B-Flat Begone!

Nothing B-Flat About It

At the consignment shop where I used to do the windows, we would say, “Oh, that’s a B-flat blouse, a B-flat jacket, a B-flat sweater,” meaning that garment was dated, nondescript, boring, maybe a little faded, a bit worn. B-flat. B-splat.

I look in my closet…what’s B-flat in here? Probably most of it…or none of it…since to me, something is B-flat only if it’s worn in a B-flat way. If I wear a plain black crew-neck sweater with ordinary black wool pants, well, that’s B-flat. But if the ordinary black wool sweater is worn with a red, square-dance petticoat over black, voluminous Charlie Chaplin silk pants…or that same sweater over a Hospital Thrift Shop short, knife-pleated black skirt over the ordinary pants…then maybe topped off with red Doc Martens and silver socks, it’s B-flat begone!

I wish I could always un-B-flat things: notice how colorful the cereal boxes are in the supermarket; notice the red flags on mailboxes; notice the abandoned sculptures of bedsprings and storm windows in the metal heap at the transfer station. Open my eyes to the way the rainbows fall into the blue coffee cup; the way the daffodils nod in the cold breeze; hear the click of the computer keys as the words sprinkle down the page; hear the sound of the ghost plane headed for Paris when the twilight is thick with clouds.

Today, this B-flat short skirt I’m wearing has an A+ verve over a slender Lilith long tube skirt with black socks that say “Joy” in big white letters. I’m about to bite into an organic Pink Lady apple, cold and crisp and fresh. Later, I’ll take a bike ride and see how the ocean looks this spring afternoon. I’ll think about England and Ireland and wonder what the people there are making for dinner. Today is an ordinary Tuesday…nothing B-flat about it.