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MORE L. COHEN





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I WANT TO WAX POETIC. I want to slip on the wax and fall into the tea and oranges that come all the way from China, and say hallelujah and was there ever a musician more graceful and gracious and gifted than Leonard Cohen. Ah, the man must have read my sentiments and determined to give a concert in my proximity, supposing that this woman would invest a sizeable sum and would bring her family and a friend and fellow fan and travel through rush-hour traffic for two hours and sit in her seat at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia and think she had died and become the landlord at his tower of song.


And thus did he, last night (give the concert, that is, though he certainly knew nothing of my forty-two-year love affair with his poetic music), and thus did I .



And I thought how happily, were I the landlord, I would write up a lifetime lease.




Everybody knows (I'm sure it shows) for me this far excelled a box of chocolates and a rose.




Right to the very last notes of the benedictory farewell, the man made me feel as though without a doubt I'd fallen on the side of luck.

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*ltf

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IT'S LIKE SOMEONE SHOUTED "Swine flu!" in a crowded theater...my tenants at Fairview are scrambling for the exits. With only slight exaggeration I can say that I seem to be getting a phone call every other hour or so from a tenant giving notice (giving notice being landlord jargon for calling off the contract--movin' on, telling me they are quitting the place and when can they expect their security deposit returned to them?)

"There goes your job!" is closer to what a few of my tenants heard shouted at them. ( Well, perhaps it wasn't shouted, but I'll bet it clanged pretty loudly in their heads.) Yesterday I picked up my little white business phone and heard this actual word-for-word message: "I just wanted to call and let you know that I have been laid off..uhm...as of today. Effective, I believe, May 16. So I don't know at this present moment what I'm going to do. I know that my lease with you is not up until October, however......I don't have a job (nervous laugh). So I thought you should know as soon as possible. This happened this morning."

Then there's Sandra, who lost her long-held job with a non-profit organization a few months ago. She'd been hanging on with a part-time evening job at a bookstore. "It's tough," she told me, when she reluctantly called to say her funds were running out and she would have to leave. "When you're over fifty no one wants to hire you, even with a good resume. I'm beating the bushes now for almost anything."

There's another door through which some of my more fortunate tenants are headed, however. It's the one where they exit to their own little idyllic home. They've gladdened the hearts of the realtors and the bankers and the furniture store salesmen and bought a house! Oh, yes, I may not be happy about it, but they've delighted lots of people...the appliance salesmen, the floor covering salesmen, the lawn mower salesmen, the snowblower salesmen, the replacement window salesmen, the fuel oil companies, the roofers, the painters, the plumbers, the electricians, the carpet cleaning companies, the tax collectors, the insurance salesmen, the landscape nurseries, the furnace repairmen, the appliance repairmen, the lawn mower repairmen ... ahhh ...how much greener the grass will be at their new home! (After their trip to the gardening store, of course.)

Oops, my little white phone is ringing. This time it's sure to be a fortyish professional, inquiring about vacancies, who's been at her high-paying job in the medical service industry for five or ten years and is single, a bit of a neat freak, doesn't have any pets and wouldn't think of smoking. She's soft-spoken and...lo and behold, she's looking to rent in the very area of Fairview Apartments! Yes, sure to be. (Hmm...so why is it I don't want to pick up the phone?)

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IT'S THE PRIDIE NONES OF MAY

and I've got lots of pretty things bloomin':











































But what I really wish to see bloomin'...large and warm and lovely up over my head...is that bloomin' sun!

If there were only my dim recollections to go on, I'd say
that this is the grayest, coolest, wettest spring in recorded history,
with just a couple of polka dots of intense heat and sunshine
tossed in. Can't say I'm wild about this pattern.





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SWANS MATE FOR LIFE, I'm told.

And some humans, as well.


AND TAKING A CELEBRATORY VACATION
(which has now ended)



is too much like eating chocolate.
No matter the spot,
stopping is something I'd rather not.


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