Back in the 80's our horses were Appaloosas and Pop bought them from his boss at the time, Stu, who lived up the road and ran a registered breeding operation for the nags. He was an awesome old fart and he was older than dirt back then - I was shocked to see him the other day, still alive, and looking much more older than dirt today. He was in a wheelchair and obviously was having problems looking after himself the way old folks in the home stretch do. He didn't recognize me - I was sixteen the last time he saw me.
Stu posed as the manager but his horse farm was actually run by his daughters. There were three - the oldest was a hulking, homely lesbian (this was back in the 80's when being queer wasn't a fashionable mental illness like it is today), his second was estranged and had run away from home or something - I didn't ask... and the third was a tall, hefty but still pretty amazon girl. Being neighbours, the dykes were forever coming over to chat with my mom who even back then, saw no problems at all with homosexuality. When they came over, Pop and I found chores to do or places to be because the estrogen levels in the house went up to toxic levels when the hens gathered to cackle and squawk.
One day we were hiding out on the fence line in the back 40 when I said to Pop, "It's called LEL. One day that house is going to explode with those cackling hens in it." Pop looked at me as he often did, like I had lost my mind. "LEL - Lower Explosive Limit. It's for gases and dusts and when they reach a certain minimum concentration, they form a fuel/air mixture that can combust with explosive force if ignited... those crazy bints in the house are doing that with estrogen..."
"Hmpffff," Pop shrugged. And smirked a bit.
"Do you think that's right, Pop? The dykes, I mean...?"
"No!" Pop said, probably shocked that I would even ask the question. "Well - what does Mom see in 'em?" Poor Pop..."Who knows? Go ask her yourself...!" I briefly thought about it, and said, "No thanks..." and we both sat smirking on the fence line on that fall day, light years ago - waiting for the clucky hens in the house to finish their .... session. Back before Pop got sick, sometimes we just "hung out" and didn't talk much. It didn't happen often, because Pop was an active busy man... and I sometimes wonder what he made of those times. "I don't care what Mom says," I said, "I don't think none a that BS is right..."
Pop leaned on a fence post, looking uncomfortable, looking off into the distance and said nothing.
So I stood in line at Rotten Ronnies earlier this week, preparing to burger myself to death, looking at old Stu in his wheelchair... when his lesbian daughter hobbled up. She was now old and grey haired and limping and the size of a mountain. Last I had heard she lived with her elderly parents with not even a "life partner" any more. She looked like she had been around the mill a few too many times and looked beaten down and sad. All I could think was - what a pathetic and sad state for a woman to find herself in. I looked at those two seniors - the daughter had to be in her 60's now and thought 'Had things worked out differently, that could be me there 20 years from now. Getting pushed around in a wheelchair by my barren, mentally and morally bankrupt daughter...and pretending all was well.
No, it ain't right, and ya know something? I think that deep down, somewhere - those two knew it too... and it was too late to do anything about it.
But whadda I know? Have a great Saturday!