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The pressures of being a parent are equal to any pressure on earth. To be a conscious parent, and really look to that little being's mental and physical health, is a responsibility which most of us, including me, avoid most of the time because it's too hard. |
Sunday, June 27, 1999
One year ago: House Party
Two years ago: Ten Different Mirrors
Saturday I woke up at a reasonable time, then putzed around online. I called Jack, because I hadn't heard from him since Thursday evening when I called him in Denver. I was surprised to hear that he was now back in Washington, and was driving south to Olympia from the airport to spend the day with his younger daughter. Could he come by late Saturday and spend the night and next day with me? Of course, I thought that was a great plan. I didn't ask him for the details on what was up with his older daughter (the one that he went to Denver to retrieve); I figured I'd hear about it from him, later.
So during the afternoon I did more work on picking up books and crap from my bedroom floor. I was at a point where it worked best for me to sit on the floor, with a bag for trash and a bag for recyclables. I tossed any books (not so many, now) onto my bed. I also did somethings to make the place more workable for a guest, putting away the items that were drip-drying above the tub, and so on.
* * * * * * * *
I took the bus downtown and got a bite to eat, then bought some candy (to sneak into the movie) at the Sweets Factory. One certainly doesn't get a good deal there, although it is a bit cheaper than the candy at the concession counter. But being able to select a few of one type, and a few of another, is a good feature, I guess.
I'd been wanting to see A Midsummer Night's Dream for a while, and I did enjoy it. It doesn't quite live up to the recent versions of Twelfth Night or of Much Ado About Nothing, though. Stanley Tucci, as Puck, was my favorite, and Rupert Everett was good as the spoiled but compelling Oberon. I really should get out my laserdisc of the opera based on this play; the Benjamin Britten music is so evocative of the summer woods magic.
I took the bus home and stopped at the grocery store on the way, getting muffins, Red Delicious apples, Guinness stout. In the event, I don't think Jack partook of any of these items, but I'm glad I had them available. I finished up with my preparations, getting the trash and recycle out of the apartment. This is a very important step in cleaning up, but because it's the last step, it sometimes doesn't quite happen. I put on my paisley satin nightshirt, and watched TV while waiting for Jack.
Jack didn't arrive until after eleven o'clock, and he was exhausted, so much so that he couldn't describe to me on the phone where he had parked, or I would have put on my sandals and gone and helped him bring in his bags! He'd spent the day with his younger daughter, going to a park and dinner and movie. She'd had a blast at her first experience of a mongolian-grill-type restaurant. I'm glad he'd been able to keep awake on the drive!
He told me about his Denver experiences, including the fact that Friday night he'd not been able to find a room at a hotel with an airport shuttle, after turning in his rental car. He'd ended up spending the night on an airport bench, catching just a few winks of sleep.
The Denver juvenile system had ended up bringing A---, Jack's older daughter, to the airport only on condition that she'd be turned over to the local juvenile authorities here immediately on landing. They would be holding her, then transferring her down to Olympia where she needed to face a bench warrant (from her failure to appear for an earlier truancy hearing). So at least Jack knew where she'd be for the next few days.
One thing that really pleased me, Jack had written down his feelings and experiences while in Denver, to share with me and help himself sort it all out. I was glad to be able to read it, when he was too burnt out to talk about it all!
* * * * * * * *
Sunday morning (Jack slept in my bed, I slept on the mattress on the living room floor again) I let Jack sleep as late as he wanted. He needed to recharge his batteries! When we were up and about, we walked down the street to Jack's Bistro for brunch. I didn't get the name coincidence until we were actually there, because I thought it was named "Jake's Bistro." We sat in the back patio, read the newspaper (I treated myself to the Sunday New York Times, and I still have a lot of it left to read -- luxury!) and discussed what to do for the rest of the day.
Jack wanted to do stuff to help in my decluttering efforts -- I'm decluttering the bedroom so I can bring in a bigger bed, and I'd recently given him a ton of help when he was getting ready to move to a new place -- so we used his truck to transport some stuff.
We got rid of something that's been a source of shame and guilt to me, that was in a heap on the dining room floor. We'd had a nice oriental rug in my parents' house. but when it came to me, I slacked on getting it cleaned every year. I hadn't noticed when the rug got infested by moths. The rug was destroyed! It smelled bad and the moth larvae had just eaten it up.
So we dragged it outside, I wrapped it in two torn sheets, and we took it to the refuse and recycle transfer station. They didn't even charge us for the privilege of dumping it, which sped up the process a lot. Folks who were paying had to be weighed before and after, but we didn't. I still regret that my neglect destroyed the rug, but at least it's not there by my front door now. it's a relief! I know I recently read some journaller's entry about going to the transfer station, but who was it? Not Luke, not Wally, but someone...
I decided to take the books I'd decided to get rid of, five boxes and five sacks of books, to half-price books. Does anyone else feel vaguely humiliated when they'll only take a small proportion of your books, but offer to donate or recycle the rest for you? I took the offer, though. But I couldn't bring myself to ask why some books made the cut, and others didn't.
After we'd both spent money at the used bookstore, I had the notion that we should go to Gasworks Park. It was in the neighborhood, and the weather was mild but overcast. A good day to sit and look at the boats passing by.
We walked out to the end of the point, past the mysterious gas works remnants, now being prepared for the Fourth of July fireworks, and sat on a bench in one of the niches in the wall, right down by the water. It was idyllic! There were a few wild geese, but they weren't bothering us. Various kayakers and other pleasure boaters went past. Jack started reading his book, and I read mine.
The mood was blown after Jack's cell phone rang. It was his ex-wife! Jack's older daughter, supposedly safe in the lock-up, had been released to her (but she's not the custodial parent!) and was with her now in Olympia. Jack spoke calmly and quietly to her and A----, but he was really distraught and furious. He'd thought he knew what the next few days would bring, but now it's all up in the air again. What if his daughter runs again? He called various other family members, and the police in Olympia, but apparently the warrant that was holding her had been voided when she'd been in Jack's custody on the plane, or something. Anyway, she was no longer on the books as a runaway. It's all really complicated and heartbreaking.
* * * * * * * *
Jack had intended to drive north to Bellingham in the early evening, but he didn't really feel like it, and it was dinner time. He suggested we try the Ethiopian restaurant down by Broadway, Zula, so we walked down there. I'd never been inside the place; it's a lot nicer inside (airy, open) than outside (peeling paint on the exterior walls, generally scruffy). We had some really tasty lamb and very spicy beef, served on and with the Ethiopian inerja bread/crepe substance. Jack had wanted to follow this up with some fine Scotch and a cigar at Hopscotch, on 15th, but when we walked there, they were closed on Sundays, darn them!
It was evident that Jack didn't want to leave, so he decided (and this was fine with me) that he'd spend one more night, and drive north on Monday morning. But I shouldn't have let him trade beds with me! He offered to take the living room floor mattress, and it wasn't the right thing for his back at all.
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