I answered a few ads and lo and behold there I was meeting Greta, a retired university professor of Sociology. (I later googled her to find she’d been busted 10 years prior for growing pot. Alleged medicinal purposes. Do tell... I was one more to be titillated by this discovery than offended). After chatting with Greta for 10 or so minutes a situation arose that, by request, I easily took charge of. A utility repairman had arrived; she was unnerved and agitated. Get rid of him she said. No problem.
I went outside and introduced myself as the housekeeper and requested he return another time as the present was not convenient for Ms. Professor. He kindly left and she immediately hired me.
Over the next few months Greta shared her eclectic life with me (sans grow-op story); she was an extraordinary individual and I admired her greatly. Her views on life, her intelligence, her experiences, all unfolded in a glorious form as we tackled her disorganized home room by room. I loved my time with her. She epitomized grace, even when she had nodded off reading in her grand leather wing chair, and I would delicately remove the wine glass from her hand.
Greta explained the difference between Sociology and Psychology ... I could sense she was studying me ... she declared me to be bohemian. I wasn't entirely sure of the definition but before jumping to any rash, ego-victim-based conclusion I choose to be intrigued and made a mental note to self to google this.
Later, to my delight, my search resulted in:
Bo·he·mi·anboh-hee-mee uh n
"a socially unconventional person, especially one who is involved in the arts".
... derived from the French bohémien Gypsy
Fanf’ntastic I thought. I did a 5 second rip through my life ... yup, I am so down with this.
And so was the realization, the revelation, the awareness, the birth of my inner GYPSY!