Reunion

That’s my cousin Tommy on the right. (Kerry, his son, is on the left.)

Up til today, I hadn’t seen Tommy in four years.

Tommy’s mom and my mom are sisters in a matriarchy that comes in two flavors - alcoholics and wussies.

I am one of the wussies. Our numbers are small and we are the outcasts. “We” are me, my late Gram, my mom and my son.

We have stood at the fringe of graduation and birthday parties, alternately checking our watches and staring at the tops of our shoes.

Is it impolite to leave early if nobody will notice you’ve left?

My aunt cooks amazing meals and the guests eat and drink til the kegs run dry; at which point, the least hammered grabs the car keys and weaves his way down back roads to the nearest party store. (Alcoholic theory has it that there are fewer cops on back roads.)

The wussies are long gone by then.

There wasn’t always a noticeable chasm in the family. Tommy was born when I was 7, as close to a sibling as I’ll ever get. We were the first grandchildren and Gram’s constant favorites for the whole of her life.

Growing up, we lived distant lives, drawn together by a shared love of Grandma and the fact that we were the two strangest people in a weird family.

I was a starry eyed optimist who married (and divorced) three times. Tommy got his heart broken early, so it took a long time before he had the courage to fall in love again.

His mother - my aunt - is an elegant control freak who lives to sit in judgment.

The day Tommy brought April - his fiancée - home to meet mom, April plunked down on the sofa, pulled a beer out of her purse and sucked suds like she was shooting the shit with a diesel mechanic.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression. April looked bitchy, but she was a nice person. She was REAL. I always liked her.

Naturally, the marriage didn’t last. Well, what am I saying - it DID last. It HAS lasted, in its own strange way.

Inhaling deeply to get this out in one breath ... they married, had three kids, she met someone with more money, she and Tom divorced, she married the other guy and had another kid. Then her husband met some oriental hoochie mama, they divorced and April was on the prowl again.

It was only a matter of time before she and Tom would run into each at the pubs. One weekend they woke up together in my aunt’s guesthouse. (April would fondly remember me as the only one who literally welcomed her back to the family with open arms.)

While it was a scandal for about 48 hours, grudges do NOT run in the family; except when it comes to me.

Over time April’s fourth child was accepted as a natural member of the family. I saw him today. He’s growing up. April still looks good. Tommy looks … well … older and sad.

There’s a new grandbaby, I saw her too. She's in the photo above. I saw her looking up at the camera while seated on her Great Grandfather’s headstone; Tommy's dad's dad.

We called him Pappy. When we were kids, the families converged upon his cottage at Clear Lake in mid-Michigan.

Pappy's cabin smelled like buckwheat pancakes and pine needles. He was a sweet old guy and those were precious times - swimming and fishing until dark, going to sleep on lumpy old mattresses with sunburned backs and the Everly Brothers singing softly on the radio.

Pappy’s headstone says “gone fishin’”.

I gasped when I saw it for the first time today.

And there’s Tommy’s little granddaughter sitting on the cold flat marble. A lot of time has passed. Too much time.

Tommy and I got out of touch about four years ago. We haven’t talked since I had to ask him to leave my commercial building. Over the years he had rented from (and turned the screws to) most anyone who took him in. The family knew this, still, they asked if I’d rent to him.

Up til that time I'd always been financially solid.

So I rented to him. I was hoping it wouldn’t come back to bite me - but of course it did.

He wasn’t paying his rent, my life was falling apart and I needed a place to stay. I initially asked if I could move in with him, but he’d filled the place with assorted layabouts. It had become party central - an opium den without the opium - a beer and whiskey den in need of gasoline and a match.

I told him I couldn’t live in a place where I had to lock my bedroom door; then, when he didn’t show up to pack, I packed for him. I was desperate.

His life was falling apart due to his “illness” and bad choices - so was mine.

My Lyme Disease started resolving itself months after a move to a warmer climate and fresh air. Tommy? It looks like nothing has changed. How do I know this from 1,500 miles away?

His son Kerry is on Facebook.

Today I noticed he has two “summer ‘09” albums.

Tattoo a giant "L" for "loser" on my forehead, I snuck a peek to see what the family is up to; a pretty emotional journey for someone who never left her chair.

Not much has changed in four years.

Pappy’s cottage looks the same as it looked 50 years ago. There are adult beverages in every picture … the same favorite places, with aging faces of people I love and miss and young ones coming up that I’ll probably never meet.

This is bittersweet.

The emotional and physical distances are profound.

Lyme Disease, BFs, FeeBay and Other Annoyances

The temp is 50 degrees right now - 7:13 a.m., Cape Coral, the BF's house. I am in tee, sweats, a fleece robe left behind by a past guest and our big thick chair blanket. I'm lookin sorta Navajo.

This cold makes my Lyme Disease act up. Yesterday I woke up and gave it up. Worked from home, then drove in around 2.

Stopped at a light behind a New Hampshire vehicle. Their "Live Free or Die" motto was altered by an errant plate bolt that made the message look like "Olive Free or Die", which seemed more appropriate to Sicily.

I find my humor where I can.

Got in to work, my pulse racing and feeling like crap. But I love that job and those people, started obsessing some projects and my symptoms finally went away.

Around 4 my high-functioning-alcholic-previously-ex-boyfriend texted me asking if I wanted any wings from the biker bar. Always alarming, a text from the Dek at 4. Shrugged it off, had stuff to do.

Got home at 8 ... he wasn't there. I text him "you're with (insert name of asshole.)" He says yeah, will be home soon. I text, stay as long as you want, it doesn't matter. He writes back, "back soon - it does matter."

In five weeks he's going to be gone for 7 months. It had better matter. I'm feeling good about him, but then he doesn't show up. We're talking big time deal with the drunk night. I knew he was with the guy across the street who totally cheeses me off ... treats his Russian girlfriend like Michael Vick treated his dogs. My thoughts in regard to him are not consistent with my faith in Buddhism. So sometimes I backslide. Given the opportunity, I may tear his black heart out and shove it in his face.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

10 pm I fall asleep in the chair. Still not there. 11 pm I take my sorry butt to bed with the girls and turn on Sex and the City. It's the one where Carrie dates the jazz guy and whatsherface decides to be lesbian for a while. That's not one of my favorite episodes. I fall asleep.

The BF starts clanging around midnight or one a.m. Remember I'm not feeling well.

He comes to bed around 2, laughing, turning on lights, playing with the dogs. I tell him I need my sleep. My joints are screaming from the Lyme and I don't want to take anything for it.

He goes out and I hear him snoring in the chair in front of the TV. He comes back to bed around 3 and snores there. Then around 6 he's blowing bar breath in my face. I put my hand up against his face so he can get a whiff himself. Then I give up/get up.

Broken dishes in the kitchen. Well, it's his house and his ugly garage sale dishes so I could care less. There is a 4 lb. pork shoulder roast in the microwave. I don't know how long that's been there. The fancy thingamajig remote I'm not allowed to touch is above the kitchen sink, far from it's place of use. And the TV won't turn on ... he effed it up somehow. He will not be pleased when he finally rises. He will have no one else to blame.

So I start the day off fairly cranky. I will have to remember this behavior when he goes back to Michigan in April. It will be good to be back in my pretty condo in Fort Myers.

Someone's supposed to interview me by phone about eBay today, did I join the boycott, etc. No, I saw it wasn't working, gave it every chance in hell, worked harder, worked smarter and felt like I was working for them. Got pissed and pulled my store.

I've been looking for another online store because I do have a nice inventory of vintage costume jewelry. Found one I liked and it was part and parcel of the eBay cartel. ProStores I thought it was.

eBay feels like a hero that has fallen, a friend who took care of me while I was sick but stabbed me in the back a few years later. I spent a lot of time writing my book and I paid much tribute to eBay. (It's "Sick Mick's Guide to Selling Antiques & Collectibles" - available at Amazon or on my own cheesy book site, http://www.sickmick.com/. What I wrote about using online auctions should hold true for any solid merchant service.)

I've been thinking about what to say when I get interviewed. Mostly I don't think ANYONE realizes how much people who are chronically ill depended on eBay for funds in a country that doesn't take care of those who really need it.

So now they don't even have eBay. That upsets me greatly.

Dropped my book off at a local consignment shop I like a lot. The owner seemed delighted. We cut a deal where I'll take my share in trade. She has good stuff.

She's "More Taste than Money" in Fort Myers.

Dreams ... I do dreamwork. I have a recurring dream that I have fallen into a canal. The first time I was terrified, felt like I was dropped from a helicopter ... the water was clear and warm but I was scared to death. There was another, I can't remember. And there was the one this morning ... somehow I was in the canal swimming. There was green foliage at the surface, so I dove underwater where it was clear and beautiful! It was euphoric. I rose to get a breath of air and saw a woman terrified to bein the water. Her mouth was open in horror. And I kept telling her "it's ok, you're ok, dive - it's beautiful."

Not sure what it meant. I think it represented the difference between those who fear death and those who have strong faith in "the other side."

Or maybe it was a reminder from my guides not to take anything at face value.

The Boozer and the Buddhist

Cape Coral, 9 a.m. It's a little cool ... pulled some shorts under my t-shirt and had a glass of fresh orange juice out by the canal. Princess my Lhasa/? joined me. The water is clear today, out to about 8 feet. No big fishies, only a few minnows.

It's overcast. Very peaceful, only the sound of distant Harleys.

The BF is up, in his robe, attempting to be as charming as is humanly possible with a raging hangover. He even made the coffee.

I texted him from work yesterday at 4. He was at the bar with the neighbor already ... he has been trying to drink far less since we got back together. Operative word being "was". Friday night is my big night after a tough week. Most weekdays I'm asleep by 8 or 9. He's only in town til spring. We only have so much time.

He called at 8 from the Monkey Bar saying I should come out and meet up with the others. He was already slurring. Let them babysit, I stayed home and watched the rest of Season 1 of the Tudors on demand. I was tempted to go back to my place in Fort Myers, back where it's peaceful and I know what to expect.

But he has all the channels.

He came in about 11:30 so hammered he could hardly walk. He said they "abandoned" him in the middle of Cape Coral. His back is bad, he was truly having trouble walking. He was also having trouble talking, repeating himself every two minutes. I have to stay up when he's like that or I'm afraid he'll sit on one of the dogs. Sounds funny. It's so NOT. He gets scary drunk. At one point I couldn't find him in the house and he was standing outside in the darkness, looking dangerous, like he was plotting something. His temper shifts on a dime when he's like that.

He came in and said "they" (the neighbors ... the emotionally abusive alcoholic guy with the beautiful submissive Russian girlfriend) want to go out on the water so she can use her new kayak. He said "they'll take their boat and we'll take ours and we'll take the kayaks to Picnic Island."

We've gone out on the boat exactly twice since we got back together around Christmas. The first time we went to Pincher's on the river in North Fort Myers - actually had a ball, one of those rare instances where I let loose with the margaritas. We left after sunset, were headed out on the river and hit a channel mark post HARD. Enough to do pretty significant damage to the boat.

Of course he didn't see how bad it was until morning.

The next time we went to Fort Myers Beach by boat to meet up with above-referenced Emotionally Abusive Alcoholic and Submissive Russian who is living in hell. When you're not a boozer, events like that are as boring as reading a phone book. The sun was starting to set. It takes 45 minutes to get home from that part of Estero to Cape Coral and it was getting cold. The BF was drunk. I said "we need to leave." I said it three times before I grabbed my stuff, held it over my head and waded out. He finally came.

Waves started to increase in size a bit. He was hammered. His biker buddy Dennis was with us. I like Dennis. He tells stuff like it is. Dennis was drunk too. It's an awful feeling to be at the mercy of drunks. We were in the wake of a big boat and a large wave rolled in at us - we hit it hard, knocking me AND my seat towards the BF as he drove. The force of the impact ripped the bolted seat right off the floor. Dennis caught me and the chair before we could injure the BF.

The BF said "wo - where'd THAT come from?" Well if you weren't so drunk you would have SEEN it.

Then it got dark and he couldn't find our canal. We were dragging bottom. There are rocks there and I always worry about what PREDATORS are in there. Christmas lights had already been taken down and a lot of houses were dark. We find our canal based on the features of the various houses. The spirits (some people call them angels ... I call loved ones who have passed spirits) must have been with me in the darkness.

He was drunk, confused and a little afraid of ruining the boat. For once he listened to me and I (we) got us back.

I expected a giant bruise and hip pain the next day ... but it wasn't bad.

When the BF inspected the damage ... which is becoming a morning-after tradition ... he said "Dennis broke the seat." So I straightened him out on that and he didn't appreciate it. (I thought "Just because you have a blackout doesn't mean life didn't go on with your worst persona behind the wheel.")

I say it like it is now, then I walk away and let him stew on it. I don't waste my breath while he's drunk. I've learned that much.

So we are two for two in having trouble with the boating. I told him before I broke up last time I was never going out on the boat with him again, he turns into ... God, I can't even describe the transformation. It's dangerous. Not him so much as the way he drives the boat. He used to be a master, now he can't be trusted. I told a friend "if I die in an accident, it will be on the water."

So this morning I woke up with two dreams.

In one were were at some party town on the water. And the next thing I know, people are swimming IN the water, playing games as darkness sets. And I am (it's a dream, remember) in bed 30 ' below and I see a 20' shark swimming at them. And I'm wondering why I'm not floating upwards and thinking I should probably try to get UNDER the bed before the shark sees me.

I'd say based on that dream it's not a good idea to go out with them to Picnic Island today. I have insisted I will not go if the beer goes, but the beer is always first when it comes to boating.

My other dream was cool. I was reading John Edwards book on communing with the dead yesterday and he talked about his aunt sending him signs as she was dying ... first she's at the airport, then she's boarding the plane, then ...

I dreamed I was on a plane with the BF and a woman who looked just like my Gram walked down the aisle. I poked him and said "LOOK!" He said "what?" I said "that woman looks just like my Gram!!" The woman was very calm. She looked at me and smiled. (My Gram died of dementia, she was anything but calm. Other dreams since her death have explained much ... we can finally communicate again.)

If I had known it was a dream, I would have known it was her hanging out, saying hi. That's always such a comfort. She doesn't move pictures or shake the bed at the BF's house:-)

I want to make a comment about alcoholism. I've been to Alanon meetings, I dislike that they assess blame to the partner. I have nothing to do with the BF's alcoholism. I don't need to feel emotionally abused, seek refuge in Alanon and have them pack the bags for a guilt trip based on my "enabling." Bite me - I do not enable. I endure the situation until I can't endure no more.

Alanon is a good wake up call. Go to see how people live when they love alcoholics. At one such meeting an alcoholic who had been told to attend a meeting put her hand on my shoulder and said "Know that Alcholics are usually attracted people who are kind and caring."

If you go, please remember that the concept of "codependence" has been considered dangerous and destructive by some therapists. (See "The Emotionally Abusive Relationship" ... can't remember the author's name.)

Overall I prefer the Buddhist approach of seeing the situation clearly for what it is and having arranged my life so that I can leave when his problem gets unbearable. One day I may never come back. Maybe one of us will die or meet someone else.

It would be so much better to be in a relationship where I didn't need an escape route, but this is the hand life has dealt me. As long as the companionship and laughs exceed the stress and tears, I'll hang around.