Ladyship

One of the things I loved most about living in the Seattle area was that it was a good place to live if you were a middle aged chick.  Idiosyncrasy is better than tolerated, menfolk are mostly respectful, and there was more of a live and let live culture than the one I left in the DC suburbs - and make no mistake, you can get away with almost anything in DC's burbs if you can either pay or stay cool while tongues wag.  It was a very prescriptive and judgmental place where anything goes under a thick layer of conformity.  Money, appearance, and affiliation were key.  By "affiliation," I mean membership in a group, well-known if possible, or at least being an aficionado of some pursuit that attracts others.  In the DC burbs I grew up in, if you said you were an aficionado of Civil War reenactments or Japanese floral arrangement, it might be asked where the other aficionados were; validation came from membership in a club of similarly interested persons, whether you were an active participant or not.  Seattle, on the other hand, was more about being than seeming; authenticity was the lingua franca. An esoteric loner could come and go in peace.

It was a comfortable life for a lady like me.

But I have something in Baltimore that doesn't exist in Seattle.  Let me explain.

While I was walking to the bus stop after work, a lady asked me if I was a pastor.  She had seen me walking other days and got that impression.  I thanked her for the compliment and told her I just liked long skirts.  She said, oh no, it wasn’t the clothes; it was how I carried myself.

That surprised me, but it shouldn’t have.  While it was never my intention and I do not live the lifestyle, I am walking under the aegis of the “cutter lady,” a term used by a character on The Wire.  A “colored lady” is usually an older lady who is known for being the strong willed, God-fearing foundation of the family, bearing up under devastating conditions, generation after generation.  When I am allowed to wander too near a card game in an alley or walk through a knot of rough men who actually part for me to pass and excuse themselves when it should be me excusing myself, I am receiving the karma of one of these respected women, my unseemly proximity tolerated much like that of a cow in rural India.

It is a comfortable life for a lady like me.