Today we are gathered here, my
friends, for the singular reason to address another seemingly obtuse subject,
Mud. I propose to tell you my thoughts relative to the subject as clearly as
possible. The why and how you all have gotten to this tumescent and turgid
matter is the goal.
So, here is a story:
It is a sunny autumn day; the
chartered motor coach was waiting for its cargo of special LGBT
travelers—special because of specific age requirements for membership in the
group—75 and older. See, there’s even stratification in SAGE.
Once the walkers and wheelchairs
were stowed away and the passengers secured, we were off on our gay merry way
to a very secretive and exclusive geriatric resort and playground. Upon arrival
the once subdued disposition of the passengers had been dispatched by the means
of a well-stocked happy-hour drinks cart.
When settled into their respective
wigwams, couples accommodated separately from singles (“never the twain shall
meet, maybe) it was time now. There was a rigid schedule for the compulsory Spa
Programs, and to begin, a check in with the medical staff. Then off to the
steam rooms, saunas, and massage tables, and then a relaxing rest period in the
main lodge’s social room, appropriately named the “Big Tepee in the Sky.” By
this time a rollicking atmosphere pervaded.
With the sound of rather heavenly
chimes playing the old melody “You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby” signaling
everyone, now clothed only in their 100% Egyptian cotton designer spa sheets,
to assemble at the entry to the Sylvan Piney Pathway for the climax of this
wonderful day.
By this time, due to the strenuous
spa program, healthful cuisine and libations, the walkers and wheelchairs were
forgotten. There had been much merriment amongst the campers as they became
better acquainted. Everyone had found it necessary to shelve their
inhabitations. (That is not hard even for 75er GLBTs.)
So tripping off on the Sylvan Piney
Pathway, aforementioned, some Egyptian cotton “wagging their tails behind them”
as the old nursery rhyme goes, the gathering was verging on a love fest. My,
such energy! There were even several lesbian ladies seen to be in the clutches
of bear hugs with gay boys all expressing their oneness with the spirit of the
day and GLBTness.
Straight, I should say directly,
ahead everyone stopped in their tracks by the view of the lovely, smooth
surface of the aspen and pine tree surrounded lake.
“We are here,” everyone shouted.
“Drop your sheets and wade in—ladies first, then queens or whatever.” It began
to look like a group baptism, but John didn’t come to this party. And like
little lemmings headed over the cliff, some hand in hand, they all immersed
themselves. The lake being only about four feet deep it took little time for
the 75ers to emerge on the other shore where the spa attendants awaited with a
battery of warm showers and soft bath towels. Then they were gently hosed down
revealing a countenance of 75 years or more, less 50 years each.
A miracle if you wish, or figment
of the imagination, but for the Happy Campers it was their annual pilgrimage to
the Little Piney Mud Lake. Take a friend to a mud bath and think young or happy
or why not both?
© 5 October 2015
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