The Trip Home

Not to expose your true feelings to an adult seems to be instinctive from the age of seven or eight onwards.
-- George Orwell

Sunday, November 29, 1998

The little VB app that Jack wrote last night did its job, after a bit of debugging (the power management feature of his laptop was interfering at first), and we got ourselves over to the bathhouse only a few minutes late. We'd forgotten to allow for the fact that the computer clock might not be set quite accurately! Jack had never had a massage before, and I hadn't had one from a professional massage therapist, so I was treating us both.

I was surprised to see the same attendant working that had helped me the previous evening. "They've got you working all the time," I said. I soaked myself in the hot mineral water, and this time stayed wrapped in sheets and blankets until the massage therapist came and fetched me. My mind did drift off a bit in this sensory deprivation situation -- dark room, quiet, mummy-like wrappings around me -- until my nose started to itch! Asa, the therapist, had me take a quick shower, then wrapped a flannel sheet around me and we left the all-female side of the bathhouse and walked through the maze-like area where the massages take place.

Asa was an older woman, short and stout. She might have been Filipina. She did a great job, working out kinks and knots, and slathering me with lotion (and a soft sell on the lotion, made by her husband). Soft, new-agey music played in the background. I imagined Jack, going through the same thing at the same time. I hadn't warned him that he'd be having a female massage therapist.

When I was done (and do get the full hour if you can!) I walked back towards the showers. Jack was in the hall at the same time, also wrapped toga-like in a flannel sheet. He called softly to me, but I just waved. We showered and went to breakfast, since this whole bath-wrap-massage thing leaves one ravenous! In the debriefing, Jack called the massage an "interesting experience," which doesn't sound too ecstatic, but he did reveal that he'd discovered that he has an erogenous zone he'd never known about. He told me where it was, but that will remain my secret!

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We'd been lucky with the weather ever since the storm on Wednesday, but the rain set in again this morning. Our cabin was close to the main buildings, so we weren't inconvenienced until it came time to pack up the car. Jack's only regret: he hadn't found time last night to play his guitar! He had done some playing on Friday, and there had been time for him to read and walk, so he did have a relaxing weekend despite this minor lack. So did I!

We drove on the Washington side of the Columbia River Gorge all the way, on this return journey. We stopped at Beacon Rock, but the rain was too steady and cold to make a short hike there appealing. "We need to get you some better shoes and rain gear!" said Jack.

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We picked up Jack's older daughter A---- from her mother's place outside Olympia. "Have you guys eaten lunch yet? I haven't and I'm hungry!" she said. Jack had predicted this, so we hadn't stopped for a meal break. He still teased her though, pretending we were going to get her a convenience store hot dog. A---- started protesting, so I turned around and said with a wink, "How many years have you known your father?" She knew then that she'd have a real lunch, so she suggested Subway and I voted for this as well.

As we were driving north, conversation turned to Christmas, and Jack mentioned that he might not get as many gifts for his daughters as in previous years, both because of his disposable cash situation and to avoid comparison problems with other kids who will be at the celebration. A---- immediately started protesting! I turned the tables by asking her about what she was going to be giving other people. I did the same trick last year last year to my nephew J---, a little unfairly in his case since he was only six at the time. It is something to try if it seems like someone is too concerned about what zie is going to be getting for Christmas.

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Jack needed to stop at his office on the way home. I hadn't been inside one of those Boeing office buildings before, though I did pick up or drop off Jason from one in the same office park a few times. Jack really does work in Dilbertland, with vast fields of cubicles filling most of the area. Even though it was Sunday afternoon, there were folks working on Jack's team; I'm glad he was able to take the holiday off! I pulled a book out of my bag and read while he walked around and checked on the status of his project. A---- grabbed the chance to call a boy she knows. Jack controls phone use by having a cell phone and keeping it on him, so this was a rare chance for her.

Finally we arrived back at Jack's house. We unpacked the car, transferring my stuff back to my car. I went inside and sat with them for a few minutes. A---- got out a video that she wanted to watch. I had something that I wanted to talk to Jack about, but I didn't feel bold enough to just say "Come in the next room and talk to me in private," so I said goodbye and left for home. I did feel sad to go; I'd really enjoyed our time together so much, that the transition was tough. It was already dark, and still raining.

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So, even though I talk a good game, I don't always succeed in saying everything that is on my mind, at least not right away. But I usually manage to get it expressed somehow.

I sent Jack email in the evening: thank you for the trip, mentioning that I'd had something I'd wanted to say, then saying it. But even then he didn't get that the paragraph following the one where I talked about having something I'd wanted to say, was the paragraph where I actually did tell him what was on my mind! Ha! and I thought I was being so direct! All that I'd wanted to propose was him coming to see me in Seattle on a weeknight, after weekends where family keeps him busy. Not such a shocking idea! But I hadn't quite been able to talk about it to him yet. Keep that in mind the next time I'm giving advice about telling people things.