Conquering Vertigo

A rose by any other name

...might not be wearing any thorns.

Several yellow roses were on the beach, at the edge of the surf.
I sat on my heels and pondered them.

Richard said later, over dinner, "The sea carries many things in her waves, babe."

But yellow roses, in such good condition?

"There are often memorial services just up the beach, around at Fort Point," he said. "Maybe in scattering ashes, roses were given as well."

He paused a moment, "That's where we scattered my dad's ashes, and that's where you will cast mine."

The thought of Richard gone from this earth is shockingly discordant with the bright sun, the life-giving pulse of the sea, the invigorating wind.

Now I'm walking alone toward the bridge, and I can't bear to imagine his absence. Mercifully, a nude man approaches, disrupting the funeral. My eye contact is rigorous, willing all peripheral vision to take a nap, go to lunch, have a martini. Have three martinis.

"Would you like me to take your picture, with the Golden Gate behind you?" he asked.
"Thanks, but my husband has already done that."
"Beautiful day," he said.
"Beautiful!" I replied.
"If you change your mind, let me know," he said, and walked back to his perch among the rocks.

I ask Richard later what he knew about public nudity. After a few smart-ass remarks, he summed it up under categories:

1. Religion
2. Spirituality (not to be confused with religion)
3. Perversion (see #1 above)
4. Lifestyle
5. Poverty
6. Childhood

In San Francisco, he said, you're likely to encounter all of them.

I support private nudity, but I'm not sure what to do with public nudity. What's appropriate etiquette? Knee-jerk courtesy would seem to dictate looking away or not coming too close, but my definition of courtesy also involves "wearing clothes in public places."

I get the sense the nudists on my beach fall under categories 2 and 4. One skinny white guy is always folded in the lotus position among the dunes, naked as the day of his birth. The others just seem to be sun-bathing or lunching or relaxing naked.

Perhaps I'll just ask. About the etiquette, that is, not poverty nor perversion.
What is a rose without her thorns?
A tree without his bark?
A man without his clothes?
Does a rose, by any other name, still wear her thorns?
Or is she then no longer a rose?

posted by Woman In Love @ 11:04 PM