A Story to Tell

When I moved out again last May, my mom was afraid she'd never have the four of us together again. Sc0tlas had moved out the previous fall, and it's pretty well established that I'd rather be just about anywhere else. So Mom instituted Sunday lunch. The expectation is that, if at all possible, we are all at her table for lunch after church.

A couple Sundays ago, I was camped out in the living room, chatting with Stacey, when Mom decided that I needed to watch Matthew West's performance from that morning's Hour of Power. (Yes, my mother "attends" the Crystal Cathedral via Tivo.) I can deal with Matthew West, so ok. I only ask that I not be forced to listen to Schuller. Either of them, really, but the elder Schuller creeps me out. Mom knows this, so she had the remote in hand and was preparing to cut it off at the end of the song.

Enter Dad, fresh from Toastmasters. He decided that right now was a good time to help mom with a tech support issue. Mom said she was waiting until the song was over so she could stop the tv so I wouldn't "freak out."

It's our tv. If she wants to freak out because the Crystal Cathedral is on, she can. It's our house. She doesn't live here. She can just deal with it. This was my dad's response.

While Mom pointed out that she knows I can't stand the guy, so she's just trying to be thoughtful, I told Stacey that I needed a ticker saying

I get it. I don't matter. Move on.

I left.

This last Friday, I showed up at 6 pm to do laundry, as usual. I used to do laundry on Saturday, but I got tired of having to guess when Dad would be using the machines, so I switched. Upon my arrival at the house, I found the dead bolt, to which I do not have a key, locked. I asked Dad when he opened the door, "Since when do you lock the dead bolt during the day?"

Since you started showing up without calling first.

So I've made a point of not going to my parents' house since then. I almost skipped Sunday, too, but I figured it's not Mom's fault that Dad's a jerk. I mentioned this in counseling last night, and we spent most of the time working through the history of hostile and/or unbelievably insensitive comments he's shot at me. We also talked about the certainty that my mom would soon realize that I haven't been around, at which point, she would call. Counselor suggested that for once I tell her why instead of defending Dad.

Sure enough, my phone rang at 9:30 last night. I told Mom about Friday. She was shocked. I told her this is a pattern. It is generally when he's unemployed, but it is a pattern. She commented that he should not be doing this. Then she said, He owes you an apology. (Pardon my cynicism, but such a thing will not happen. He thinks he's infallible.)

That went better than expected, I must say, but I was second guessing myself before I even hung up the phone. I texted Counselor.

When she called a little while later, there was a bit of processing. She said she was proud of me.

Looking For Suggestions

Ok. So my dad, who is generally difficult to shop for anyway, is now working in Chicago until March-ish. Anyone know the Chicago area at all? Can anyone suggest something interesting but inexpensive that I might be able to get him for Christmas?

Get a Job

When my job at The School ended, my dad's job also ended. Six months later, I finally landed the job at the Chamber. Dad has had a couple contracts in the last eighteen months, but nothing has lasted longer than a few weeks.

Until now. Dad spent the bulk of November working a contract in Phoenix. While he was there, he got an offer for a four month contract in Chicago. It starts Monday. This means, of course, that he'll be in Chicago through December, January, February and March. He's not thrilled about that aspect, but it'll be good for them to be able to pay bills again.

After the contract is up, he has the option of becoming an employee. Might my parents be moving?

I doubt it.

Grandma Update

Dad called last night. The update is that she has stitches and a black eye, but, miraculously, nothing broke. Wonder of wonders.

So why can't I shake the feeling that it's worse than it sounds?

Meanwhile, half an hour after Dad called, The Boy also called. His grandma was also in the hospital, though her situation is probably more serious. I don't think either of us got much sleep last night.

We Interrupt This Broadcast

Grandma fell today. Again. This is not an isolated incident. On the other hand, it's not as though she makes this a habitual thing. Just once every few years. Thing is, this time, she had her walker, but she still went down.

The usual sequence is crash, crack, cut, and convalesce. We don't know yet if anything broke. It would be surprising if it didn't, really. She's 80, and she's got osteoporosis. She's got a hardware store in her legs already from three other falls. This time, the cut happened without the benefit of a surgeon present. Her head was bleeding when she was found. Again, I have no idea the extent of the injury. It could be a minor cut, or it could be a concussion, or it could be trauma. I have no idea.

The paramedics were called, but she isn't in either of the local hospitals with which she and Grandpa have collectively managed to acquaint us. No. She was airlifted to USC Medical Center. This scares me, because it tells me that whoever made that decision thought it was serious enough to require a major hospital. Of course, I could be overreacting. I do that. It could be a precaution due to the combination of her age, her dementia, her general frailty, and the head injury. *Takes a deep breath*

I'm frequently ok with not knowing things. When it comes to my grandmother's health, though, I must admit I require information. Thus, I await a call from Dad. He and Uncle are at USC with her.

This just occurred to me. My requiring information is probably because it was my job to take care of her when she fell the first few times. This would explain why I am annoyed that I can't just drive to LA right this minute. On the other hand, yay for not having the responsibility landing squarely on me. (Though I daresay I can handle it better at 29 than I could at 10.)

Chronicles in Senility, or How I Will Likely Be at Age 80

Grandma's rememberer broke. She's pretty confused today. She knows who we all are, basically. What she has lost is kinship. One of today's gems went something like this.

(Looking at me)
Has he been your father the whole time?

No, only for the last 29 years or so.

Or this...

Is he your father?

Yep.

Poor kid.

She was very frustrated at my parents that they've been married for thirty-four years and never told her. We tried to tell her that she's known all along, but she would have none of it. She also wanted to know why she didn't know I was her granddaughter.

It's sad.

A Disjointed Post for a Disjointed Day

Today started last night, believe it or not.

I was meeting with Stephen Minister for the first time in weeks. It's the only thing I really have to drive to, since it's a good fifteen minutes by freeway. At least. I say this only because on the freeway on the way home, some guys in the next lane were gesticulating that my tire was flat. I got off the freeway. I drove home. All the way. Very carefully.

My tire was indeed flat. Completely.

I have no AAA.

So, I pulled out the trusty donut and the jack from my trunk. I decided I could try to figure it out. Yeeeeeah, not so much. It's not that the tire was a problem. I know I could change the tire, if only I could figure out how to work the stupid jack!

I called Mike. He lives two blocks away. He works on cars for a living. He is... in Texas. Waaa.

I realized Dad was at Toastmasters at the bank on the corner. Two minutes on foot from my house. I texted him. No answer. I walked over. Yep, still there. Still in the meeting. I called Mom.

He doesn't usually get home until after 9. It'll be dark.

Rats. Then she proceeded to lecture me about many things, from the merits of buying new tires instead of affordable quality used tires, to the appropriateness (or lack thereof) of being out on foot after dark. There was also a brief grilling as to why I might be needing to only spend $25 on a tire rather than the new-tire $50 or so. Lovely conversation.

My dad did eventually get back to me. We arranged that he would put the donut on this morning.

This morning dawned an hour or two earlier than I would have liked. Shortly after Supervisor arrived, the Long Awaited Review reared its ugly head. One good thing I can say about this is I had no warning whatsoever. It came, it saw, it conquered. And yes, it conquered. I was not so happy afterward.

Not so long after that, it was lunch time. I walked home, drove my newly donutted car to the tire place in downtown, and talked to them about putting on a quality used tire.

We're out of those right now.

Oh no.

Unfortunately, the cheapest tire in stock in that size is $90.

Oh. No. *sucks teeth* Ok. Fine. *seethes*

Um, this day... not going so well, here! But at least I still had time to pick up lunch on the short walk back to work.

By the time I was back at my desk, I wanted mostly to kick inanimate objects and/or cry...

But The Boy (who needs a blog name) was online. And he reminded me that it's a counseling day. Things started to look up.

Counselor noticed me shutting down while we processed the conversation with my mom. I haven't figured out why yet.

Circumstances made today crappy. Special people made the crappy day better.

First, a Story. A JRB Story.

About a year ago, my brother emailed his favorite musician asking permission for his choir to perform one of this guy's songs. Well, for some reason, part of the score had never been committed to paper. The orchestration was done, but not the piano. Or something like that. Jason agreed to send sc0tlas what he had. Sc0tlas agreed to take down the piano music from the recording Jason had done of the song.

So this year, Local Christian Uni's choir has been performing this song by Jason Robert Brown that has yet to be actually published. Oh, it's on a cd and all, but it's not in any book. And if it ever is, odds are my brother will have had some hand in it, because when he finished the takedown, he sent it back to Jason.

Anyway, here's the song that started it all. This song established the communication that led to the JRB concert that led to the gig playing for JRB a couple months ago.

Easter, Relatively

Grandma, Aunt, Uncle, and 6 cousins. Aren't my cousins cute?

Good Friday

Friday was a day of exhaustion.

Exhaustion from the festivities of Thursday that seemed to carry over. Exhaustion from the built-up stresses of the week. And, eventually, exhaustion from what was experienced, and what was not overheard.

After work I went to my church's presentation of Stations of the Cross. (We are clearly not your typical Baptists.) It was completely unlike previous incarnations of Stations. It was not the standard experience of following Jesus through snapshots of Good Friday. I have never, in three or four years of participating, understood or connected with Stations in standard form.

This version of Stations was more of a step back, mirroring much of the ministry of Jesus rather than a span of a few hours. It mirrored rather than followed, in that the stories were not explicitly told. This was an exercise in introspection, application. It was a journey of solitude. And for the first time ever, I was able to connect. It was intense.

When I was finished, the first person I met outside was my friend on staff who had narrated each Station. (There were discmans- or discmen- at each). He was drinking a soda. I commented that I'd been hearing him quite a bit in the last hour. He nearly snorted his soda. I asked another staffer when my shift to help out was set to start, because I'd never heard for sure, and I found out I was only needed for tear down. At 10. It was 7. So I got dinner and went home to take a nap.

No sooner had I turned off the light than Dad's phone rang. It was his Air Force buddy with whom he speaks two or three times a year. They talked for a half hour. Half of Dad's side consisted of sc0tlas this, sc0tlas that, go to YouTube... From that conversation, one might conclude that the man has one son, an only child. Not a single mention of the other. I don't exist.

I left a bit early. Both staff pastors, four other core staffers, myself and ten others turned the Stations labyrinth back into a functional church sanctuary in two hours. As we pulled up the path that was taped to the carpet, Big Brother and I engaged in some friendly sibling rivalry. As we set up the chairs at the end, Philosopher Pastor was unstacking them, and I was connecting them into rows, except he was a little... overzealous in the unstacking. Those chairs were flying at me.

Are you trying to kill me?

Nah. Not today. I can't guarantee anything for tomorrow, though. ;)

I know my name means Follower of Christ, but I wasn't aware it was going to be that literal, and at the hands of my pastor.

Later, we switched, and I unstacked.

You're much nicer than me. You're not throwing them.

I just recognize that we still need you.

It was ten minutes to midnight. One reason I love working tear-down after Stations is these interactions that happen. In those two hours I was around a few people who actually do like me, and I didn't have time to think about my lack of existence at home. Of course, those thoughts came swarming as soon as the work was done.

I sat on the planter wall outside. It was quiet. It was not too cold. There were no stars, but there never are, so that was ok. I took a little more friendly teasing from Philosopher, then I went home.

And apparently, I still have some poetry left in me, after all.

Paper Walls

these walls
paper thin
don't have ears
but i do
you don't know
how loud you are
how well i hear
every word
what you said,
what you didn't
who knew words
unspoken
could be so sharp?
sacrifice your
firstborn
to darkness
if there's blood on these
doorposts, it's mine
drive the spear or
turn away
i still feel the sting
send Dark to swallow me
whatever you do
you can't stop Sunday

Grandma Sunday and a Train Wreck

I was in charge of getting Grandma to church and back today. She'll be 80 in August. It's showing. Her mind is going. Short-term memory is nearly gone. She's not so confident on her feet since her last fall.

We got to church and I suddenly felt like a train wreck. I don't know if it's because it was Grandma Sunday, or if I just habitually have crappy Sundays when I'm in charge of Grandma, but there I was. I couldn't sit still. I was having trouble breathing. I wanted very much to cry or write or SOMETHING, but nothing was happening.

It didn't help much that yesterday I ran into Mr. Self Absorbed and Full of *ahem* Wisdom. He was once a friend, and a good one. He asked where I go to church, and when I told him I was still where he used to be, he asked You mean you haven't left yet? And proceeded to remind me in manner and word why I definitely do not miss him.

But the ideas were there, and this morning, his words were ringing in my subconscious when I realized that the only person who acknowledged my existence was Pastor. Then, when it was time to go, Grandma asked me yet again where my dad was. But this time she asked because she had forgotten that I drove her today.

Zing.

After I dropped her off, I went back to church instead of going straight home. I saw some friends. One of them saw me. But I just couldn't deal with the train wreck, so I went home, shut myself in my room, and went to sleep.

Another Evening of JRB

Anyone want to go see The Last Five Years at APU with me this Friday? $5 per ticket. Um. Yeah, I'm not sure exactly where at APU, but my brother the music director/pianist will probably answer that on his blog (in the comments). I saw the show in Pasadena last summer. It's SO good.

I'm going to call my brother about tickets tonight, so if you're in the area and you're in, let me know- phone, email, whatever. If you don't have my email, you can reach me at whatspider at gmail dot com. (This is not my main address, but I'll get it.)

Mom & Dad are going Saturday. I don't want to go with them. ;)

Follow-up

In these "My Dad is a Jerk" moments, I've tended to glare or forcefully introduce my foot to his shin. Yes, they are frequent enough for a pattern to have developed. This time I did nothing but walk away. He remains clueless. Not like my saying or doing anything in response would have made any difference. It never has.

I have been on the verge of texting Counselor since after church yesterday. This conversation took place Saturday night, not two centuries ago as Patrick wondered. I could not shake the awful feeling. In fact, it held me until well into today, when I suddenly couldn't breathe and felt queasy. Woohoo!

I'm better now. Been consciously breathing for hours, and my insides calmed down when I took a walk during my lunch. Guess I won't send the message, after all. I see her tomorrow. We'll talk then.

I don't really know why this hit me so hard. I don't want my dad's crappy jokes to have so much power over me. That's just idiotic.

On the other hand, all y'all's comments cracked me up. PBJ's most of all. The mental image is just hilarious. "With your permission we will hold him very still and swat his nose with a rolled up newspaper." Those of you who know my dad, tell me you didn't just about bust a seam there.

Ouch

What began as a conversation in reference to sc0tlas's time in college...

sc0tlas: I have been at [Local Christian Uni] for six and a half years, but I've been in college for eight. (looks at me) So you really can't talk about how long you took.

me: Sure, but in five and a half years and three schools, I only got a Bachelor's.

dad: (to me) And you're still a bachelor. (musing) Why don't they call it a Spinster's degree?

I got up and left.

The Many Adventures of Sc0tlas

Regular readers may remember that in December, my brother put on a show at Local Christian Uni. The Show was a revue of the music of Jason Robert Brown, his current favorite Broadway type composer.

Last week, sc0tlas got an email from JRB. (They've corresponded some over the last year.) JRB wanted my brother to fill in for his regular accompanist for a day for the class he teaches at USC. JRB, who plays piano like a manic genius asked my brother to play for him. Sc0tlas was floored. And nervous. And confused. But he agreed.

Now, as the details of the gig next week have begun to come together, sc0tlas found out today how they decided that he is up to the task. JRB found sc0tlas and crew on YouTube.

My footage from The Show, which I posted on YouTube (link in sidebar) as a way for the kids to share with their nonlocal families and also to self-evaluate, got my little brother the gig. Possibly the gig of his life.

*grin*