From The Mouths of Babes
I am not a religious person. Not even slightly. I am not an atheist. I am not smart enough to stake out a position, or to say how or why we exist. But when I am feeling low, give me Mahalia Jackson, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Hank Williams, Roy Acuff or F.C. Barnes singing about their faith, and it buoys me. People persevere, they push on through hard times. That's what this particularly working-class flavor of gospel music says to me. I don't have their gift of faith, but I know that this too shall pass.
I haven't written in so long because work, the dogs, Jenny's illness, Jenny's anger, moving, unpacking and preparing for next week's backpacking trip have sapped me. I have been holed up in my room for about an hour as I write this, listening to Fern Jones sing. She was a holy roller, tent revivalist musician whose music was almost lost, but rereleased a few years ago. She has been compared to Patsy Cline, high praise, really. I digress. . .
The chemo kicked Jenny's ass. She finally relented and after decades together, bought a scale. She is at 159 now, which is about 10 lbs. less than not even a month ago (I ordered lots of fattening food on Sunday from Safeway for her). On Sunday, if I recall the day correctly, she was so weak she crawled the 20 feet from our office to her room. Despite this, she insisted and went away on Monday to Lake Crescent with friends. She claims Eric el pinché isn't there, and that they aren't having an affair anymore because, "he has decided to work on his marriage." The two days she was gone I worked, took the kids to the movies, took care of the dogs and unpacked. Yesterday, remembering all the times she has come home angry after being away to find the house not to her satisfaction upon returning, I cleaned. I swept the hardwoods, did the dishes and put them away, dumped the garbage, washed the counters. You get the drill. I was trying to avert the anger.
She arrives home in a mood. Who knows why. I finish working and ask her if she has any ideas for dinner. I have just given her the club to beat me with. "How should I know, I have been gone for three days. I have no idea what food we have." I respond, "well, you were here on Sunday when the food came and I put it away. It's the same food." She is angry I haven't made dinner. I mean unreasonably angry. Unbelievably angry. She has just gotten home after a few days of relaxing and being pampered, and is pissed I have not planned dinner. Instead of engaging and asking why she is sulking and glowering, I go move boxes and unpack. On trip number one, I walk into the house from the laundry room, only to find Jenny screaming at Abby from the top of the stairs into the basement. "If you slam one more door, you will lose your room downstairs and have to move upstairs," she threatens. I tell Jenny to knock it off. To me it didn't matter what happened, there is no way Abby did anything meriting the threat leveled. She isn't that kid. I proceed upstairs to unpack. A few minutes later I get these two texts:
on Jenny (she is a teenager), but this sentiment in the second statement reflects how Jenny has written Abby off for so long. She is talking about a child with whom she has not really tried to fix the problems Abby called out 3 years ago.
This was a 60 to 120 mph in a second kind of moment. I hate that kind of moment.
I successfully avoided her for the rest of the evening, with a couple of exceptions.
This morning she got up and left to go see a friend for breakfast, and then to see her sister for lunch and a pedicure. I worked all day. She gets home after 3. I am working. She has a couple of matters she finds urgently need my attention. I explain I am working. She is pissed. I continue to work, because her fires are not my fires. Just before 4, I wrap up my work, arise from the sectional and tell Jenny who is sitting across the room in the wingback chair, that I am going to my therapy appointment. "But I have things I need to talk to you about. Have you seen your emails today? I got 100 jobs to consider. After you intervened [on her behalf, giving her lawyer some information], I now have all these jobs to review and need your help." "Yes," I say, "and I have therapy." "I need help. I have the memorial to plan, this job search, Abby needs an outfit for Omi's memorial. I need to talk to you." "Yes, and I have therapy at 4 p.m. It's 4." She is UNamused.
Therapy was o.k. When it was over at 4:50, I dutifully returned to Jenny. She tells me we need to decide who is going to take Abby dress shopping. In no uncertain terms I say, "You should take her. What 16 year old girl wants her dad helping her choose clothes?" "I was hoping to see Carla on Vashon," she tells me. I am disinterested in this, because it isn't material. I mean this was ridiculous. She had been gone three days, came home and was out all day with friends, and is now complaining, without saying so, that she is going to have to take Abby to the mall. As Leiney, yes Leiney, said to me in response to this later, "It would be amazing if she would try and be a fuckin' parent once in a while." I almost fell out of my seat with that comment. Sweet Leiney.
Shopping was a bit more complicated than Jenny had anticipated, and I received a text trying to shame me for asking her to go when she has cancer. I didn't ignore it, but instead offered to come replace her. She didn't take me up on the offer. When they got home after more than 3 hours, I couldn't tell if Jenny was upset or not. KIDDING. She went into the garage to retrieve something, and on top of a large pile of flattened boxes were about 6 unbroken down. She flips out, announcing the boxes need to be broken down, and then proceeds, despite my promise to do it later tonight (I had emptied all these boxes unpacking while she was shopping with Abby) after I finished unpacking. Meanwhile she is in full rant mode explaining that having these boxes not broken down was unacceptable. She begins to break them down, I try to get her to listen to reason as she is ranting, and I talk over her saying, "I don't understand the problem" and "I can do this later tonight," and then she unburies the lede. She is angry that she just spent 3 hours shopping when she has a memorial for which she is unprepared. Perhaps she forgot she was planning to go to Vashon, I think. I turn and leave and proceed upstairs to finish the box I was emptying.
Finished with the unpacking for the evening, I head downstairs a few minutes later and get a can of sparkling water from the fridge and then go sit down on the sectional. Across the way in the wing-back chair, a storm is brewing, the barometer dropping precipitously down to about 29 millibars. Leiney is sitting on the sectional with me. Quite suddenly, Jenny announces she is leaving. She needs to be alone. I say nothing. She leaves. Leiney marvels at how mean she is being to me. She tells me I am a better person than her-- abject horseshit.
On Sunday, I should mention, Jenny asked to use my work computer to use publisher to create the program for her mom's service taking place Sunday. Her mom died a year ago, but COVID-19 made a funeral impossible. This coming Sunday is the day. I give Jenny my laptop, help her access the program and go back to unpacking. She immediately gets on my FB and begins reading my FB messenger. Not sure how much she read, these days I tend to do my kvetching here or on a texting app that is NOT Messenger. When I get downstairs, she is livid. I apparently, 8 months ago, complained that she was a burden. I felt that way at the time, not always, not even most of the time. The affair was still relatively new knowledge to me, she was still lying about much of it, and she never gets to use my computer again. I took it from her, and rather than argue, went back to unpacking. She came upstairs demanding to know what text app I am using, asks the person who uses Whatsapp, Snapchat, and Signal to communicate with who knows whom.
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