A touch of class

When I was all of 21, the father of a friend of mine in New York turned to me and (for some long-forgotten reason) informed me I was “one fucking classy broad”. I think it’s still the best compliment I’ve ever received. At the time I wanted it carved on my tombstone. That was before I decided I didn’t want a grave. If I ever have an obituary, I’d like it to be the headline.

That said, this fucking classy broad also has more than a touch of kitsch.

There are a lot of sculptures as his place. Inside, outside, on the porch, on the deck.

Oh, and look at this one. He’s a glassblower and so’s this guy.

Okay, truth be told, the one on the right here is a bit phallic, but they’re all still pretty classy.

What do you find by way of statuary on my property?

Half a dozen flamingos…

… and a gnome.

Granted, he’s well read, but he’s still a garden gnome. Not exactly classy.

How can I ever make a home for my flamingos here? Sneakily, that’s how.

There’s a balcony off the bedroom. It was looking pretty sad when I first went out to give it a sweep. “It could do with some railing flower pots,” I told him, when we were in the local garden shop. If he was surprised that I chose pink petunias, he didn’t say. (Nor did he notice what was in the back of my car the previous day when I arrived with a plan.)

Back home, he got to work in the garden and I got to work on the balcony. When I was done, I called down to him to look up. He did. And he laughed.

I posted this photo on Facebook with a suggestion that the collective noun for these birds is an encroachment. That suggestion got another laugh. A friend commented that it should be a flagrancy. I do believe it should be.