Funny the World...

DECANTING DETERGENT

April 8, 2000

Walt told me this morning that he read that Martha Stewart decants her household detergents into pretty containers. Well, I'd decant my household detergents if I had time...or pretty containers...or detergents. But I'm too busy waxing the driveway and color coordinating the toilet paper. I suppose we need Martha Stewarts in this world to bring a little nicety to our otherwise drab existence, but I must admit that statements like the above do lead me to suggest that someone needs to get a life. (However, when I compare Martha's bank account to mine, I suppose she has the last laugh after all.)

I did clean up some today, tho, Martha Stewart notwithstanding (Mom's coming tomorrow!...gotta top clean...). Got the kitchen floor washed, some cookies baked, the family room vacuumed, and went through one of the many piles of things that somehow just accumulate and never get tossed. In the stack I found a page I'd xeroxed out of The New Yorker probably about 3 years ago. It's lyrics to a song called "The Music Still Plays On," from a show called A New Brain, which was, at the time this issue came out, just about to open in New York. The lyrics caught my eye for obvious reasons:

I had a son
He was one
Of a kind
Son of a gun
We were too intertwined.

I look damn good in a hat
My black dress hides the fat.
I don't want sympathy.
He was here and now he's gone
The music still plays on.....

The rest of the song isn't quite as applicable (it compares, I guess, her son's death with her husband's desertion), until the end:

...Love is here and then it's gone
The music still plays on.

They were here and now they're gone.
The music still plays on and on
And on.

Dammit.

I know why all these entries turn out to be about death. It's 12 days to the first anniversary of Paul's death and I'm feeling a little crazy these days. And next month marks the fourth anniversary of David's. It seems like only yesterday that I hugged each of them for the last time.

Another thing I found when I was cleaning up today was the last birthday card that Paul ever gave me. Paul rarely gave cards or gifts and it was even more rare to have him choose a card which had a serious message. But this one says: Thanks, Mom, for being such a wonderful mother. It’s all those everyday things, which I often take for granted, that impress me most about you, Mom. the little things you say and do let me know you’re always there for me...ready to listen or offer a helping hand. You help me to believe in myself, which is the greatest gift anyone can give. It’s signed All my love, Paul.

Dammit.

But back in the world of the living, I had my morning drive with Priscilla today. Priscilla lives in the Dos Rios section of Sacramento, which is like driving into another world at times. I come from a town where we sometimes lock the doors, sometimes don't. Priscilla is always careful to remind me to keep my car doors locked at all times. She's always pointing out where drug deals are made, where murders have been committed, and the various mentally ill people she encounters on the street. Today she learned about the son of a friend who was shot five times yesterday. Not killed (yet), but in the hospital in a coma at present.

At least Priscilla herself is feeling physically better today. The doctor got her some antibiotics for her leg and she's able to walk more normally, though she's worried about her grandson, who has been involved in some gang violence in Los Angeles. She is going to try to bring him to live with her to curb this before it gets out of hand (the boy is 13).

Despite the fact that he has about the saddest eyes you've ever seen, Buddy seems blissfully happy here. He's loving being an indoor dog, loving being able to come and go out the dog door, loving having folks to throw balls for him. He's also decided Walt is "alpha dog" around here. Most dogs kind of take to me, 'cause I'm the one who feeds them and has most of the interaction with them, but Buddy has preferred Walt from the beginning. Oh, he thinks I'm just swell when Walt isn't around, but when Walt comes home that little wiggle butt wiggles even faster.

Audra got home from Hawaii and called this afternoon, asking kind of tentatively how Buddy was. She was thrilled when I told her that we’ve decided to keep him.

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created 4/8/00 by Bev Sykes

 

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