Category: Uncategorized

The Much Maligned Mistress

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Today, in North America, it’s Groundhog Day.  For those of you who are unfamiliar, this is the day when a select group of small-town politicians and business people get their 15 minutes of fame by torturing a rodent.  You can read about it here.  The day has no other redeeming qualities except Harold Ramis made a decent movie out of it.  However, and much more importantly, today is also Nell Gwyn’s birthday.  Again, for the unfamiliar, Nell Gwyn was the most famous of King Charles II’s numerous mistresses. (He had about a dozen.)

So, to hell with the rodent.  Here’s a brief look at one of the most forgotten heroines of history — the mistress.

Diane de Poitiers — She became Henry II’s mistress when he was 16 and she was 35 and basically ran the show in France for the next 24 years!  She even wrote most of his official correspondence and signed it HenriDiane.  When Henry married Catherine de’ Medici, a woman he didn’t even like, Madame de Poitiers practically pushed Henry into Catherine’s bed to ensure the continuation of the dynasty.  (They had 10 children!)

Aspasia of Miletus — There is a lot of speculation (from folks like Plato and Plutarch) that Pericles’ mistress Aspasia was such a brilliant conversationalist that she may have “helped” him write some of his famous speeches.

Alice Keppel — She became Edward VII’s mistress when he was 57 — old, fat, a closet alcoholic and grumpy with gout.  Why she put up with him is impossible to know, but even the British Prime Minister Asquith thanked her for her “wise counsel.”  Coincidentally, Mrs. Keppel is the great-grandmother of Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, who was Prince Charles’ mistress before, during and after his turbulent marriage to Princess Diana.

Barbara Palmer — She became Charles II’s mistress while he was still in exile and practically ordered him to accept the throne when Cromwell finally had the good sense to die.  By all accounts, Mrs. Palmer was bossy, bad-tempered and promiscuous.  (She even had an affair with her cousin John Churchill.)  However, she got things done, including “suggesting” Charles declare war on Holland in 1665 and pushing a lot of people around to get London rebuilt after The Great Fire.  Eventually, Charles had to dump her because she was Catholic.  Two of Barbara Palmer’s descendents are the late Diana, Princess of Wales and Sarah, Duchess of York.

Which brings us to Nell Gwyn

Nell Gwyn — As the mistress of Charles II, Nell Gwyn was the very soul of the Restoration.  She was witty and urbane, danced, sang, gambled and helped make England fun again after the dreary days of Oliver Cromwell.  Plus, unlike Barbara Palmer, she kept her mouth shut.  In fact, Nell Gwyn was so good at her job that she’s the only royal mistress ever publically immortalized with a statue.  It’s on Sloane Street, Chelsea.

These days “mistress” is one of those bogeyman words.  It upsets our puritanical view of female sexuality and makes us vaguely uncomfortable.  The problem is, because our society’s sexual sophistication is limited to Kim Kardashian flashing her ass across Instagram, we simply can’t get past the idea that a “mistress” could be anything more than a high-priced hooker.  Guess again!  Nothing could be further from the truth.

So, rodent, go back in your hole.  I’m celebrating mistresses!

Ken Watt 1943 – 2018

When I was a kid, all the best stories started with “Once upon a time” and ended with “happily ever after.”  Most people call such stories fairy tales and say the real world doesn’t work that way.  Most people say the dragons are too dangerous, the fairy princesses all get old, and the armour, no matter how shiny, always turns to rust.  That’s what most people say.  But there are some people who, quite frankly, aren’t convinced that most people know what they’re talkin’ about.  I knew a man like that.  His name was Ken, and he married my sister.

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Ken was nobody’s saint.  In fact, given some of the stories I could tell, he wasn’t even a choirboy.  He was just an average guy.  He got up in the morning and went to work every day.  He did the best he could with what he had, and sometimes that wasn’t good enough.  He worried too much.  He raised his children without an Instruction Manual and loved his grandchildren just because.  On occasion, he was a round peg, trying desperately to fit into one of life’s unforgiving square holes — and on occasion, he didn’t try.  In short, Ken was remarkably ordinary — except he wasn’t.

Here’s the real story:

Once upon a time, my sister lived in a basement apartment.  It was cold and it was dark, and when it rained, it was as damp as a dungeon,  One day, a handsome knight drove up in a shiny blue pickup truck, and when he saw my sister, he held out his hand and said, “I have something I want you to see.”  And my sister came out of the basement and went with the handsome knight.  And sometime later, on a night so beautiful even the moon blushed behind the clouds, the handsome knight pointed to the sky and said, “I’m going there: the second star to the right and straight on ’til morning.  Will you come with me?”  And my sister said yes.  And for so many years, they travelled together, laughed and cried and played in the sunshine.  And when there were dragons, they slayed them, and when there were rainbows, they chased them, and when it was cold, they clung to each other against the wind.  And time on, later they had children who grew up and flourished and had children of their own.  And for my sister and her handsome knight summers and winters came and went.  And when there were dragons, they slayed them, and when there were rainbows, they chased them, and when it was cold, they clung to each other against the wind.  And for all their years, they lived happily ever after.

What Love Looks Like

I took a little flak from the comments I made about “relationships” last Tuesday.  Oh, well!  I’m not going to sweat the details.

This is what love looks like.

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High in the timber
Where the frost glazes crooked stones
And the trees are skinny and spare
Where the wind blows the surface snow
Like small blizzards in the morning air
Here hunts the wolf
With freeze in his face and blowing fur
A silent tracking into the further trees
When the moon is up and the night is cold
Looking for the cheerless sun of almost tomorrow
And it is stiff silent
Where the wolf pads through the uneven trees
Almost blue against the snow and moon
Tasting the wind with head down concern
And gliding across the flint of his eyes

Later he goes to her
A strong young female animal
Fresh from the kill with blood in his fur
And lays it at her feet muzzles and snaps
And she gorges and growls next to the foot of the trees

High in the shallow timber
The she wolf waits for her mate
And he comes to her
Red eyed and gray faced cold
And they gorge on the kill
She grooms the blood from his face

And he has his fill of her
And she has her fill of him
And they rest curled together against the cold

And they forage together
Where the blue cold waits
And the wind shifts a trace of snow
The hard eyed wolf and his mate
Where only the wolf can hunt
High in the trees strong and alone

wolf