Mrs. Purpleorange

It’s Houseguest’s first morning in Toronto.

Sage Good morning. How did you sleep?

Houseguest Well, I was just lying there with the lights off, sort of dozy and dreamy, gazing out the window. And then these car lights washed through the room, and that was okay, but then I remembered I was on the zillionth floor, and that it couldn’t be a car.

Sage Hee hee.

Houseguest So I stood up and went over to the window and it was airplane lights in the room, and I couldn’t believe how close it got before it flew over the building. Then I sort of had to recover from that, but once I did get back to sleep I was fine.

Remember the dancing lady with the orange and purple hair?

Once again proving my point that Toronto is the biggest small town in the world, I saw her the other night. We’d been invited to the Unitarian church for the ordination of a friend, and when we walked in, there she was, beaming at everyone. (Yes, she had her orange and purple hair. Even in church. She’s my hero.)

I’d never been to an ordination, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. We had an Ozark houseguest with us, and ran into another Ozarker as we were all being seated, which made the evening worth it right there, no matter what was to follow. I gave Paul my notebook to draw in, and he busied himself with it while the already-ordained ministers made their speeches and we all sang hymns that were comfortably like the ones I remember from my own childhood - no “pray to thee o lord”, but rather, “I will search for peace, love and joy”.

The ceremony ended with the congregration itself - not the minister - ordaining my friend, which had everyone in the room in tears. Even the hard bitten ones who you think would be more likely to wear a bunny costume and fly to the moon than cry. When it was over we all trooped into the reception room where we ate veggies and my Ozark friends said with relief how pleased they were to be in a room where no one, not one person, was discussing the upcoming election.

After we ate, the dj began to play music like Jailhouse Rock, which I hate on principle. A few older couples stood up and danced, while Mrs. Purpleorange rocked out on her own. The older couples faded away one by one, while Mrs. Purpleorange danced on. I asked Paul to dance with me a few times, but even though he was dancing in his chair he wouldn’t come to the dance floor. And even though Mrs. Purpleorange was setting an excellent example, I was too shy to go up on my own. With Paul, I would be the Fun Mama Who Rocks Out With Her Son. Without? That Sad Lady Who Can’t Dance.

I stood up, and Paul thought I was going to go dance. He suddenly held his hand out to Todd, who looked at me pleadingly. I grinned and shook my head and said, “Let’s get Daddy to dance! We’ll have a family dance!”

And lo, pigs grew wings and it grew cold in the netherworld, and thus did Todd standeth up and dance in front of other people.

Thirteen years with that boy, and I’d never seen him dance in public before. The dj played Lady Marmalade and Twist and Shout and even Stayin’ Alive, during which we formed two facing parallel lines and various pairs of dancers made their way down the centre, doing their best disco moves, including two straight men in their sixties, which I think was the best moment of the entire night. We danced for two straight hours, and I was unselfconscious in public for the first time in a very long time, not caring what I looked like, but truly just moving to the music. My newly ordained friend stood up at the end and said that the people on the dance floor were the die-hards, and had truly put the blessing on the entire event.

Sage and Paul are walking Housegest to the bus station.

Sage So, I’m curious. What’s the biggest difference between the States and Toronto?

Houseguest In the States, I’m the calmest, most relaxed person I know. And even though I haven’t changed a bit, in Toronto I’m the most uptight, wound-up person I know.