In the Deep Dark

I’m having adp issues. Not the kind where payroll and timesheets are involved, but  the Avoid, Deny, Procrastinate kind.

I want to avoid calling my mother. I want to deny my cousin’s death. I want to procrastinate writing his mother. I don’t want the details of how he died and yet I think about it constantly. I don’t want anyone to tell me I Told You So where he is concerned.

D was a trouble-maker. From the day he was born he was born to raise hell. My dad used to say D came out sideways just to piss off his mom. I think that might be true. She’s been mad ever since. I never understood what made my cousin tick. I know that he lived on an edge only he could comprehend. As a result people gave up on him, people walked away. Including me.

I think back to all the times I failed him and I wonder if I could have made a difference if I had just listened more, been there more, instead of turning my face away from his situation; closing my eyes to his problems. When he was in prison we wrote. We did. Often. The envelopes his letters came in embarrassed me, his obvious incarceration shamed me. I’d burn everything in the bathroom and flush the ashes down the toilet. Later, when he was a free man and had paid his debt to society he wanted to break parole to see me. Hitchhike across hundred of miles on his thumb and good looks. I called his parole officer and ratted him out, complicating his plans. I don’t know which I was more afraid of, something happening to him along the way…or just him. Everyone said I did the right thing. At my wedding I warned my friends about him. My mind was telling me to stay clear. He paced my reception like caged wolf; like the wolves his owned in his back yard. Tough guy on a short leash. On my first trip to Vegas I didn’t try to see him even though I was staying in “his” tough town. I made some excuse about wanting to see some silly sculptures and frivolous fountains. All hail Caesar’s palace!

I called him my favorite cousin. And yet, as his cousin I did him no favors. When it’s all said and done, when I turn off the light and shut my eyes I know this. In the deep dark I failed him.

That Time of Year

What is about the dying of the leaves that depresses me so? What is it about this time of year that gets me so freakin’ low? Wait. I know. Everything bad happens this time of year. People think I exaggerate when I make such blanket statements. Not so. Consider this:

Last year it was the start of the end of a marriage and the death of dear Indiana. This year it’s an uncle with raging Alzheimer’s and walking pneumonia. Those are slow burning, getting worse by the day moments. Yes, on October 16th a friend sent me a text, “how are you?” I didn’t have the heart to answer. I still haven’t answered. How am I? Considering my near-fainting spell has taken away my treadmill but given me one MRI of the brain (had that last night), and an echogram of the heart (next Thursday), I’d say not so good. Considering I set off the house alarm and couldn’t remember the password and almost got a visit from the police, I’d say definitely not so good. How am I? Considering just hours before my friend’s text my mother had called to say my favorite cousin was dead, I’d say terrible.

Yes, it’s definitely THAT time of year. That time when nothing seems to be glass half full. I’m still trying to sort it all out. But, I promise you, when I do I will come out smiling. It may take me some time but I’ll get through this. I always do.

Major Screw Up

There are certain times in my life when I want to give up this so-called friend thing. Too much work, too many let-downs, too much miscommunication. It frustrates me to always be doing something wrong, something disappointing, some kind of screw up. Maybe there is a sort of selfishness going on. Maybe it’s all about you and maybe we’re too sensitive. I don’t know. There is a saying, “lower your expectations and you can’t be disappointed.” I say lower your expectations so far down that anything I do is a surprise. Don’t count on me for anything. Ever again. I can’t make a liar out of you if you don’t make me keep promises.

So, obviously I fukced up with someone. In my mind, in my grand scheme of things it wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt, lost money or gained an ulcer. Yet, it was called a major screw up. Not in my book but we don’t read from the same page. Obviously. Here’s what I would consider a major screw up:

We arrived on Monhegan full of relief. It’s always a good thing when you and your supplies get there in one piece. Plants, food, clothes, gas, equipment. Five big boxes. We made it. We were just loading the truck when a man asked me which way to the Bay Meadow cottage. Bay Meadow cottage? I looked with question at my companions. Is someone getting fancy renaming the houses again? That was my first thought because that’s the trend these days. Take a house previously named for a family and suddenly decide to call it “Fair Winds” or something silly. So. Back to Bay Meadow. The look on my face caused the questioning man to ask, “are we on the wrong island?” I thought he was kidding. No one hops on a ferry headed for an island ten miles out to sea on a whim. Surely, the boat office would have confirmed a reservation? The man wanders away to consult his confused wife.

Ten minutes later and all of our baggage was loaded and ready to go. The lost man and his wife are now rifling through a folder of full of maps and brochures and stray print-outs. Yes, he confirms. They were on the wrong island. Completely. They headed south when they were scheduled to head north. Somehow they ended up where they were supposed to be four days from now. Every reservation had to be consulted and canceled. The wife went looking for a phone. They had 30 minutes to sort it all out before the boat left again. The question remained – would they go back with it or stay on the island of their mistake? I suggested staying. “You’re here now. You should see if you can swap your destinations.”

I have no idea what happened to the couple. The confused travelers were never seen again. I can only hope they enjoyed their stay…wherever it was.

Open Up Your Mind

There is so much I could write about. A good trip to Monhegan always cultivates my creativity, so to speak. Hopefully I will get to it all before I hibernate or something. But, for now I have to hang my head in humbleness. I did something I said I would never do. Okay, I probably never said “never” but… I truthfully never saw myself doing this. What is it, you ask. Okay. I’ll tell you. You might want to sit down and you might need to read this twice over. I can’t believe I’m admitting to it, but here IT is. I. Read. An. Ebook. Off an iPad. Yup. Me, the staunch librarian with old-fashioned ideals on what constitutes a real, honest-to-goodness good book. Me. The one who said “I want to feeeeeel the book, dahhling.” The one who identified with the TurnDownTheCorner woman in those silly commercials. I not only read an ebook. I read three. Are you as shocked as I was? You’ll get over it. I did.

Here’s how it all went down. Every time I head to Monhegan I promised myself the same crappy promises. Promises I know I’ll never keep for one reason or another. Promise number one, I will borrow a book from the Monhegan Memorial Library. It will be something from my List and it will be in good old paper and ink form. Promise number two, I will scour my mother’s attic for other On List titles and read them for the duration of my holiday. Promise number three, I will, once and for all, bring to the island the Master List and determine just what from my mother’s attic is even on my list. How long have I had this silly, self-imposed, and sometimes stupid Challenge? Long enough to know I will never bring out a Master List, I will never formally sift through the piles and piles in my mother’s collection and I will not take the time to sit in a small but quiant library when I could be hiking Red Ribbon, Underhill or my favorite, #14. I just won’t take the time.

Knowing these promises wouldn’t be kept (again) I packed Stephen King’s The Stand thinking 700+ pages would hold me for ten days. Kisa started to pack an iPad and then decided before it went into his bag he would introduce us. I could tell he was nervous as he held it out to me. Technology, meet librarian. Librarian, meet your new best friend. I couldn’t get over how light it was. Kisa taught me how to load a book. How to read it. Bookmark it. Highlight. Take notes. Use the dictionary…Use the freaking dictionary! I ended up loading five books.

In the first 20 minutes of the car ride to Maine I did nothing but experiment with highlighting words and passages, taking notes on sticky pads, changing the font. changing the color, looking up words in the dictionary, adjusting the light. It took me 15 miles to read one page of Anil’s Ghost. Once I saw the potential I took off reading and note taking. I finished Anil’s Ghost within nine hours of arriving at Lobster Cove. From there I moved on to Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Altered Carbon. I was sad to discover I loaded a book I couldn’t read (it’s the second book in a trilogy), but at least Grapes of Wrath was available as a backup.

So. Here I am, the librarian in love with an ebook reader. No. I take that back. I am in love with the technology that allows me to do an author search on the internet (just not while on Monhegan) while looking up a word, at the same time as highlighting a passage I want to remember. All without losing my place. No turning down of the corners needed.