None of This is any of Your Business

When Mom left the first message on my machine. I could hear it from bed. The combination of a head cold and the usual unhealthy lifestyle choices leading to severe dehydration  (ie dew dew smokes and more dew smokes maybe alcohol dew dew dew) had me in a fetal position weepy and whimpering and attempting to referee my children without losing my voice most of the day. She’d said something about Thanksgiving plans, something about checking on me. I should have known that was code for “needing me” but  I didn’t get up and get the phone. Later that evening the machine clicked on again and her voice filled the nook we now have the computer in.

“Dew? Dew are you there?…” and I picked up because her voice told me something had happened. I always think death. I’m not sure if that’s normal or symptomatic of my life. So I picked up the phone fast before she could make such a thing permanent on my machine and I held my breath waiting for her to tell me who stopped breathing this time. As it turned out no one new had died. It was the same old death.

“Your brother just took off…. He has your dad. He’s so upset. You know he’s always had the hardest time… youngest… only boy…. Poor Tyler….He got right in Boyfriend’s  face…..he was yelling and angry” and eventually through the scattered bits of her crying and inebriation I slowly realize my brother is out stalking the southeast Portland streets with a bag of ashes formerly referred to as Dad. Finally someone had fucking stolen Dad away from Mom.

Jesus. 

*****

“Hey sisser.”

“You sound terrible.”

“Yeah. It’s a head cold. So listen. I think Tyler is probably going to be showing up at your place soon.  Drunk. …… With… Dad.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Just wanted to warn you to keep an eye out for him. Call me when he gets there.”

*****

“Hey. Dew, he’s here.”

“Oh good. I was getting worried. But really. Where the fuck was he going to go on foot with a bag-o-dad? I was thinking I’d have to hike Powell Butte in the dark.”

“Why there?”

“Scene of the crime.”

“I think you better come over here. He’s really drunk.”

*sigh*

*****

“Deeeeew!” he greeted me when my sister let me in her apartment. He was holding a beer in each hand and drinking from both of them.

“Hey.” I shuffled into her apartment. During the drive on the way over I felt oddly calm. As if something I’m always waiting for had finally revealed itself again and begun to unfold. It’s like that when you’re always reading ahead in the circular story.  Deon was holding a beer, too.

“What’s the matter with her? She’s not going to cheer me up!” he said to Deon.

“I told you she’s more depressed than you are.” Deon’s tone was already exasperated.

“I have a head cold. I barely got out of bed.” I complained, slipping out and around the depressed remark and perching on the edge of Deon’s couch. I marveling at how detached I felt.

“What do you want to DO, Dew? Something has to be done.”

“About what?”

“Mom is crazy. What are we going to do with Dad? Do you think about it? Does anyone THINK about it? Do you know where I found him when I got back from Idaho? In the trunk. In the trunk of the fucking car in the driveway. I had to bring him inside! And I took the ashes tonight. I took them by force. Something has to be done.”

“That’s what we’ve been saying… for a long time now, Tyler.” Deon pointed out and I nodded.

“Fighting with Mom and her boyfriend sure isn’t going to help.”

“Something has to be done! I want to drop him over a mountain. He said that’s what he wanted.”

“When? When did he say that? He said a lot of things.” Deon’s voice was bitter with truth.

“Before I left and went to Idaho we talked about it. Uncle J is on St. Helens and I want Mr. Jefferson and we could drop Dad over Mt. Hood.”

“Are you going to pay for that?” I asked. Jesus what is the deal with this mountain thing.

“That was a long time before..” Deon started and stopped.

“Well? Do YOU have a plan?” he looked at both of us accusingly.

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “As I’ve said all along….I think we should spread him where he did it. I think he picked that spot. I think it’s free and it’s a place any of us can go anytime we want. Course it‘s illegal so we‘d have to be sneaky about it.”

“Just because he did it there doesn’t mean he’d want his ashes there.”

“It’s not about him. He’s gone.”  I said.  Deon got up and went to the kitchen and Tyler attempted an upright position in her ginormous ugly chair.

And then he was up out of the chair and he set one of his beers on the table before pulling a blue gift bag out of his coat. He began describing the incident earlier between he and mom’s boyfriend and mom while he opened the bag. Inside the bag there was the box and then he opened the box and in the box there was a bag of ash.  Oh here we go. Crazy drunk. Dad is out of the box people.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Deon asked with panic in her tone. It always sounds bizarre when she swears.

“This is DAD!” Tyler informed us, shoving the bag toward Deon.

“Yeah. I know it is. Put it back in the box.”

“Take it! Take it!” He shoved the bag into Deon’s slightly fluttering arms and she passed it back to him.

“I don’t want to vacuum Dad out of my carpets. Quit waiving it around.”

“You just don’t want to deal with it! Hold it!” and he shoved the bag of rather benign looking ash back into her hands.

I watched from the couch oddly amused as they played hot potato with a sack of deceased relative.

“What do you want me to do?” Deon asked him “Kiss it?” and she did. “You want me to roll around in it? I have dealt with it. You’re just finally catching up here Tyler. We‘ve been here all along dealing with this shit.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s all fucked up!” he retorted and took the bag back from her. “You don’t know what he said to me. You don’t know how it was.”

“YOU don’t know how it was Tyler. You weren’t here. You were gone. Nobody even knew where you were! Aunt Sue had to go searching for you to even tell you when it happened. It got bad Tyler. He said a lot of things that year.”

“Well how could you let it get that bad? Where the hell were you? He would have called me.” He wasn’t going to stop.

“He called me.” I said evenly.

“Where were YOU? Were you up at the mental hospital when he was in there? You didn’t even know what was going on.”  they went on over me.

“He was never that bad when I was here. How could you let it end up that way? You should have been over there more. Just like with Mom. She‘s fucking going crazy and you never come over to see her. Off living your dream life. I came back from Idaho to take care of her and I‘m breaking my back sleeping on that couch but you never even come over. You have to come over and make her be Mom. You have to bring your kids over and make her do family stuff.”

“Mom’s an adult. You can’t make anyone do anything. Don’t you think maybe it would be better if you maybe didn’t live with Mom? Maybe you guys just need a little distance? You could have your own life? You can’t rot on her couch forever, Tyler. Worry about making something of your own life instead of telling us what we should be doing.” Deon said

“Tyler, what are you even talking about? How often do you think I should be driving over to see mom? You know she’s always invited to our functions. She just doesn’t come.” I was genuinely perplexed.

“Two or three times a week! You should be there! and you have to make her!”

“Two or three times a week!?!?!” crazy drunk indeed. “And, You can’t MAKE her! A couple years ago I made her come to Thanksgiving and she cried all the way through dinner. The kids were upset.” I informed him. “I’m done being crazy about it. I’m done making her do anything. I have my own shit to worry about.”

He snorted derisively. “You just don’t get it. You have your little dream lives and you don’t get it. I’m the one who’s there.”

“Excuse me? Dream life?” Deon nearly sputtered. I was a bit surprised to hear that twice, myself. “Just because we’re not sleeping on Mom’s couch doesn’t mean it’s a dream life or that we‘re not there. Look around Tyler.” Deon was pissed now. “I’m a single Mom. I graduated high school with honors And had a baby my senior year. I have what I have because I try. Because I’m not just sitting around blaming people and thinking they owe me.”

Deon went to the bathroom. I could hear her crying.

“You two have always had it easier than me. You didnt' even answer the phone this morning when Mom called you.”

“I'm sick!! I was in bed! People can leave a message and I can call back, Tyler. You really think we'vehad it easier than you? That’s not even true. You’re drunk.”  things were getting out of hand. “I was there. I was at the mental hospital. I signed the legal release papers. I was his fucking person. I’m the one he called. And I’m the one who didn’t fucking drive over there that night. I’m the one who didn’t. me. That time I didn’t fucking go.  If you want to blame someone you can fucking blame me because I‘m the one who was there. and I'm the on who‘s fucking here. I was here for him. I‘m here for mom. I‘m here for Deon right now and I‘m here for you. Who fucking drove to Idaho to get your ass so you could “be here for Mom?” Me. and by the way… it might help mom if you paid her some fucking rent. If you want to help so much. So don’t tell me who does and doesn’t do this or that and the other. It‘s always me. It‘s always going to be me. Just how it is. You have to get it together. You can‘t fix Mom. You couldn‘t have fixed Dad. You might have some chance of fixing you. maybe.”

“Well I’m out of here. I’m going to Florida or something. I can’t live with her boyfriend. So I hope you start taking better care of Mom.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re upset right now.”

And then he was angry. And he was ranting. And it was the same things over and over. And it was dad. And it was him. And he was dad.  And I was done.

“I’m not leaving you here at Deon’s like this. Why don’t I give you a ride home.”

“I’m not going home!”

“You can’t sit there and yell at Deon all night. I have to get home. Where can I take you?”

“OOoooh you have to get hoooome. You can’t drink. You can’t stay up.” He made some la dee da body gestures. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”

“I have kids to get to school in the morning. You can’t stay here drunk and belligerent. Deon is upset. Let‘s call it a night. I‘ll be back tomorrow and we can figure this stuff out.”

Deon and I stepped out for a cigarette. While we were out there he gathered his things and put dad’s ashes back in his coat and left. So we drove to Moms. He was walking along with a fresh six pack when we found him. I pulled up next to him and told him to get in.

“I’m not getting in. I’m having a walk.”

“I’m going to Mom’s. So you can get in and ride in the warm car or I can wait for you in her drive way.”

“I’m walking.”

So we sat in her drive way. When he staggered up I rolled my window down. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m always here, remember?. Do you have any dew?”

“What? I have beer.” he gestured with his arms full of six pack.

“Yeah but do you have dew inside? I’m thirsty.”

“Yeah. I have dew.”

“Can I have some?”

“Yeah.”

So I did.

Next morning after the girls were in school Thatch and I drove over to Grandma’s to see how they were getting along and I was prepared for more drama. That was stupid.

“So you were just out and about and decided to drop in?” My mom asked curiously.

“Yeah what are you doing over here? I thought you said you were low on gas?” Tyler asked.



Like nothing ever happened. *wide eyed* 

Dad’s back in the box for now. In a gift bag. On my mom's entertainment center.

I couldn't make this shit up. 


November 30, 2009

Confession of Sorts

Early on in posting this online writing journal blog of sorts the feedback led me to consider… what is it that I want??? It’s been kind that you don’t pull that particular curtain open on the wizard all that often. Thanks for that. It’s rather difficult to pinpoint specifics any more narrow than “everything” in my transition away from “anything- I’ll fucking take it.”  But I haven’t forgotten - I love that.. When I write a bitchy blog and you say WHAT IS IT YOU WANT DEW??? :P As if I don't know I'm probably demanding the impossible. But knowing what I want.... It’s a work in progress. I thought I should update you.

I’m getting closer!! Not to having it. Not for keeps. Pish. *eye roll* Not outside of a dream or nightmare. I'm not sure yet. Not outside of  a stolen, ambiguous possibly completely fabricated on the other end heartbreaking frustration. But I am closer to knowing what it is rather than just what it is not. And when I grab the tail end of it, when I dare to try and describe the intense wavy fusion of color and dark lined form of it at all most people say ..  “OOOOOoooh! THAT’S what you want??? You can’t have THAT!” (tricks are for kids logic - I think) OR “You don’t want that.” Understandable I guess because admittedly it doesn’t seem to line up with healthy behavior really. Or “Of course that won’t work out you’re not following The Rules.” But what I want has it’s own fucking rules.

I’m a stubborn bastard. I’ll have what I want or I’ll die the white rabbit on the fruity fucking box chasing it down/sitting absolutely still waiting. I know what I fucking want. I don’t even have any idea of an exact shape that it has or a time line it would follow or any sort of something with it that girls are supposed to want like wedding gowns and picket fences and babies or combining finances or anything… I don’t have or know any of that with it or know anything outside of how it feels in the NOW when I‘m in it.

It’s not where I expected it to be. It didn’t suddenly appear after I put all the pieces together in a cookie cutter life with the person it should be with. It just showed up one day when it was least convenient and turned my life upside down. It's not right. It's not easy. It's not practical. But there it is.

Oh boy oh boy do I know what I want. But then… do I fight for this thing? Ask for it? Hope it appears again another time in the right package? I’m afraid to ask. I’m just kinda pretty sure that I shouldn‘t have to fucking ask. That if it’s there I wouldn’t have to fucking ask. The want I want isn’t unique to me, a person that loves me that way will want it too and want to give it AND actually want to give it to me. So maybe it's all in my own head. But I want it any way.

And knowing… knowing what I want makes it so much more boggling not to have it because it’s so fucking simple! I want wide open no matter what to the end never say die at any cost if it kills us life and self sharing and mutual appreciation ya know… Loooove. (no take backs) Not complicated. I mean it will be complicated. I’m complicated. People are complicated. Also my life is rather complicated. But that part… that part is simple. Scary and hard and possibly imaginary but very very simple. 

And I won’t settle for any of the props. I won’t accept those in lieu of it.  Not the ring or the dating or the wedding or the babies or the ten year marriage followed by the messy divorce rinse repeat until you end up in rockers on a west facing porch. It isn’t that I’m opposed to those.... It’s that I understand that they’re just props and costumes and nothing necessarily to do with what I want if they happen without what I want. Accessories shown are sold separately you know. And honestly? I can do all that shit on my own or even together with someone without what I want. I’m not saying I want to just that I don’t need what I want to do any of that.

And people say no it’s not like that, Love isn’t really like that. Well I call bullshit. You can’t tell me I can’t have it. I know it’s out there because I have it in me. And maybe it’s BECAUSE I’m entirely fucked up. Maybe it’s BECAUSE I have baggage. Maybe my flaws are what make me perfect for it.

And certainly I’m aware of my history. It isn’t that I’ve forgotten that my entire childhood was training for giving it all up in exchange for rare brief moments hoping begging and patiently waiting for some day in the future when I’ve earned what should already be mine, what certainly fucking feels like mine only to see it disappear with a bullet in the head.

So clearly what really isn’t easy is taking it from anyone else because everyone has their back-up gun in a drawer somewhere. It’s like I’m always issuing gift receipts. Like “oh you don’t want to actually do that. I know you think you want this thing with me but you’ll change your mind after you get done just wanting to fuck me or use me or whatever it is you’re doing, so you better take this in case you want to exchange me for a better fit without much fuss when you decide to admit that.”

I can’t figure out how to take it outside of that pulling me under dark pounding I‘m not allowed to keep. I’m still shocked and stunned over stumbling on that because you can know something is out there but until you’ve been up against it have no idea of it’s power …. I can’t even begin to imagine what that means for LATER. I can’t figure out how to believe. I can’t figure out how to stop believing. I recognize now. I can feel forever in that place but I never seem to get any say in when.

But I know damn well what I want.


November 25, 2009

Twilight Review

So.. I’m reading a book……

My niece is reading it so it was just sitting there on my twig side table in the living room. Taunting me! I have to take a break from quilting because I’ve worn a hole in my fucking finger again. Don’t tell me about thimbles… I don’t like them. And yes I have some other books I’m supposed to read… I think Loree has handed over five or six in the last couple weeks but…. I doubt any of those is going to hit the spot and I already reread Wuthering Heights a couple weeks ago.

So there I was… curled up in the giant chair by the fire reading… Twilight.

The writing is terrible. Occasionally confusing sentence structure…. poor word choice to the point that you wonder how someone who doesn‘t have the brain power to figure out what word the author should have used even knows what the hell is going on… endless trite phrasing, predictable plotting and characters you can’t even hate - just that if the boat were going down you wouldn’t go out of your way to get them in the life raft. And once in awhile the author tosses in a bizarrely placed five dollar word and you can practically feel the swelling as  the author’s “I’m improving teenage vocabulary” ego pumps up.

But under that is the story. And it’s a good story.  It’s romance. It’s sex cloaked as vampire. It’s teen angst.

So I keep reading. And I pick at the less than stellar writing in my mind even as I get pulled into the story going on under the words and  I keep thinking Jesus god almighty this could have been so fucking good.

There are quite a few writers/ personalities on my sub list that complain about cultural phenomena’s they deem beneath them for variant reasons. They sneer and point and criticize … and it’s easy to do with something like Twilight. Sometimes they hate it just because so many love it. Other times it’s a more genuine distaste for anything poorly done. Often it’s both; that it could be so poorly done and loved so much by so many anyway is definitely something to take notice of.

But they’re missing the point. I know plenty of people who love Twilight and I’ve never heard any of them claim they love it because they think it’s great writing. (those are the Harry Potter people and I’ll read that another day)

It’s the same on the blogs. Most of us are subbed to lots of writers and honestly… how many of them are great writers? We’re not reading because they can conjugate a verb or never dangle a modifier… are we? I don’t think so. The best blogs pull us in because they make us the writers personal confidant. If they’re well written so much the better but it’s certainly not the first requirement, not the thing that pulls us in.

 It’s the same all over with our entire culture. People are rejecting the idea that the structure of a thing matters more than how it makes them feel. I find it fascinating. Of course it sucks ass for all the “great” writers NOT getting published and ending up on best seller lists who maybe have the story, the thing, and the skills. But honestly…… I don’t know many who are actually trying. Maybe you have to be a bit stupid to show up in a publishing house. Maybe all that structure would take away the feeling and that‘s really what we‘re here for.

November 20, 2009

Ultra Lights

He sat on a stool with his arms on the counter in front of him. Every once in a while he’d lift his beer and take a long swallow. They didn’t say much other than an occasional observation about whomever happened to be singing karaoke or whatever happened to be going on with a ball on the screen. She liked him, his quiet and the smile that was ready for anyone around.

“Wanna smoke?” she asked holding the hard pack open toward him.

“Sure.” he lifted an eyebrow mockingly at the ultra lights.

“I know, right? I can’t handle the real deal but they‘ll kill me just the same. Story of my life.”

Their coats went on easy and stepping out in front of the pub was like stepping out on ones own back porch they’d done it alone so often. She watched him take a drag off the cigarette and finally he returned her gaze with only a tiny question in his eyes.

So she asked him “Are you attracted to me at all?”

“What kind of question is that?” He had that implacable quality only the perpetually stoned really manage.

“No stalling. Just tell the truth. We‘re buddies you‘re not going to get in trouble here. It‘s for science.”

“I don’t know. Sure.” he swished the air a foot from her body up and down.  “You’re hot. You know that.”

“Yeah. But I mean do you feel anything standing next to me? Like can you feel me from over there?”

“Feel what? What are you up to?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m trying to conduct an experiment.” She stepped up in front of him until a deep breath would have their bodies colliding. “What about now?” 

“I definitely know you’re standing there.”

She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled his head toward hers. “Now don’t move. At all. Don’t move a muscle.” She leaned in, her face closer and closer to his. And then almost a whisper when their eyes glanced one another, “Shut your eyes.” 

His breath came quicker as her mouth hovered there over his and after a slow silent count to ten she let her bottom lip just barely brush his lips. And then she drew her head back fast. His eyes shot open as she let go of his neck and stepped away to take a drag on her cigarette. “I think they’re calling my name inside. To karaoke.” She slid her cigarette in the upside down space needle ash tray.

“Wait.  What was that? Just now…. ”

“Nothing. Ultra lights. I should quit or smoke a real fucking cigarette.”



November 16, 2009

Enjoy the Ride

I won the take Loree home from the hospital contest. She told people it was because of my SUV but let’s face it, she just likes me more. I was nervous about the entire thing because it strongly resembled responsible adult behavior. You know… someone needing me and whatnots.

First off I was late.

*insert legitimate late excuse here* I really have one I’m just not sharing. :)

When I arrived I realized there’s this whole… check her out procedure. Seriously. It was like busting her out of jail.

“Did you get the stuff?”

“Yeah I got the stuff”  *hands over giant bag of drugs*

“I haven’t had anything since ten!”

“HEY! Not the Vicodin! The strong stuff! Take the strong stuff!”

“Did you check with the cashier desk on the other side of the moon?”

“Yup. No problem.”

“I think they want to wheel me out.”

“Cool. I have to run ahead and go fetch my car from Mars. I‘ll pull up at the doors.”

I had rolled the passenger seat back as far as it would go since Loree is tall. And I slanted the seat back a little ’cause she just had surgery and all.  So she got in and made it more upright ’cause she felt it was more supportive that way and off we went.

Pretty soon the super strong drugs kicked in. But she hadn’t had lunch. So she got nauseous. Also maybe I’m a rotten driver. I don’t fucking know. So she decides maybe a slight recline might be a good idea. (HELLOOOOOOO!)  And she pulls the lever on the seat to lean back a little.


WEEEEEEEE Seat slams all the way back hard and fast. Hard and fast!!!

*makes note for some later time when such information might be useful*


Course all I know is that Loree is suddenly fully reclined and yelling “ow ow owowowo!* while I navigate traffic trying not to laugh too loudly, resisting the urge to flap my arms and saying “are you okay” over and over as a mantra and and and also wondering where I can turn around to take her back to the hospital and if it's really a horrible thing to smoke a goddamn cigarette since I was pretty sure we were both going to die soon.

“Why would you want a seat in a car to DO THAT????” Loree asks

“It definitely keeps going if you keep leaning. You must have leaned hard.”

“yeah.”

“Maybe now take the Vicodin, too.”



*Please don’t tell Loree’s mom. 

November 11, 2009

Table for Two

“I’m hungry”

“Just keep swallowing.”

“But….. It’s not working….I’m still hungry”

“You don’t want it or you would be full.”

“I do want to be full but I’m hungry. What do you want me to do, pretend I'm full? I can't pretend forever. I'm starving here.”

“Feed me some more so you can see how it’s done.”

"Really? You're feeling full? How can you be full if I'm still hungry? You just don't even know you're hungry."

"You're full you just don't even know you're full."

"I know I'm not full because I'm hungry."

"We can't stop.I'm full. Don't you want me to be full?"

“sure, I'm glad you're full and that does make me happy but I can’t help it I'm still hungry.”

"Well don't even think about snacking. You'll spoil dinner." 


November 02, 2009