Conversations For Transformation: Essays Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

Conversations For Transformation

Essays By Laurence Platt

Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

And More

The Girl In The Pork Pie Hat

Glen Cove Road, Vallejo, California, USA

May 11, 2017

This essay, The Girl In The Pork Pie Hat, is the seventh in a group of nine on Passion: It is also is the prequel to This Is Inspiration!.

I was in the middle of making a cappuccino  when I first noticed her. I saw her standing there, leaning against a wall, watching me from off to my right. She was attractive, with the shortest hair I'd seen on a girl in a long time. Ordinarily I would have made some conversation. But I was focused on getting the foam just right.

She tells the prequel to the story. She says she saw the back of my head from across a crowded room, and said to herself "He's the one.". She says later, when she saw what I was wearing (black blazer, Levis, brown cowboy boots), it was confirmed. Whatever it was that was to come between us, she intuited  it long before I did.

Our paths crossed often after that. My attraction grew. She was the kind of person who pushed back, meaning when I engaged with her, I knew there was someone there  - not just as an assertive being:  she was muscled too. Her body was strong. Her choice of wardrobe showcased her musculature. It was very tastefully done.

One evening as we were about to go our separate ways, I suggested "Pizza?" to which she agreed. We walked to her car to drive to Domino's. What I saw, stopped me in my tracks. Many California license plates' formats are a number, followed by three letters, then three more numbers. The three letters of her Ford Tempo's  license plate were my initials LGP  (Laurence Guy Platt), the first time I'd seen my initials on a license plate. Was it a sign?  I tried not to make it mean anything.

The first time I hugged her (I mean really  hugged her), that is to say the first time I hugged her more than just a friendly "Goodbye" or "Hello", she whispered in my ear "I'm a good partner.". If I wasn't already enrolled, now I wanted in - big  time. It was partly because partnership (ie the idea of relationship as partnership)  was high on my priorities, but mostly because she had the verve ie the elan  to come out with it and say it explicitly.

We planned a vacation in Maui, Hawai'i together. I was returning from a visit to New Zealand, and would meet her at Kahului airport when she arrived from California. She flew in on the now defunct TWA  (Trans World Airlines), her arrival serenaded by the ever-present Hawai'ian trade winds. When she disembarked, she had one hand on her head, holding on to the pork pie hat  she stylishly wore, to prevent it from blowing away. The snapshot of that scene doesn't require hardcopy. It's indelibly etched in my memory. She was happy to see me. I knew something big was starting. And I was eager to be a part of whatever it was.

In the night, I would wake and turn towards her, watching her sleep. There was a sense of belonging, a sense of knowing I was in the right place. Sometimes she would wake, see me lying there looking at her, and sleepily ask "What?", to which I smiled and replied "Shhh!", touching her forehead gently with my fingers until she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Other times she would reach out for me, just wanting to be held - that was enough. They were special moments. At some point I don't know when, I realized the edges of all those special moments had run like colors and blurred together creating a 24 / 7 / 365 seamless union.

In many ways, she was extraordinary. In other ways, she was ordinary. You could, I suppose, say that about anyone. I could indeed say that about all the others.

But she wasn't like all the others. She was different. She was the one who became the mother of my three children.

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