—“Harry’s always been, you know, ‘Why not?’ ” Put together, Chapman said, “Both of them will change the world.” What an utterly charming thought.
The New Yorker summarized it all: “What occurred today, in summary, was this: an American divorcée married a man whose brother will only become king because of his paternal grandmother’s father, who only became king because his brother wanted to marry an American divorcée. History goes around in circles.” I must send that to Ted, my classmate who wrote a biography of the paternal grandmother’s father. (I just did it!)
More of Lane’s superb writing. “Meghan Markle entered the chapel as a Ms. and came out as a duchess: a transmutation that Superman himself, who merely changes his underwear in a confined space, would be the first to applaud. The couple, entwined in matrimony, emerged into the dream-bright day, got into an open carriage, and set off—at a bracingly fast lick, it must be said—to begin their companionable life.”
Lane does agree with me about the dour expression found on the face of Queen Elizabeth II. “Even now, I can’t quite decipher the expression on the face of the Queen, who is hard to decrypt at the best of times. All I will say is that it was identical to the expression on the face of Elton John. God save them both.” He said it better, but it must be said that he was there and I was not. And he gets paid for writing and I do not. So there! So there! So there!
I had an absolutely wonderful brunch at Bacchus Restaurant with the woman I meet in the loo at Vancouver Art Gallery the day before. She was there with her daughter, a truly beautiful young woman who just graduated from UBC. Two other friends Catherine has known for ages and me – her newest friend that she met the day before in the loo. I forgot to dig up one of the hysterical cards I brought home from London to gift her on her actual birthday. UK has the best cards in the whole world – so wondrously vulgar. I found one last night and will drop it off at her hotel on my way to VAG for the final day of the Levy Collection.After brunch I went to see my Vicky at Suki’s for a blow dry and then to VAG to sit with a painting. Then home.
But as usual there was a lot going on being the scenes. I had written to Belgium Instagram Man, (hereinafter BIM) that I was done with men. Of course, he asked: “Why?” So I told him I would explain in an email. He gave me his address and I wrote him a rather detailed explanation in a document entitled: “Why I Am Done With Men (at this point in my life). I sent it and then did not hear from him in the longest time. I did have to, of course, commiserate with a friend. So we did discuss the situation as I was feeling a little hurt but then figured out what time zone he was on.
Me: In all fairness, it is now 6 am in Belgium. The poor guy got the email at 3 and he has a job.
She: He must be very keen to message from such a distance.
Me: Good point! But what is the point of a guy in Belgium?
She: Absolutely no point. Unless you fancy a flight to Brussels. They do have great waffles.
Me: I hate waffles. Hahahahahaha
She: Haha Well dang. No point
Me: I love the word Dang.
She: (A great emoji)
So I bet you wonder where all this is going. I do too.