DEATH, PLUMBING AND LOVERS


Part Two

WEEKS BEFORE RUDY’S, insultingly witty and honest mother passed away, she looked at me over the rim of a Lemon Drop at the Ripe Tomato in San Juan Capistrano      her unfading brown eyes acutely aimed at me.  

              “You’re too emotional    ; it’s going to be your ruin.” 

              “It’s passion Harriett, and part of my character.”

               “It will do you no good. You have to listen to me.  I’m 97!”

Harriett learned early on how to wear pearls and refuse pointless suffering. 

I write this after a wakened sense of transformation.  I didn’t have to go far, or pay any money  for this mud bath.  It was after reading an email from my former almost engaged  to man.( me never!) and the concentrate  of my last standing hope for truth between us was treated as a formality.

 So my emotions have been replaced with a cooler temper for both love and sensitivity.   That’s okay, the  real danger is in developing into a cynic;  tossing out jazzy lines about, how a man can destroy your life, and all of that.  There’s a Middle Aged group of women  “men suffrages’’, that live in Santa Fe. Sometimes I see myself in that group, chanting, doing yoga, going to lectures, out to lunch.

What percolated this epiphany?  I’ve never been emotionally damaged by a man.  There have been  sorrowful break-ups, but when we split up, all eight of the men became close friends over the years.

My gal posse offer advise; light a match to his love letters, treat yourself to all therelaxation rituals, and spa treatments, take a trip to visit them and indulge in friendship, and joining Match.com.  You see, everyone knows your voice, and even if your thousands of miles away, friends can hear despair.

 It’s all very similar to “A Book of Common Prayer  .” Witty Joan Didion  , the ways she says, something I am paraphrasing,  “I’m not calling  at a bad time am I Charlotte? You’re not in the middle of a nervous breakdown or anything? “

I wonder if you lie to yourself it gives you an edge on how to lie  without  conscience.  Seems to be in vogue or something.  That is the fault-line innocence and adulthood. Once you cross that line you know it.  I’ve always been told I was a late bloomer in everything!

 I’m on my way out the door; I rented the house for twelve days.   The big white Suburban just drove up. A wide shouldered, grinning forty something just got out of the car.   I see a woman, then the two teenagers, and a dog! They didn’t tell me about the dog, but it’s a little limply Cocker Spaniel, so I wave,  

         “Hi, come in I’ll show you around.” 

               To be continued. Hariett and I pictured in 2004 at a San Diego Opera Gala.

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3 thoughts on “DEATH, PLUMBING AND LOVERS

  1. hello dear girl rub it all over your self. WELLBUTRIN/ZOLOFT & what your DOC advises helps too. NO alcohol tho. it only SEEMS to mask the pain. John Updike says the power of ART is in the pain it hides.SO KEEP PRODUCING YOUR ART!!!

    there will be another bus along directly. Your friend, GIL

    Like

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