OMIGOD! I have internet again!

Monday, Aug. 09, 2004 21:05

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Finally, the phone line to the home office has been fixed (turned out to be a problem way above my skill level) and I am once again at home in my lovely pink and white and Beatles office. Big Boy was here and able to fix it up, and since he totally blanked on my birthday, I didn't offer to pay him! (Ha!)(Actually, he felt bad and said he would be over later with my gift, but I told him not to worry, this was gift enough for me.)

How goeth the Caribou Birthday Season? Just fine. The Hubband caught all of my clues and bought me a good start to my Kevin Smith DVD Collection ("Dogma", "Chasing Amy", and "Clerks"). Little Boy gave me "The Station Agent". Got some new tunes, too. Happy, Happy me. The real present, though, was attending the rubber stamp convention on Saturday. Not only was it time spent driving around on what could be the most beautiful day God has ever created, but I spent heretofore unseen amounts of money. (But stayed within my budget.) Since I had to pull myself away in order to stay within the budget, I also caught a matinee of "The Manchurian Candidate" which was interesting, but confusingly different than the original. Not sure why they needed to eliminate a key character only to morph the roles of others, but it held my attention. Leiv Schriber is such a good actor.

There were other surrounding celebrations, dinners here and there and visits from friends, but mostly it was a quiet weekend with lots of solitude and peace, which is what I like, after all.

An interesting milestone that occured over the week - my father was officially ordained. He's been working his ministry for a couple of years but just passed the testing for his license. There was an official ceremony type of thing at their church and he asked me to be there and , of course, I was. Also present were my two of my three uncles. This led me later to an epiphany regarding how little the people around me know about my past. I was sitting there with my Stepmother and her mother and several of their biker friends and I looked at the row in front of me to my uncles - one who has just gotten out of prison for the third time and one who was obviously quite drunk (and he's the respectible one!). Having come from work - to a church service - I was quite a bit overdressed in my dark slacks and blazer. I did not, as my poached uncle did, get up and shout how proud I was of my father. I did not, as my pickled uncle did, make several loud comments about my niece's breasts in front of the congregation while taking pictures. I did not break any laws getting there or getting back home.

I did watch with pride as my father accepted this new responsibility in his life. I did watch with amazement as he joined the other elders to lay hands on a couple of members who were ailing. (Dude, it was just like Benny Hin! I'm not kidding.) I did tell my father that I loved him and was proud of him (because I do and I am). And I did shout across the parking lot that I loved my stewed uncle, too, in response to his shouts of love to me. (Because I do. It's family. Even if you wish it wasn't.)

Hubband said it's a credit to me that the world at large is completely unaware of my upbringing unless, of course, I choose to make that known. And sometimes I do choose to make it known when I think the information might be of value (and sometimes if it might put someone in their place). But mostly, I don't feel the people I work with everyday need to know that I used to have to step over my passed out relatives sometimes on my way to school or that my first joint was provided by my uncle a few weeks before he was busted as one of the biggest dope dealers in the county. They don't need to know that my mother once came home drunk at 4am to find her daughter drunk at 4am with a boy who my mother then proceeded to slobber over. They do not need to know how many times I was hit as a child or that I would not consider laying a hand on my child today because of this. (And, by the way, you should fear me if you were to ever lay a hand on him, either!) They do not need to know that my maternal grandfather killed himself before my mother was born (and probably because she was on the way) or that my paternal grandfather spent most of his latter years in a sanitarium before he drank himself to death at 67 with a pint of rubbing alcohol in the hospital. They don't need to know any of this. They just have to know me now.

So, now I'm 41. Which feels remarkably like being 40 and, as every other age has, remarkably like being 15. No different, just a little shocking when I look in the mirror or glance at my hands or find a gray hair where I never thought I would. I wonder how many more years I can shock strangers when I tell them my age? I am grossly glad that I am no longer a single twenty-something out to impress people with how much I can drink or express my love through pleasures of the flesh. I am incredibly thankful that I have this wonderful man, these wonderful sons, and so many wonderful friends (including you, and you, and you, and you...). And I am glad I still have many more years on this earth trying to be worthy of all that I have.

Footnote: In the realm of "this is cool", our art group is having an exhibition of their work at a local library. The exhibition includes three of my altered books. I think I have somehow made this more important in my mind that it actually is - not like there's news coverage or anything - but they did have a "Meet the Artist" talk to which a dozen or more people showed. Unfortunately, it was the same night as my Dad's ordination and I could not attend, but it still seems cool to me. So, if you're in the neighborhood of Lone Pine and Telegraph Roads during the month of August, stop into the Bloomfield Twp. Library and see my stuff. I'll be the one with the misspelled name. :)

4 comments so far

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