Could not think of response. Note to self: Think up response, send on card, thus striking up friendship with Emmett?
Returned to house, sat on special star-watching platform as stars came out. Our kids sat watching stars fascinated, as if no stars in our neighborhood. What, I said, no stars in our neighborhood? No response. From anyone. Actually, stars there did seem brighter. On star platform, had too much to drink, and suddenly everything I thought of seemed stupid. So just went quiet, like in stupor.
Pam drove home, I sat sullen and drunk in passenger seat of Park Ave. Kids babbling about what a great party it was, Lilly especially. Thomas spouting all these boring llama facts per Emmett.
Lilly: I can’t wait till my party. My party is two weeks, right?
Pam: What do you want to do for your party, sweetie?
Long silence in car.
Lilly, finally, sadly: Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.
Pulled up to house. Another silence as we regarded blank empty yard. That is, mostly crabgrass and no red Oriental bridge w/ancient hoofprints and no outbuildings and not a single SG, but only Ferber, who we’d kind of forgotten about, and who, as usual, had circled round and round the tree until nearly choking to death on his gradually shortening leash, having basically tethered himself to the ground in supine position, and was looking up at us with begging eyes in which desperation was combined with a sort of low boiling anger.
Let him off leash, he shot me hostile look, took dump extremely close to porch.
Watched to see if kids would take initiative and pick up. But no. Kids only slumped past and stood exhausted by front door. Then I knew I should take initiative and pick up. But was tired and knew I had to come in and write in this stupid book.
Do not really like rich people, as they make us poor people feel dopey and inadequate. Not that we are poor. I would say we are middle. We are very very lucky. I know that. But still, it is not right that rich people make us middle people feel dopey and inadequate.
Am writing this still drunk and it is getting late and tomorrow is Monday, which means work.
Work work work. Stupid work. Am so tired of work.
Goodnight.
(Sept. 7)
Just reread that last entry and should clarify.
Am not tired of work. It is a privilege to work. I do not hate the rich. I aspire to be rich myself. And when we finally do get our own bridge, trout, treehouse, SGs, etc., at least will know we really earned them, unlike, say, the Torrinis, who, I feel, must have family money.
Today at work, at lunch, was Fall Fling. Down we all went, perhaps a thousand folks streaming out. Little trio playing. Someone had distributed orange and yellow mini-flags stamped “FF,” which soon nearly covered ground. Fake river runs through courtyard, many assholes had dropped their mini-flags into fake river. Filtering device at one end soon clogged with mini-flags, maintenance man with several mini-flags sticking out of rear pocket crossly going around attempting to dislodge mini-flags from filter with yardstick.
As always they served these flat little dry sandwiches. By time our group got down, many sandwiches already on ground around serving table, with heel marks.
Threw ourselves down on berm, ate hurriedly.
Sat thinking of Eva. Such a sweetie. Last night, after party, found her sad in her room. Asked why. She said no reason. But in sketchpad: crayon pic of row of sad SGs. Could tell were meant to be sad due to frowns went down off faces like Fu Manchus and tears were dropping in arcs, flowers springing up where tears hit ground. Note to self: talk to her, explain it does not hurt, they are not sad, but actually happy, given what their prior conditions were like: they chose, are glad, etc.
Very moving piece on NPR re. Bangladeshi SG sending money home: hence her parents able to build small shack. (Note to self: Find online, download, play for Eva. First fix computer. Computer superslow. Due to low memory? Possibly delete “CircusLoser”? Acrobats run all jerky, due to low memory + elephants do not hop = no fun.)
Soon was nearly one, we returned to work. In elevator, some still holding our little dry sandwiches, stood all of us red-faced men in ties, making jokes about enough Fall Flinging, the Fall Fling has been Flung, etc., etc. Then the embarrassed silence as we, in our minds, resaid the things we had just enthusiastically heatedly said, as if vying for some sort of Stupid Utterance Prize.
Then brief period during which we each surreptitiously cut eyes up at mirrored ceiling of elevator to check bald spots etc., etc., see what we looked like “from above.”
Anders said: I must appear pretty weird to birds.
No one laughed, all just made that sound that is like laugh placeholder, so Anders wouldn’t feel bad, as his mother has recently passed away.
(Sept. 8)
Just now returned from long walk in Woodcliffe.
All over up there, men my age reading in big chairs under orange affluent lights. Where is my big chair? Orange light? No big chair, no affluent lights, no book-lined room. Why is art on our walls so lame? We have only one of old-time cars got at Target and one of generic beach w/Ferris wheel, from garage sale. What are we doing wrong here? Where our expensive framed original art, signed by artist? (Note to self: Befriend young artist? Young artist comes to house, is so impressed with family, paints portrait of family gratis? Still, expensive to frame. Maybe artist so impressed with family, frames it himself, i.e., frame = part of gift?) In Woodcliffe, everything lavish. Beautiful flowerbeds, night-time smell of cedar mulch, speedboats on lawns in moonlight. Behind big turreted house on corner of Longfellow + Purdy Way, yard slopes down to 200 yards of perfect grass. There in the dark, fifteen (I counted) SGs hanging silently, white smocks in moonlight. Breathtaking. Wind picks up, they go off at slight angle, smocks and hair (long, flowing, black) assuming same angle. Incredible flowers (tulips, roses, something bright orange, long stalky things of white clusters) shaking in wind with paper-on-paper sound. From inside, flute music. Makes one think of ancient times and affluent men of those times building great gardens, roaming through while holding forth on philosophy, bounty of earth having been lassoed for the pleasure of etc., etc.
Wind stops, everything returns to vertical. From across lawn: soft sighing, smattering of mumbled foreign phrases. Perhaps saying goodnight? Perhaps saying, in own lingo, gosh that was some strong wind?
Almost went down for closer look, possible conversation, but at last minute caught myself, thought: Wait, no, trespassing, bad idea.
Stood awhile watching, thinking, praying: Lord, give us more. Give us enough. Help us not fall behind peers. Help us not, that is, fall further behind peers. For kids’ sake. Do not want them scarred by how far behind we are.
That is all I ask.
Dog started barking, dashed out between two SGs, one of whom let out little shriek. But dog on lead. Snapped back.
From house: Calm down, Brownie! Brownie, mellow!
Heard this from tree-shadow, hurried away.
(Sept. 12)
Nine days to Lilly’s b-day. Kind of dread this. Too much pressure. Do not want to have bad party. Why issue? Possibly own thirteenth b-day party? Horseback riding and Ken Dryzniak nearly paralyzed in fall? Plus cake was stale. Snake menaced Kate Fresslen. Dad killed snake with hoe, bits of snake flew up, soiling Kate’s dress? Or maybe this b-day stress perfectly normal, all parents feel?
Had asked Lilly for list of b-day gift ideas. Today came home to envelope labeled POSSIBLE GIFT LIST. Inside, clippings from some catalog: “Resting Fierceness.” A pair of fierce Porcelain jungle cats are tamed (at least for now!) on highly detailed ornamental pillows, but their wildness is not to be underestimated. Left-Facing Cheetah: $350. Right-Facing Tiger: $325. Then on Post-It: DAD, SECOND CHOICE: “Girl Reading to Little Sister” figurine: This childhood study by Nevada artist Dani will recall in porcelain the joys of “story time” and the tender moments shared by all. Girl and little girl reading on polished rock: $280.
Discouraging, I felt. Because 1) Why does young gir
l of twelve want such old-lady gift, and 2) Where does girl of twelve get idea that $300 = appropriate amount for b-day gift? For us it was one shirt, one shirt we didn’t want, usually homemade. Once got basketball but was overly bouncy ABA type, red, white, and blue, with, for some reason, drawing of clown on it. When bounced, went like two feet higher than normal ball. Friends called it my “bouncy ball.” Needless to say, did not cost three hundred. Believe Mom got with soap coupons. Gave to me wrapped in homemade shirt with one long arm hanging down. Then urged me to don long-armed shirt, go out, “show guys.” Took photo of me trying to dribble bouncy ball as friend Al held out long arm of shirt, as if to say: Wow, what long arm. In photo, ball bouncing up out of frame. Bottom curve of ball just visible, like moon, Chris M. looking up at ball/moon, amazed/flinching.
However, do not want to break Lilly’s heart or harshly remind her of our limitations. God knows she is already often enough harshly reminded of our limitations. For “My Yard” project at school, Leslie Torrini brought in pics of Oriental bridge, plus background info on SGs (place of origin, age, etc.), as did “every other kid in class,” whereas Lilly brought in 1940s condom box found last year during aborted attempt to start vegetable garden. Perhaps was bad call re. letting her bring condom box? I thought, being historical, would be good, plus perhaps many would not notice it was condom box. But teacher noticed, pointed out, kids had big hoot, teacher used opportunity to discuss Safe Sex, which was good for class but maybe not so good for Lilly.
As for party, Lilly said she would rather not have one. I asked why not, sweetie? She said oh no reason. I said is it because of our yard, our house? Is it because you are afraid that, given our small house and bare yard, party might be boring or embarrassing?
At which she burst into tears and said, Oh Daddy.
Actually, one figurine might not be excessive. Or rather, might be excess worth indulging in, due to sad look on her face when she came in on “My Yard” day and dropped condom box on table with sigh.
Maybe “Girl Reading to Little Sister,” as that is cheapest? Although maybe giving cheapest sends bad signal? Signals frugality even in midst of attempt to be generous? Maybe best to go big. Go for “Resting Fierceness”?
Put cheetah on Visa, hope she is happily surprised?
(Sept. 14)
Observed Mel Redden today. He did fine. I did fine. He committed minor errors, I caught them all. He made one Recycling error: threw Tab can in wrong bucket. When throwing Tab in wrong bucket, made Ergonomic error, by throwing from far away, missing, having to get up and rethrow. Then made second Ergonomic error: did not squat when picking up Tab to rethrow, but bent at waist, thereby increasing risk of back injury. Mel signed off on my Observations, then asked me to re-Observe. Very smart. Then made no errors. Threw no cans in bucket. Made no Ergonomic errors but just sat very still at desk. So was able to append that to his Record. Parted friends, etc., etc.
One week until L’s birthday.
Note to self: Order cheetah.
However, not that simple. Some recent problems with Visa. Full. Past full. Found out at YourItalianKitchen, when Visa refused. Left Pam and kids there, walked rapidly out with big fake smile, drove to ATM. Then scary moment as ATM declined. Nearby wino said ATM broken, directed me to different ATM. Thanked wino with friendly wave as I drove past. Wino gave me finger. Second ATM, thank God, not broken, did not decline.
Arrived winded back at YourItalianKitchen to find Pam on third cup of coffee and kids falling off chairs and tapping aquarium with dimes, waitstaff looking peeved. Paid cash, w/big apologetic tip. Considered collecting dimes from kids (!). Still, overall nice night. Really fun. Kids showed good manners, until aquarium bit. But problem remains: Visa full. Also AmEx full and Discover nearly full. Called Discover: $200 avail. If we transfer $200 from checking (once paycheck comes in), would then have $400 avail. on Discover, could get cheetah. Although timing problematic. Currently, checking at zero. Paycheck must come, must put paycheck in checking pronto, hope paycheck clears quickly. And then, when doing bills, pick bills totaling $200 to not pay. To defer paying.
Stretched a bit thin these days.
Note to future generations: In our time, are such things as credit cards. Company loans money, you pay back at high interest rate. Is nice for when you do not actually have money to do thing you want to do (for example, buy extravagant cheetah). You may say, safe in your future time: Wouldn’t it be better to simply not do thing you can’t afford to do? Easy for you to say! You are not here, in our world, with kids, kids you love, while other people are doing good things for their kids, such as a Heritage Journey to Nice if you are the Mancinis or three weeks wreck-diving off the Bahamas if you are Gary Gold and his tan sleek son Byron.
Limitations so frustrating.
There is so much I want to do and experience and give to kids. Time going by so quickly, kids growing up so fast. If not now, when? When will we give them largesse and sense of generosity? Never been to Hawaii or parasailed or eaten lunch at cafe by ocean, wearing floppy straw hats just purchased on whim. So I worry: Growing up in paucity, won’t they become too cautious? Not that they are growing up in paucity. Still, there are things we want but cannot have. If kids raised too cautious, due to paucity, will not world chew them up and spit out? Would like to buy large box, decorate like buried treasure, bury, make map, hide map, lead them to map without appearing to. Then, when they bring map, say: Ridiculous, don’t be big dreamers, be cautious, be frugal, world is cruel. And when they persist, and actually find treasure, won’t that be an excellent lesson in sticking to it? But how to do? Where to get such a box? What to put in box that doesn’t cost too much? How to dig such a big hole, and when?
Always busy on weekends. If had more money, could hire maid, hire garden guy, freeing me up to find box, fill box, bury box. Or have garden guy bury box, after I fill. Or have maid fill. But do not have money for garden guy or maid, or money for treasure box, or treasure to put in it, and in fact do not even have money to buy kit to make map appear ancient.
Still, must fight good fight! Think of Dad. When Mom left Dad, Dad kept going to job. When laid off from job, got paper route. When laid off paper route, got lesser paper route. In time, got better route back. By time Dad died, had job almost as good as original job he had lost. And had paid off most debt incurred after demotion to lesser route.
Note to self: Visit Dad’s grave. Bring flowers. Have talk with Dad re. certain things said by me at time of paper routes, due to, could not afford rental tux for prom, but had to wear Dad’s old tux, which did not fit. Still, no need to be rude. Was not Dad’s fault he was good foot taller than me and therefore pantlegs dragged, hiding Dad’s borrowed shoes, which pinched because Dad, though tall, had tiny feet.
Dad good guy. Always worked hard for us and never left us and always brought home candy, even back in sad early days of lesser route.
(Sept. 15)
Damn it. Plan will not work. Cannot get check to Discover on time. Needs time to clear.
So no cheetah.
Must think of something else to get Lilly so we can give to her at small family-only party in kitchen. Or may have to do what Mom sometimes did, which was, when thing not available, wrap picture of thing, with note promising thing. However, note to self: Do not do other thing Mom did, which was, when child tries to redeem, roll eyes, act exasperated, ask child if child thinks money grows on trees.
No. When Lilly comes to me with coupon, surprise with generosity by taking her to glamorous lunch at best place in town, all dressed up, owner comes over and says, w/French accent, Oh I see it is someone’s special day, and Lilly blushes (note to self: Learn French phrase meaning Yes, yes, it is her birthday), after which we go shopping for figurines, and to surprise her, I buy her not just one, but two figurines, and better, more expensive ones than cheap crap in catalog.
Note to self: Find ad with pic of cheetah, for IOU coupon. Was on little desk but have not seen. Possibly used to record phone message
on? Possibly used to pick up little thing cat spit out?
Note to self: Find out what is best restaurant in town.
Poor Lilly. Her sweet hopeful face when tiny, wearing Burger King crown, and now this? She did not know was destined to be, not princess, but poor girl. Poorish girl. Girl not-the-richest.
No party, no present. Possibly no pic of cheetah in IOU. Could draw cheetah but might then think she was getting camel. Or not getting camel, rather. Am not best drawer. Ha ha! Must keep spirits up. Laughter best medicine etc., etc.
Someday, I’m sure, dreams will come true. But when? Why not now? Why not?
Have had such a headache for three straight days.
(Sept. 20)
Sorry for silence but wow!
Was too happy/busy to write!
Friday most incredible day ever! Do not need to even write down, as will never forget this awesome day! But will record for future generations. Nice for them to know good luck and happiness real and possible! In America of my time, want them to know, anything possible!
Weird to look at previous entry and see phrase “Why not now?” because exactly! That is exactly what happened!
Wow wow wow is all I can say! Remember how, above, always buy lunchtime Scratch-Off ticket? Have I said? Maybe did not say? Well, Friday, won TEN GRAND!! Every Friday, to reward self for good week, stop at store near home, treat self to Butterfinger, plus Scratch-Off ticket. Sometimes, if hard week, two Butterfingers. Sometimes, if very hard week, three Butterfingers. But if three Butterfingers, no Scratch-Off. But Friday won TEN GRAND!! On Scratch-Off! Dropped both Butterfingers, stood there holding dime used to Scratch, mouth hanging open. Kind of reeled into magazine rack. Guy took ticket, read ticket, said: Winner! Guy came out, righted magazine rack, shook my hand.
Tenth of December: Stories Page 9
