the primrose path

This weekend I went to see the Colorado Shakespeare Festival of King Lear. I would give it a $10 on a $50 scale. The production was leaden, the seats uncomfortable, and the only thing it was good for was causing enough immediate discomfort to make me forget my other problems. I had a headache throughout, but stayed once I realized that I knew one of the players. The actor playing Gloucester is someone I've worked with before. We did lots of Shakespeare together 10-15 years ago and he was Proctor to my Abigail in The Crucible. He is marvelously talented, (if incredibly unfocused off stage) it's so good to see him putting his talents to use. Gloucester is a pathetic character and he played him to good effect. What was weird was seeing him afterwards. His hair has turned white. It isn't just the stage makeup: he has aged. And it filled me with this strange sense of unease. It does not feel like so much time, but there we are, living testaments to time's passage.

( Sound and fury... )

---

I had a pounding headache by the end of the play and it was quite late. Arriving home and sitting out late on the back porch trying to settle myself for bed I kept having these blinding flashes. "Fuck," I thought. "This is the last thing I need, some kind of neural event." Instead, it turned out that the flashes were lightning up in the cloud canopy, setting the whole world into blinding noon-brightness, though it was well after midnight. What rolled in, over the course of a few minutes, was a spectacular thunderstorm. Not only did it hinge nicely with Lear, it cleared my stormy mood.

---

Lear Part II
http://zalena.livejournal.com/1082148.html

Brother and I went to the mall to get a strip of photos from one of those instant photo machines. It's all digital now, which means the 'development' is almost instantaneous, but the process is still fun. You get two strips for $3. I seem to remember these being $1 for one strip when I was a kid, which means it's held its value. We sent a jokey card about 'family resemblance' with the pictures. Mom didn't get the joke, she commented on how much we looked like each other rather than our reference that our gawps and grimaces are a genetic legacy from her. But it was still very fun and appreciated and avoided some of the heavy sentimentality that often comes with the day. I sent her a book of poems about famous mothers and daughters (I also wrote a review to go with it, but for some reason they did not see fit to post it yet!) which touched her. Her FB update today was "To all of you who have mothers: remember to thank them for their strength and courage; their determination and audaciousness; and for their love for you! They did the best they could with what they had."

( Fay Weldon's Rhode Island Blues )

( Arcadia Falls by Carol Goodman )

o Movie night @ TAMC
o Movie w. pals yesterday - this is the second week its been cancelled
o The giant grocery shopping that needs to be done. I am seriously down to dried beans. (Which are currently baking with the last of the molasses, coffee, bourbon and brown sugar.)
o Volunteering for the Fringe
o Going to Divine Intervention to see friend's art
o Visiting w. Brother
o Recycling
o Library (admittedly that's just because I'm lazy and have too many other books to read, though they've got Love, Stargirl on hold for me.

I'm sure there will be more things to add to the list. The good news is that I'm in walking distance of a grocery store (though I will probably not be bringing home 5 lbs of flour today.) And I can easily catch a bus to work even though it takes an hour and a half.

Plus, I need to clean house and keep looking for a job.

The new car should be here sometime next week. I don't know where I'll go first, but I think a trip to the Great Stupa at Red Feather Lakes is in order before the weather turns for the season.

Heck, I might even attend the Nee Wood motorcycle rally in Cheyenne. Even though I'm not married, yet. Nor do I have a motorcycle. (That status is more easily remedied.)

Since motorcycles run in both sides of my family there's a very good chance I will own one someday. Whether I ride with the Woods or the Naces largely depends on my marital status. The Nace/Pagett women largely don't marry. I have a handful of decrept aunts on that side of the family who drink, gamble, and live on the res. Most of them are veterans. The Wood women tend to marry charming enablers who smooth the friction between the Wood clan and the rest of the world.

Outside the sky is low and pink from all the reflected lights. Fog is rising up off the rivers, and there is a spooky feel to the path that winds beside my house and off into the industrial area. We'll probably get our first frost tonight. It's the kind of night one needs something to snuggle up to, in my case it will have to be a good book. (Both the latest Bloody Jack and DWJ came out this past week.)

I'm making lentil-barley stew (it ends up tasting like corn beef hash, despite it's humble origins and simple ingredients.) There is some dough cooling for cheesy-crescents (cottage cheese, butter, flour, a little parmesan), and if I stay in the mood, I'll make some walnut cookies, too.

This has been a quiet weekend. Dad called this morning and asked if I'd like to have brunch. He was on his way back from Junction. Uncle Rob is dying. He's retired from trucking due to emphasema complicated with lung cancer. They've given him 6 months. He's moved into an apartment in Junction so Linda can look after him.

I was never close to Uncle Rob, his antics have created a lot more harm than love in the family. He inherited more of my Gpa's charm and bad habits (alcoholism, beatings, his way with women) than any other member of the family. My feelings about the situation have more to do with seeing my dad dealing with it, and the rest of the family close ranks around Rob, who if not a black sheep, has certainly been a lost one.

It's at times like this I'm slightly awed that I am a member of this clan. If there's one good thing that's come out of moving back to CO (and there have been many, despite this past, overly serious, year) is to feel more closely connected to the Wood clan, and to establish a better relationship with my father.

I stopped by the library today (where Fay Weldon's latest was on hold for me) and when I came out I saw Amethyst and Dan just returning from a walk. They had their backs to me. I saw them, turned, and kept walking. It's been almost two years since our friendship shattered, and even though we are on speaking terms now, it will never be like it was before.

The juxtaposition between blood family and friends made me wonder what and who will matter in another 20 years.

Friday, Brother met me for lunch (and my last summer hours afternoon.) We saw The Illusionist, which was disappointing. It depends on a secret I will keep; but as I guessed the secret early in the movie, it made for a rather dull film.

Brother has had a rather dreadful week, including a totally inappropriate reprimand at work. I could tell he didn't want to go back to his apartment. So I let him stay at the house. We went to see relatives Saturday, so it made sense, but I hadn't planned to spend the weekend looking after him, or drinking with my relatives.

Saturday the nee Wood motorcycle gang met at Chez Dad. (I've got motorcycles on both sides of the family. It's like a hereditary disease. And let me tell you, no one rides bitch. All the women have their own bikes.) We pulled up within minutes of each other. It couldn't have been choreographed better. The funny part is that the meeting time was "afternoon" so it was totally unplanned.

Aunt Donna is looking well. She's been battling cancer for the last year. Uncle Dan seems the more touched by the experience. They are my favorite relatives, probably because they didn't have a daughter and always doted on me because I was a girl.

With the aid of several paint buckets, we managed to seat 8 around the table. We topped off 4 bottles of wine. Two weren't drinking. (My dad and his teetotaler girlfriend.) There was much cheer and telling of stories (Sister Mary Whoever, being one of the jokes of the evening.) Someone drew diagrams of chemicals, and there was a lot of one-up-manship and high fives. My uncles (no blood relation) seemed particularly proud of my contribution to the conversation, which involved some great quips, a funny story about making my boss smell her shoes, and some rock 'n roll anecdotes.

Both my uncles are great guys. The Wood family tends to marry enablers who tolerate our shortcomings and antisocial behavior. It is probably because of the in-laws that we're all speaking. The good part is they make us bearable to each other and the rest of the world. With any luck, I'll marry one, too.

There was one really regrettable conversation about meth, and we finally found out more about dad's girlfriend's work (something about miracle nutrients told with the religious quaver of a true believer,) but on the whole it was a positive experience and made me feel that there are some positive traits to belonging to this family, and that the larger dynamic (with Donna & Dan) shows a clear place for me in it.

Dad's house was picked up and he has a lovely vegetable patch which provided salad for dinner. All the relatives were complimentary about the house. I have to say it gave me a bitter pang. Why couldn't I have grown up in a nice house with a garden? I'm so thankful that dad is living back on the grid again, and that as my brother puts it "he seems to have decided that enjoying life isn't a sin," but that doesn't mean I don't wish he would've been a better provider when I was a kid.

Brother showed me his plans for the stairs. Mom has really pushed for me to "let Nathan give." She won't pony up the cash for me to hire someone to make repairs. But she will give him all the cash he asks for to pursue this project. It kind of pisses me off, but I decided I'm going to "let" him do it within the next six weeks.

Sunday I found out the reason my neighbors have been gone is because Virginia died. Gustavo has been visiting relatives in Mexico. I feel horrible, first because I didn't find out sooner. Second, because Virginia was a lovely lady and it seems like just yesterday we were getting acquainted in my very poor Spanish. I have no words in either language to convey my regret.

Marla stopped by this morning the Rob Brezsny Boulder Weekly.

Things I didn't do this weekend: both Job's BBQ & the show I wanted to see were on Saturday and had to be dropped for the family.

Holiday weekends make me feel at loose ends. They highlight my being single and not more heavily attached to a peer or family group. They also remind me of how used I am to being busy. I don't know what to do with myself with the extra day. I can't quite relax into being unoccupied, so I busy myself around the house. I baked brownies and a quiche (which I dropped on the floor. That was interesting.) I worked int he garden and took several long wanders. I watched Veronica Mars (the prom episode made me cry. I think I identify with Veronica just a little too strongly.)

Anyway, that was my weekend. Several things need to change this month. That damned project needs to finish one way or another. I need to collect for the work I've done on it. I need to start applying for new jobs. I need to make more effort to invite people over and include them as a part of my life.

I even considered starting internet dating this month, but after looking at some of the profiles this weekend, I've decided I am entirely too cynical to meet someone that way. People seem to lie even more online than they do in real life. And while not having herpes is certainly something I'm looking for in my next partner, it should not be the #1 reason someone recommends themselves for a date. Besides, it's rather obvious that no one is picturing me when describing their dream date. I think I'd do much better on my own. The goods present much better in person.

My mother came busting into the room in the middle of the night telling me she heard sirens, we needed to all get up and go because there might be tornados or a flash flood.

To be fair, we had some crazy thunderstorms last night (I kept dreaming that country singers from the county fair kept trying to come in by bathroom window to try to get out of the rain) and I also heard sirens, but they wouldn't have woken me up; after the years I lived in NY a siren is a thing to shrug off unless accompanied by flashing lights and a loudspeaker. The usual indecipherable quacking sounds (instructions) did not follow the sirens, and further investigation (the radio, the weather website, the NOAA) did not yeild any kind of severe weather warnings.

I have no idea what was going on, but I was very annoyed to be woken up, especially as sleep has not come easily these past two weeks.

The good news: my emergency preparedness skills are better than I would have thought. I grabbed my windup radio, a rain slicker, a jug of water, and a first aid kit in a matter of seconds. The struggling to get dressed part while half asleep was harder. (I was rather embarrassingly sleeping in the nude.) Mom seemed upset that we couldn't get any information. "What if this was a real emergency!" she kept repeating.

"If it were a real emergency, there would be more information," I said. The logic that the reason there was no information was because there was no emergency didn't seem to be getting through to her, I'll try to discuss it again once I see her this morning.

My brother was also staying the night. He stayed up and folded orgami. I went back to bed, despite rumors that they might make a night of it and go find breakfast at the Waffle House out by the freeway. (That part was actually my idea, I was just too tired to implement it.)

All is quiet this morning. I have an appointment and am finishing my cup of tea.

I've had a marvelously relaxed weekend. Booboo visited yesterday. Dad took us out to Longmont's latest Italian restaurant. It is not as authentic as it claims, but it had very good salads (with freshmade dressing) and amazing desserts. Too bad it smells like cat, as my brother observed.

We had a hilarious conversation about creating a "New World" tiramasu. It started when my brother asked, "Is this cinnamon or cocoa," and it led to a culinary fantasy that cycled through a "Mexican chocolate" style dessert, to something bizarre made out of llama milk. We thoroughly confused my father. Probably because the recipe for "New World Desserts" was interspersed by a story about first contact between North American Natives and Vikings, an initially peaceful contact ruined by lactose intolerance.

I'm a little worried about my father. He's not as sharp as usual. Something about him seems foggy, or fuzzy. His physical health has been cause for concern since Thanksgiving. There haven't been any developments, just a fuzziness that makes me feel uncomfortable.

Our waiter went on about the Squaresville Theatre Company, not realizing he was speaking to a member of its former dynasty. There was an irritating feature about their latest show in the local newspaper this weekend, including pictures of a woman I detested when I used to perform there. The local theatre company used to be a lot smaller and a lot better. Now it's gotten competitive and ponderous. I haven't been impressed by any of the shows I've seen lately, despite their "imported" talent. I guess it feels like the Emperor's New Clothes, people get all excited by pedigree and ignore the actual talent. (Like the woman who went on about being a part of the Asheland Shakespeare Festival, later it turned out she worked in the box office, which really doesn't qualify her to make unquestionable artistic decisions.)

Then I fixed the step while my brother watched and cheered me on. He's heavy on the Scottish Enlightenment lately, so he also lectured me on what he's been reading, which was interesting. We found an interesting proof that would really do a number on dad, but decided it would be cruel to use it. Weirdly, I can't remember what it was.

This reminds me of a time I was having coffee with muphf and he said, "Yeah, some families are so smart, you always wonder what they discuss amongst themselves when no one else is around."

"They probably make fart jokes," I said. I don't know about everyone else's families, but in my family it's true unless my dad is around.

So, I slept a lot, wandered a lot, cleaned a little (uncovered some things left behind by my visitor Wednesday, which means I will have to see him a lot sooner than expected), read a little bit, and finished a Season 4 of Upstairs, Downstairs.

Now I have two questions for you:

Catherine Asaro - should I bother?

Does anyone know of Quantum Physics for Babies or some other basic layperson's primer on theoretical physics?

On the whole, I'm feeling a little better all around, less floaty, and more like I can hope for a future again. I can't SEE a future, but I can sense one out there, and that's a good feeling to have after being focused so long on the immediate tasks at hand at exclusion of all other pleasures.

In other news, my mom left today. I cried. She can drive me a little nuts, but it's been really nice having a sympathetic mom around this past month. Sometimes I wish she lived a little closer, so the distances wouldn't seem so large, and the time we had together wouldn't feel so loaded.

I am getting a raft of gardening catalogs in the mail, all containing covers or stickers with the words, "Here is the catalog you requested."

I did not request any catalogs. I have a feeling this is my mother at work, yet again. I suppose this is catalog karma for the various USPS pranks I've played over the years. In high school, I was mad with an ex-boyfriend. I knew his highly religious parents really wanted him to go to a Christian college, while he didn't plan to go to college at all. I picked up a book of postcards from a Christian college recruiter and signed him up for every single college in the packet, (probably about 50 of them) knowing that each time college information arrived he would have to have "a talk" with his parents. (My plan worked. I heard all about it at school. I also signed him up for "Stop Bedwetting," but that was just mean and not particularly clever.)

Then there was the time I was convinced my father should go join a monastary. He was raised Catholic, but converted to Protestantism (he's a fringe-fundamentalist, whose beliefs are primarily Calvinist) in college. At the time he was living "off-the-grid" in a travel trailer, heavily involved in militia activities, and extremely paranoid. As he has very little in the way of retirement, I somehow decided that the solution to all our problems was for him to become a monk. (I still believe he was the son who was supposed to take the cloth in his family.) So I did lots of research on monastaries that have music as a part of their ministry and signed him up for more information.

I never heard about any results from that "prank." Dad is doing much better and after a brief flirtation with Jews-for-Jesus (led in our town by, of all people, an old choir teacher!) he is living in an apartment again, attending a Dutch Reform church, and dating! Other than his 2nd Amendment fife & drum corps, he no longer is involved with militia stuff anymore.

I guess I'm getting off easy if all I'm getting is gardening catalogs.

S