20140901 Labor Day Under Dark skies.

20140901 Labor Day Under Dark skies.

            It is 5:54 PM on Monday, September 1st, 2014, and I am walking home from Rolandale after doig some writing.  The sky is very dark and threatening.  Very dark, very threatening looking.  There are thunderheads, and I am walking away from home. 

            It is warm and windy.

a            Graham just called and wanted me to come home.  He said he liked me to be there whenever he asked Dad for anything.  I said if he anted me to come home, someone would have to come and get me, because I don't have a car and was intending to walk home. 

            I HOPE I didn't misunderstand him, but what I thought he said was that he would talk to Dad by himself.  In other words, they are NOT coming to get me, because if they do come, and I am not there, Keith will be annoyed. 

            It's already kind of late.  I was "working" on my novel.  I actually wrote and "published" a Cowbird story and then was "working onn my novel".  Working on the novel considted of searching for the latest version of it and reading it.  I got kind of sucked in to Discovery at Little Hog Island.  There were things I'd forgotten.  I liked it.  A lot.  Not that it doesn't need work, it does.

            A lot of work.

            But it's pretty good!

            I just ran across Moross.  That's always exciting.  Now I've got the liccups.  At least I am no longer walking AWAY from home and will soon be walking toward home.  Not that the sirection I am wlaking in will help if it suddenly starts pouring. 

            I SHOULD be working on Ballookey's mole, getting it ready to mail.  I think it is almost ready -- I hope I can mail it tomorrow.

            my cell phone just rang and it was Keith wanting to know if I wante him to come get me because it's thundering.  Nice of the sweet man to be concerned.  I told him I was near Marquette Scool on Canyon but wad going to keep walking (dodging between trash cans.) 

            It is thundering.  Not a drop of rain has fallen ye, but it could come, all at once. 

            One block to Rolandale.  I've walked 15 minutes, which is good, because Now I will have only 30 to walk later. 

            Someone's blue binky is lying in the dirt.  Too bad.  I'd pick it up and wash it if it were my kid's. 

            The cicadas are going nots.  I downloaded the pictures of the cicadas I too yesterday at R'dale and sent them to

            9:15 PM I am out on my second walk of the day.  Earlier, after I got picked up, it rained enormously hard.  Now it is slightly and hazy, but the moon is out, and stars.  But the trees are still dripping.

            Gtaham was in the car.  He wanted to have a family conference, and wanted me to be there (to support him)l  but when I found out what he wnated, besides $500, I couldn't go along with him.  He wants us to buy him a car and insure it.  The probablems with that are that 1) we don't have much money and have to support ourselves for the rest of our lives somehow and 2) It's illegal for him to drive one of our vcars.  He wanted to take the Blue freighter to begin with.  Well, he's specifically exxcluded from our ploicy befause of his DUI and arrests and speeding ickets.  Keith says he thinks it would cost $3,000 to add him back in.  and that would only be for the insurance.  There would be gas, maintnance and if we were to ctually buy him a car, , there would be the const of the car and if it were newer than the blue freighter, the insurance would be higher. 

            Because the sidewalks are badly floored I am walking in the road at ight in the dark. 

            Keith is depressed and I am somewhat angry.  When I was a kid, I did not expect everything to be handed to me on a silver platter.  Graham feels so entitled.  He doesn't seem to understand our financial constraints and how hard his father is already working to support him in school and the fact that because of his mother's death and other factors, including his own DUI to the tune of $10,000 we don’t have a big cushion to fall back on.

            If we have to keep dipping into my savings, we won't even have that.  We've taken a LOT out of it already.

            Tuesday, September 2, 2014, 4:33 PM I am headed for the post office on foot, delayed in my leaving by trying to get a box to return ML's Comcast modem.  And a few other problems.

            at 1:00 this afternoon, I was still in my nightgown because I had a horrible sleepless night last night and was up out of bed until around 2:45 (with no sleep at all untl after that) so then I was zombified, anyway, at around 1:00, I hear loud insistent banging.  I run downstairs and open the closet and put on Susan's blue raincoat like a bathrobe and go to the door--it's pouringoutsude, no one is at the door, but I see a van with it's door open standing in the rain, maybe it's Kristina's car--it is. I go to the back door and Gram is there, squinched under the little overhnd and balancing int he doorway trying to stay out of the rain.

            "I just gotta get Kristina's cell phone charger," he says. 

            "I take it you didn't go back to school yesterday."

            "No, I'm going now."

            He runs upstairs and back down, "Goodbye forever," he says.

            "I hope not FORever," I say and he is gone.  I take off my coat and hang it up, close and lock the front door.

            Now I am going to finally mail the mole.  The one I've had since June or maybe before. 

            It rained all morning, hard hard hard hard.  Now it is it sunny.  There are leaves down on the sidewalk, yellow leaves.

            Also green leaves and branches.

            ML called and was very confused about Dr. appointments.

            I talked to her a long time.  TRying to straighten things out.  Not sure I acceeded.

            A shiny gold motorcooter, a big ne, driving by a black woman, has music really loud and is stopped in the street bear me.    I wish I had a spy camera. 

            Now I am in line at the PO, a fairly long line, but it suddenly moves up about 4 people.  It's cool in here.

            I get out my decorated envelope.  A lady standing near me asks if I bought it like that or if I did it--when I tell her I did it she says it's very creative..

            4:56 PM I am off again like turd of hurtles.    Walking out and away for another 6 minutes or so, so that by the time I get home, I'll have walked 15 minutes.  The traffic is busy on Mack and this isn't my favorite time or place to walk, but I finally mailed the mole. 

            I was at 14:55 at the PO and the distance to the next stop along Mack which is Jo-Anne Fabrics, seems horribly far and at the same time tempting to stop and buy myself some little treat so I tun on some side street, but even here the traffic is terrible. 

            The football players are practicing on the field next to where I am walking and the whistle keeps blowing it's making me tense and nervous. 

            I just want to go home, but I keep walking.

            I walk past tons of oniony chivy things.  And something very sweet, a cloud of nectar.  Now it is time to go back, but instead, I turn on another side street, hoping to get away from the grinding traffic, ths shouts, the whistles, 

            I let out a long breath.  It is quieter here, though I can still hear the constant shistles and shouts of the coach.  Boy am I glad I don't have to do that!

            On the next street , though, I will have to turn back, because the street I ma on is curving away from where I need to to go next.

            EXCEPT that the next street, Belanger, (hi John Bellinger) has no outlet.  How do I get myself into these fixes? 

            The next road, Calvin, appears to go through.  It is still quiet here, I can no longer hear the coach yelling and whistling.  But now dogs are frantically barking at me when all I am doing is walking past.  I am headed back toward Mack and the mass of rush-hour traffic.  I would have wlaked earlier, but I got hung up trying to help Keith with ML's comcast modem etc.

            He's hungry and anxious for dinner.  I told him to defrost some fish because I am maing Bouillabaisse. 

            I come out by the flower shop, and near the post office,  Ironically, the flower shop has hedge bindweed growing in their hedges.  Past the Blufin Sushi.  Past the lock and key stoe. 

            Because of the work on Mack, the traffic is worse than usual.  It's narrowed t a single lane on either side and no parking. 

            I walk through puddles.  Trees drip on my, but the sun is hot and the cicadas are going.

            Past the cleaners and Jagged Fork.  One of the guys from Village market asks me where the thrift store is and I put my finger to my lip and look stupid. 

            "You don't know" he says, "okay, no problem."  Thrift store?  What thrift store.  Should I know?

            Past Carlisle Law, I see a store   It's a resale store.  I tur around and point it out to the cute guy from Village.

            Wednesday, September 3, 2014, 4:20 PM I am walking backwards on the same sidewalk I was walking on yesterday, along Mack, past the resale store, past the jagged fork toward the post office.  And the traffic is all backed up because of the construction.  Keith was trying to be nice by suggesting that he drive me to the store and take home the food and put it away so I could walk directly from Village, but what he doesn't understand is I have timed all my routes from home, not from Village, and I don't like walking on Mack during rush hour.  And walking home, one way, would screw up my timing also.  I am tempted to just walk home, be he seems so sad that I don't to upset him, especially when he is trying to be nice, so I walking along Mack with the idea of walking the long route.  The problem is that since I rode to the store, the long route will be a little short unless I do something to lengthen it. 

            Oh well, I will, by the time I reach home, have walked 40 minutes or so. 

            I did another painting in Aya's mole last night, one of the fish swimming out of the aquarium.  Tomorrow, I have Brian Powers.  I will bring that painting and there is my visit with the girls (or their visit with me) and Graham's manipulating us to give him a car to talk about.  And his missing his first day of class.  And all the pressured on Keith. 

            I am crossing the road on a walk light and a woman rolls down her window and says, “I am sorry,” twice.  I have no idea what she is talking about.  I finally realize she's blocking the cross walk.  I smile and say that's okay, maybe a little uncertainly, because I'm not even sure that's what she means.

            When I get to Jo-Anne fabrics, I’ve walked 115 minutes.  I go inside and look at the art supplies.  Keith may have wanted to drive me to Village to get me home sooner, so I want to stay long.  I have to push the stop button on my stopwatch FIVE times to get it to stop.  I end up buying some Loew-Cornell fine point pens for $5.99.  When I leave the store, I peep around the corner and a mail truck is hurtling at me.  He stops and waves me to cross, so I cross, but I didn't want to cross, because that means I am walking n the wrong side of the road. 

            The traffic of course is bad. 

            But now I am in Moross, headed for Chalfonte, and the traffic is bad here, but the sidewalk is far from the road.  Not far enough, but farther than usual.

            I want to be working on a novel rather than all this nothing drivel.

            Or a Cowbird story or a poem.  The problem with a Cowbird story is that writing the story is only the first step.  Then, there is posting it, making illos, editing and re-editing and editing yet again.  I suppose it is good experience, but then there is reading everyone else's stories.  Which is OK, too, but it all takes time away from my novels, my books for Frankie and my other projects.

            Cowbird is NOT my life.

            It occurs to me that there is no lettuce or spinach for salad--maybe some old romaine from tacos?  I stopped buying spinach because it was so crappy I ended up throwing much of it away. 

            I feel kind of like lying down.

            I feel kind of depressed.

            I feel a little overwhelmed and low on energy.

            I see a girl (young woman?) on a bright candy-apple red motor scooter with a side car and a kid in the side car.  They are both wearing helmets. 

            The cicadas are buzzing and whining.

            Loudly.

            I am reading That book I won by Leslie Stella.  I'm in bad shape.  It's called Permanent Record.  I suppose I could write a book review.  But I'd prefer to wait until I finish it.

            I could write a book review on Revolution, by Jennifer Donnelly.  It's been sitting on my desk waiting for me to review it.

            *            *            *            * EJ end journal

            *            *            *            * Begin letter to Tom

            Thursday, September 4th, 2014, 2:12 PM

            Dear Tom,

            Thank you for you nice long letter and the book.  Is that a loan, a book you want back?

            I am over at Pier Park talking a walk, and I just got grabbed.  Apparently, I just walked into a filming scene.  I got escorted around.  I asked what they were filming and was told "I just can't say."  Reminds me of when Keith, Gail and I went to the old Zoo on Belle Isle and walked into a filming scene, which was "Real Steel." We thought it was some third rate movie, but we went to see it and it was better than we expected. 

            Anyway, here I am at Pier Park.  It's very windy and the wind is blowing my hair as I walk out toward the water.  To the water.  It looks like the ocean, Lake St Clair, in a way, all that water, and you can't see across to the other side.  There's a huge freighter approaching, a great Lakes Freighter and they are often ocean going freighters. 

            It doesn't smell like ocean though.  It's a little similar, but no salt smell, and not as strong.  There's a fishy, plant note to the odor. 

            And there are the boats, the clanging of metal, the halyards, the furled sails, and the motorboats pounding along bumping on the waves, and the sun bright off the water.  I'm at the pier.  It's not a marina, but all the rich people have their boats here.  Now that Labor Day has come and gone, the boats will start disappearing.

            I walk here every Thursday, through the park-like area, up and down the pier and docs, across the beach and past the pool.  The waves are slapping on the pier, the buoys bending and bobbing and swaying in the wind.

            There aren't as many gulls or swallows around as usual, maybe because the wind is is so strong today. 

            There's a muskrat that lives here.  He has a home in the rock scree under the docks at the end of the pier.  And ducks, today there are ducks, and foam along the pier from the battering of the waves.

            The big freighter is getting closer.  Little flotillas of green-billed ducks swim away as I approach, ad then back into the shelter of the pier.  They might want to swim into the harbor, which is little calmer.

            From here, looking south, I can see the silhouettes of the sailboats at the next pier.  Looking in the other direction, north, I can see the tower of the Grosse Pointe Yacht club. 

            In spite of the wind, it’s a little hazy on the lake.  I take a shot of the freighter and a gull and a guy fishing. 

            I think you might like it here, although getting here would definitely be a journey.  It takes us two days to drive Maine and two days to drive back.

            Or you could fly.

            Once you get here, you could stay at the Rolandale House, for free.  And you would have the house to yourself.  Well, to yourself and whoever came with you.  I'm not sure how long we can afford to keep the house.  Our expenses have been skyrocketing, with Graham's DUI costing us $10,000 and his tuition and rent and books and food and clothes etc, and with ML, Keith's Mom newly in assisted living, we have her expenses, and Keith's brother, Paul --Keith is his guardian, he's handicapped.  ML used to take care of him, but is in no position to do that any more at 92 and getting confused and living in assisted living without a car or license.  Keith is working sometimes 4o hour weeks and sometime 58 or more-hour weeks, and he will be 69 in October.  He's being dragged down by all the expenses and pressures.  So like I said, we may have to sell the Rolandale house, although we may not get much for it.  Or else we may have move there and sell the house we're living in.

            Meanwhile, Keith is mowing three lawns, Moran, Rolandale and his Mom's, which is huge.  And taking care stuff at 5 houses, Moran, R’dale, his Mom's house (she only recently vacated it, that is moved out--it isn't empty), her new apartment, graham's apartment and Paul's apartment.

            I am sitting up on the observation deck in the breeze.  My hair is down and getting tangled by the wind.  That freighter is much closer now, so close that I can't get the whole thing in the camera easily. 

            I have some good news, news that I am excited about.  I hope it's OK that I tell you.  I am sure you won't post it, but if you share it with Rita and Rosy, please ask them NOT to post it to facebook or anywhere yet.  (Although by the time you get this letter, Erin herself may have posted it, but as of now, she doesn't want it shared.  She is pregnant.  YAY!  I'm going to be a grandma again.

            My little grandson Frankie, who is 3 1/2 and will be 4 in November, is such a joy.  He is so smart and cute and talented and wonderful.  I'm not prejudiced or anything, ha ha ha. 

            Sara, Erin and Frankie just recently came to visit us and stayed at the Rolandale house.  It was Frankie's 1st visit and the girls' third visit.  I was so happy to see them, but they could not stay long.  They arrived Thursday night, stayed Friday and Saturday, and left Sunday morning.  We went to the Zoo on Friday and to Pier Park twice on Saturday.  The zoo was a bit overwhelming.  It's a very big Zoo.

            Graham asked us to buy him a car at around 9 PM on Labor Day--so that he could drive to school in Kalamazoo.  He had classes the next day.  There was no way we could buy him a car at that hour, and we could lend him one of ours because he is specifically excluded from our car insurance, because of his DUI.  Because Keith refused to drive him (Keith gets up at 4:15 and he would not have arrived home until 2:30 AM), Graham missed his first day of classes.  He chose to come home from school without making arrangements to get back.

            He is now going to Kalamazoo Valley Community College--we're assuming he flunked out of Western Michigan.  They don't give the parents the grades any more and Graham never tells us anything.

            Needless to say Keith is very upset about all this, as I am, too.  Keith had just written Graham a $500 check for his rent and when he refused to give Graham the car, Graham went off in a huff without the check.

            He seems to think we are wealthy and doesn't realize that Keith gave up his vacation and is working extra hours to help keep Graham in school.  As the stepmother, I don't want to come down to hard on Graham, but he's pissing me off treating Keith like that.

            It makes me a little sorry for the wretched way I treated the folks when I was a teenager and in my early 20s.

            I suffer from terrible insomnia.  It may hereditary (sometimes is), as Mom had it too.  Insomnia kills brain cells and can lead to dementia.  I'm afraid I'm already suffering from it. 

            I try to meditate nearly every day, but often fall asleep or go into a dream-like state.  Only rarely do I have what feels like a remotely good meditation.  Also, I am only doing T’ai chi occasionally, I keep wanting to do it more get swept up in the trivia of daily life.

            Graham drinks a lot and smokes pot.

            Keith is trying not to drink because of his health issues and not drinking makes him very sad.

            I am walking past the gardens, the rose bushes, the lavender, the black-eyed susans.  The kids are back in school, so it's pretty quiet here, even though it's now 3:00.  They may start showing up soon.  I hear some creaming, but it's probably the little kids who don't go to school yet.

            There is not a single kid on the beach.  A few lone pails and a football, but no people.  One little kid is coming out of the locker room in bathing suit, so she maybe down here soon.  The wind and waves have piled up more lake weed than usual.  I walk along the beach in my sandals, wishing I were in bare feet but the beach is short and I have a lot to do.  It's not like the long beaches in Maine.

            A little boy pulls on a stalk of ornamental grass at the edge of the beach and breaks and he falls on his butt.  "Are you okay, Jeff?" his sister asks.  She's a year or two older. Still very little.

            I walk to the very end of the park.  It's not a big park, and the only way I can walk for 45 minutes is to walk on the piers and docks.  I skipped one of the long docks because I was eager to get to the beach whole it was empty. 

            The little kids come over to talk to me.  They are waving sticks and grass stems (long ones).  The little girl tells me that Jeff is her friend, not her brother and that she also has a cousin named Jeff.  They rattle on and on until I suggest they climb the "mountain", which us a huge pile of sand on the beach.  Meanwhile, the other little girl is out in the waves with a woman I would guess is her grandmother.  (I'd better not make assumptions, since I was wrong about the one little girl being Jeff's sister.)

            I am working on a book for Frankie, which I am writing in rhyme and painting the illustrations.  I am hoping to get done by his birthday (November 7).

            I am glad to hear news of Rosy and Jaison.  I hope you will give them my love.  Also your sweet grandsons, my grandnephews.

            I hear from Tanya fairly regularly.  She called me to talk about T'ai Chi, and seemed interested in learning it.  She also said she would like to come to Maine over Columbus day weekend and be there when we were there, if we were coming.  I hope we can come.  The last time I asked Keith about it, he said he thought we could still manage it.  He hates taking time off from work because it's losing a day's pay for him.  If he doesn't go on vacation, he gets paid twice, cause they pay him to work and still give him his vacation pay, IF I understand correctly.  I was always so eager to have vacation when I worked that I took it anyway.

            We had a deal like that with sick leave, if we didn't take any, we got a bonus.  What that mean was people coming in sick and infecting other people in order to get the bonus.

            Stupid.

            Scott Carter also mentioned wanting to come and visit you, he really likes you guys.  He wants to maybe bring Vanessa along, if I understood what he said. (?)  He has been feeling very down alone, isolated, depressed (and suicidal.)

            I walk past the little kids' fancy sprinkler park.  Frankie enjoyed that when he was here.  Took him a while, though, to get into it. 

            Well, I've walked 46 minutes and am headed back to my car.  I am going to the health-food store next.

            I left the car windows open and parked the car in the shade to help avoid that getting into an oven situation.

            Pier Park is a "gated" private park with a guard, and I am parked near the guardhouse.  We pay for it in our taxes rather than as a membership (or we wouldn't be coming).

            3:31 PM, Now I am walking toward the heath-food store, which is kind of sucky compared to the nice ones you guys have.  I don't think people in Grosse Pointe or nearby Detroit care about organic foods etc.  I get some fermented cabbage, some unsweetened coconut-hemp milk and Lundberg rice chips which I want to eat with fermented salsa.  I am trying fermented foods because I’ve read so many good things about them and theyseem to be helping.

            6:14 PM, now I am over at Rolandale in my studio office.  I have to come here to download the Psion upon which I was writing this letter.  Now I am going to email the letter, so far, to myself over at Moran because I have to reread your letter and make sure that I covered everything I wanted to say in response to the letter.  Then I will print it and mail it.

           

            *            *            *            * ELT End letter Tom

            *            *            *            * Book Review, Revolution

            Revolution, by Jennifer Donnelly

            I so totally loved A Northern Light, by Jennifer Donnelly, that I was actually a little afraid to readRevolution.  I was afraid I might be disappointed, because A Northern Light was a hard act to follow. (I totally loved it!)  I was pleased that this book was so different, and I loved the beginning.  I was immediately absorbed in the issues of (), the protagonist.  Her going to paris with her estranged father seemed like one more difficulty for a girl who was already in trouble in multiple ways.  When () found and began reading Alexandrine's diary, I was really bummed out.  I wanted to know what was going to happen to ().  For me, the diary, unlike ()'s story, was a slow starter.  I had much more trouble empathizing with Alex than with ().  That may be a shortcoming on my part.  Evenually, however, I got sucked into that story, though I kept wishing for more of ()'s story.  I hate reviews with spoilers, so I would prefer not to say too much about the plotline, but I do have to say that what happened in the catacombs upset and bothered me, especially when the authored seemed to refute what I suspected was the reason or cause of it.  The story did resolve itself in the end in a pleasing and acceptable way.  I liked the book a lot, but not as much as A Northern Light.  I would still recommend it highly.

            The book made me interested in the French Revolution and also in music and I tried to look up Malherbeau's Fireworks symphony, to listen to it, only to discover it was part of the fiction, sadly.  Or gladly.  I am reading another book with references to the French Revolution and that's helpful.  I enjoy books where I learn something if it's not shoved down my throat like codliver oil.  At one point during the book, I was so excited about all the incredible things that Jennifer Donnelly seemed to know and weave into the story that I told me husband she was genius, and was wishing I could write like that.

            *            *            *            *

            Silly story idea (for Robert);  The hangnail from hell.

            *            *            *            * end book review.