this part of the dream is always the same
why must certain hormonal shifts be so directly linked to certain hormonal urges?
it makes for bad karma.
and an incredible test of strength.
common sense.
bah humbug.
spent hours googling names of family members. found articles sobre mi abuelo. harvey stemmer, you screwed my father over but gave me something magical in return. it seems unfair for me to be so enthralled by your story when i know how much you hurt my father. alas, such is the plight of granddaughters.
found listings for my mom's brother, my only real uncle. and his wife. and my only first cousins. but the site wanted my money if it was going to tell me where they were, other than fort pierce.
i wonder if they still live on okachobee (if that is even remotely close to the spelling) road. there's a part of me that wants to hoard my money and find them myself. the last time i was there it was the summer after i'd turned five. we still have a few photographs of my three cousins, paul, john, and mark, and i swinging in the backyard. there is even one of paul, who was probably fifteen or so at the time, playing basketball with my father, who still had hair on his head and muscle where there is only fat now.
there are pictures of uncle bill with his long hair and long beard and torn to shreds navy knit hat.
he liked trains.
he went to MIT for awhile.
paul, the eldest, was going to be a biochemist.
i forget where he was in school, but he dropped out half way through his senior year.
uncle bill never finished either.
aunt janet is a nurse, and a school guidance counselor. and maybe something else.
she usually works about three jobs at a time; at least that's been the case the few times that we've heard from her, every few (five to ten?) years. she is busy.
uncle bill doesn't work.
he doesn't talk to anyone.
he sits in a corner and smokes until he sleeps.
but anyway.
sometimes, when dad is really mad at mom, he yells and then mumbles and says under his breath: "i just don't understand how someone could become so astranged. i just don't understand how your mother can just ignore the fact that she has a brother." i don't think she ignores uncle bill, though. i think she just doesn't know how to find him anymore.
besides, dad's sister was schitzophrenic and committed suicide sometime in the seventies. i think my brothers knew her, sort of. dad loved her, no doubt, but had she lived, would he have maintained strong ties? i don't think he would. from the tone of his voice and his downward gaze it is hard to imagine him doing any differently from mom. i think that's why he gets so mad at her about uncle bill sometimes. i think he is mad because he knows that given the chance his relationship with aunt phyllis probably would have ended up the same way.
uncle bill isn't schitzophrenic. but he was hit by a truck when he was a teenager, riding his bike. mom says nothing was ever the same after that.
and that things only kept getting worse.
"what can i do?" she asks me. i just shrug and then we sigh together.
given my current predicament (one which i will gladly explain when it is over, but one which i cannot bear to explain over and over again to disappointed faces, not right now), i wonder if it wouldn't be nice, when this is in fact all over, to find my uncle bill, my aunt janet, my cousins, paul and john and mark; mark is only a few months younger than i am.
i am luckier than i understand, i think.
i have questions.
it makes for bad karma.
and an incredible test of strength.
common sense.
bah humbug.
spent hours googling names of family members. found articles sobre mi abuelo. harvey stemmer, you screwed my father over but gave me something magical in return. it seems unfair for me to be so enthralled by your story when i know how much you hurt my father. alas, such is the plight of granddaughters.
found listings for my mom's brother, my only real uncle. and his wife. and my only first cousins. but the site wanted my money if it was going to tell me where they were, other than fort pierce.
i wonder if they still live on okachobee (if that is even remotely close to the spelling) road. there's a part of me that wants to hoard my money and find them myself. the last time i was there it was the summer after i'd turned five. we still have a few photographs of my three cousins, paul, john, and mark, and i swinging in the backyard. there is even one of paul, who was probably fifteen or so at the time, playing basketball with my father, who still had hair on his head and muscle where there is only fat now.
there are pictures of uncle bill with his long hair and long beard and torn to shreds navy knit hat.
he liked trains.
he went to MIT for awhile.
paul, the eldest, was going to be a biochemist.
i forget where he was in school, but he dropped out half way through his senior year.
uncle bill never finished either.
aunt janet is a nurse, and a school guidance counselor. and maybe something else.
she usually works about three jobs at a time; at least that's been the case the few times that we've heard from her, every few (five to ten?) years. she is busy.
uncle bill doesn't work.
he doesn't talk to anyone.
he sits in a corner and smokes until he sleeps.
but anyway.
sometimes, when dad is really mad at mom, he yells and then mumbles and says under his breath: "i just don't understand how someone could become so astranged. i just don't understand how your mother can just ignore the fact that she has a brother." i don't think she ignores uncle bill, though. i think she just doesn't know how to find him anymore.
besides, dad's sister was schitzophrenic and committed suicide sometime in the seventies. i think my brothers knew her, sort of. dad loved her, no doubt, but had she lived, would he have maintained strong ties? i don't think he would. from the tone of his voice and his downward gaze it is hard to imagine him doing any differently from mom. i think that's why he gets so mad at her about uncle bill sometimes. i think he is mad because he knows that given the chance his relationship with aunt phyllis probably would have ended up the same way.
uncle bill isn't schitzophrenic. but he was hit by a truck when he was a teenager, riding his bike. mom says nothing was ever the same after that.
and that things only kept getting worse.
"what can i do?" she asks me. i just shrug and then we sigh together.
given my current predicament (one which i will gladly explain when it is over, but one which i cannot bear to explain over and over again to disappointed faces, not right now), i wonder if it wouldn't be nice, when this is in fact all over, to find my uncle bill, my aunt janet, my cousins, paul and john and mark; mark is only a few months younger than i am.
i am luckier than i understand, i think.
i have questions.