Wednesday 7 January 2009
This is a poem my stepmother wrote when she was 15 and staying with us as an exchange student. She had been sick for about three days-- blaming it on this weird American climate, I am sure! --and being the genius that she is she was able to depict the mad delirium of a high fever with a such wonder and compassion that anyone can feel her sense of utter helplessness... 'an intelligent being laid low in infirmity'.
I was of course by no means as sick as this yesterday (just had a tummy-ache and sleeping most of the day helped) but I think of this poem often and thought I might share it in my blog.
...
Lewes, Delaware
24-26 September 1997
I am sick.
Deprived of energy, devoid of strength, depraved of will,
enveloped in the strange world of the fever
where temperature
and density
and thirst
and aches throughout my body
are all my sensation.
Eyes water,
with a stinging sadness;
I weep for pain, or to relieve pain, I know not;
so I shut them:
I see not.
Ears rumble,
thick and loud like thunder upon my head;
and so I ignore everything:
I hear not.
Mouth burns,
with a hot anxious constriction,
every swallow a briar down my throat;
and so I dare not part my lips:
I speak not.
I know nothing, feel nothing, want nothing,
but from within.
I rest.
Stretched upon this couch with hands crossed above my chest,
like a Queen in state,
dead to the world behind the rosecoloured glasses
of my mad mind's eye.
My head spins,
slow, dull spirals downward, ever downward,
with no end in sight.
Unworldly thoughts drift by,
like vagrants from the city street
with nowhere to call home
but the vague recesses of my mind
where they beck and call to me,
nagging, nagging, nagging,
for answers I cannot provide
like strange alien torture
to an intelligent being
unused to grave weakness
laid low in involuntary infirmity.
When I am strong enough to reply
they will be gone,
unanswered, eternally a mystery
why they ever appeared and posed a question.
That they would be gone,
I try to imagine things of my own will
as if to show my waylaid mind
that I still have control.
But my will is but a page
against the army of my sickness.
Little girls run hand-in-hand to the beach:
their vivid colours searing in my sight,
their bright voices piercing in my ears,
their happiness incomprehensible.
What girls?
What beach? What colours? What words?
Boys hang a swing in a tree,
dangling daringly above the ground
like dauntless acrobats,
dizzying to me,
frightening to me.
What boys? What tree? What swing?
Is it sunny? Cloudy? Cold? Warm?
Day? Night? Dream? Reality?
Angry, I demand an image
of the swells of the sea
rising and falling with animate regularity,
that it might be a lovely vision of contentment.
But not for me.
What sea? What colour?
What weather-- sunny, hot, cold, wind, calm, rain, day, night?
Am I afraid or at ease?
Am I happy or sad?
Do I swim or sail?
Would I drown? Would I care?
Can I ever know rest with these questions in my head?
For the first time in my life
I take sleeping-tablets
and worry that I have taken too much
and that the last tenants of my mind
are these wild tortured contrivances of my madness.
I sleep.
Still they will not leave me,
haunting my repose
like pins and needles upon the receptors of my brain
nagging me, nagging me, nagging me
that they have required my soul
at a cost too dear
to make Death itself look awful to me.
Eternal sleep:
would that it might overwhelm me!
like a kind dream
in which I know no sickness, no weakness, no madness,
only sleep, beautiful sleep,
floating upon some buoyant bright cloud
while all the saints smile and whisper,
'Isn't she content?'
There I might know no weakness or infirmity,
no sensations,
not even my own mind,
only peace.
I wake.
Joyful sunlight bounces in the windows;
I hear the cheers of the sea-birds
and the gay whistle of the kettle
and I embrace the loving scent of soup on the cooker.
I am warm-- nay, hot,
and toss back the coffin of my blanket,
drained, but refreshed
despite the soilies so vile upon my body
and the knots of my hair resisting my hand's tenuous rake.
Sweat clings like some horrid vine about my skin
but I can sense it
and dislike it
and know it for what it is,
the last vestige of my illness,
that mad mindless state
in which I lay for three days' fast
like a forgotten doll upon the couch.
I wonder what I have missed of the world
and then, care not
for I have survived,
and can face anything now
that I have my mind again.
...
07 January 2009
How Daddy got his boat back
Tuesday 6 January 2009
This afternoon Roger, our driver, pulled in to the yard with his classic Chevy Suburban towing a trailer with a faded blue-and-white speedboat on it. It was one of the few times I have ever heard my father scream spontaneously. I had been feeling under the weather and had said I would lie down but I ended up reading and so I heard him cry out down stairs. And naturally I-- as well as everyone else-- ran down to see what had excited him.
The boat is a 1976 Sidewinder fibreglass speedboat, 18 feet long, metallic silver blue (same colour as my car) with a white flame design on the front, with bucket seats in the middle and a bench seat across the back in white upholstery and a big engine in the back with a water-jet drive behind it. My dad got it in about 1979 after they had made a few hit records and the previous owner had blown up the motor (it happens). At that time he had a big convertible Buick and decided to put a Buick engine into the boat. He used it often on Barnegat Bay till that fateful year... and after his fiancee died and he left the country for a while the boat sat forlorn and forgotten on a trailer at the band's beach house till the band was dissolved and so many important things were being considered that really made the boat seem unimportant. By the time he got back from London the beach house had been sold with a lot of other stuff, including the boat and its trailer. Daddy went on with his life, met Mommy, got married, had a custom 34-foot sailboat built for Delaware Bay, and the speedboat only remained in his memories, along with his fiancee with whom he had enjoyed the boat and all the hopes and dreams they had for a future that never happened. Knowing Daddy he has been hanging onto those memories, maybe only for himself, because he is the only one alive for whom they still even exist at all.
As it turns out the boat was bought by someone who actually took care of it, an older man in the military who eventually died, or went to Southeast Asia (there are two versions of the story). This next owner let the boat sit for another long period, unused, till a much younger guy bought it and used it for a short while up in New York State. I do not remember how the boat came to be up there. It sat in a shed or a garage for another half-dozen years and finally someone's mother, or wife, offered it up for sale at an antiques auction up there. And someone from northern New Jersey bought and brought it back to its home state. (I am sure none of these people were aware of who once owned it.) This last owner is a friend of one of Roger's friends and Roger happened to hear that he might want to sell it. On a chance that it might turn out to be the very boat it actually turned out to be, Roger drove all the way up to Bergen County this past weekend and brought it home for Daddy.
Now Roger has been in the classic-cars business for longer than he has worked for Daddy, going back to about the same time as when Daddy bought the speedboat to begin with. So Roger knew the boat long ago, and he recognised it at first glance this past weekend. I do not know how much he paid for it, but the boat seems to be in surprisingly good condition. It has never been repainted. The upholstery on the front seats has been mended but the back seat is original (to when Daddy got it). It is even still on the original trailer (the tyres are much newer however). Best of all the engine still runs. The big Buick v-8 is one of Daddy's favourite engines-- he has several in his collection now-- and part of the reason is its durability and longevity.
Once he got over his initial shock (though he and Roger are very close I have never seen Daddy actually HUG him before!) the two of them-- and Jessy, who was feeling better than I was-- rolled the boat on its trailer into the long garage and hooked up a hose for cooling water and a newer battery for starting and got it running straight away. In spite of the light, somewhat nasty little drizzle, they left the roll-up door open and all through the house you could hear the musical blare of those wide-open exhaust pipes like a military fanfare. I stood in the kitchen leaning over the sink to see out the window, watching water run all over the tarmac and the occasional puff of smoke float out the doorway. Daddy was like a little kid with a new set of trains (and yes, he does have trains too) and didn't seem to want to shut it down. It was fully dark and fully raining by the time they brought down the door and came up for supper.
'Well?' I asked at the table. 'What's the verdict?'
He smiled. 'Well, it's still holding pretty good compression and the top end doesn't make too much noise.'
I frowned at that and Jessy laughed. 'Is it bad enough to rebuild it first?' she asked him.
I frowned again. 'Nah,' he said. 'A can of Marvel Mystery Oil should give it a few more seasons.'
(I still don't know what's so special about Marvel Mystery Oil, but I have heard him say that so many times I probably should.)
Though I am still typing this I got ready for bed about an hour ago, just after I came back up stairs. At 11.00 I had been in the kitchen getting a glass of cranberry juice when I saw the light on down in the back garage. No, I did not have to ask-- I know my daddy well enough. Even as I stood there he stepped backwards out the open garage door, stood there in the rain staring back at it, and then finally said some gentle comment at his fibreglass prodigal child before bringing down the door.
...
This afternoon Roger, our driver, pulled in to the yard with his classic Chevy Suburban towing a trailer with a faded blue-and-white speedboat on it. It was one of the few times I have ever heard my father scream spontaneously. I had been feeling under the weather and had said I would lie down but I ended up reading and so I heard him cry out down stairs. And naturally I-- as well as everyone else-- ran down to see what had excited him.
The boat is a 1976 Sidewinder fibreglass speedboat, 18 feet long, metallic silver blue (same colour as my car) with a white flame design on the front, with bucket seats in the middle and a bench seat across the back in white upholstery and a big engine in the back with a water-jet drive behind it. My dad got it in about 1979 after they had made a few hit records and the previous owner had blown up the motor (it happens). At that time he had a big convertible Buick and decided to put a Buick engine into the boat. He used it often on Barnegat Bay till that fateful year... and after his fiancee died and he left the country for a while the boat sat forlorn and forgotten on a trailer at the band's beach house till the band was dissolved and so many important things were being considered that really made the boat seem unimportant. By the time he got back from London the beach house had been sold with a lot of other stuff, including the boat and its trailer. Daddy went on with his life, met Mommy, got married, had a custom 34-foot sailboat built for Delaware Bay, and the speedboat only remained in his memories, along with his fiancee with whom he had enjoyed the boat and all the hopes and dreams they had for a future that never happened. Knowing Daddy he has been hanging onto those memories, maybe only for himself, because he is the only one alive for whom they still even exist at all.
As it turns out the boat was bought by someone who actually took care of it, an older man in the military who eventually died, or went to Southeast Asia (there are two versions of the story). This next owner let the boat sit for another long period, unused, till a much younger guy bought it and used it for a short while up in New York State. I do not remember how the boat came to be up there. It sat in a shed or a garage for another half-dozen years and finally someone's mother, or wife, offered it up for sale at an antiques auction up there. And someone from northern New Jersey bought and brought it back to its home state. (I am sure none of these people were aware of who once owned it.) This last owner is a friend of one of Roger's friends and Roger happened to hear that he might want to sell it. On a chance that it might turn out to be the very boat it actually turned out to be, Roger drove all the way up to Bergen County this past weekend and brought it home for Daddy.
Now Roger has been in the classic-cars business for longer than he has worked for Daddy, going back to about the same time as when Daddy bought the speedboat to begin with. So Roger knew the boat long ago, and he recognised it at first glance this past weekend. I do not know how much he paid for it, but the boat seems to be in surprisingly good condition. It has never been repainted. The upholstery on the front seats has been mended but the back seat is original (to when Daddy got it). It is even still on the original trailer (the tyres are much newer however). Best of all the engine still runs. The big Buick v-8 is one of Daddy's favourite engines-- he has several in his collection now-- and part of the reason is its durability and longevity.
Once he got over his initial shock (though he and Roger are very close I have never seen Daddy actually HUG him before!) the two of them-- and Jessy, who was feeling better than I was-- rolled the boat on its trailer into the long garage and hooked up a hose for cooling water and a newer battery for starting and got it running straight away. In spite of the light, somewhat nasty little drizzle, they left the roll-up door open and all through the house you could hear the musical blare of those wide-open exhaust pipes like a military fanfare. I stood in the kitchen leaning over the sink to see out the window, watching water run all over the tarmac and the occasional puff of smoke float out the doorway. Daddy was like a little kid with a new set of trains (and yes, he does have trains too) and didn't seem to want to shut it down. It was fully dark and fully raining by the time they brought down the door and came up for supper.
'Well?' I asked at the table. 'What's the verdict?'
He smiled. 'Well, it's still holding pretty good compression and the top end doesn't make too much noise.'
I frowned at that and Jessy laughed. 'Is it bad enough to rebuild it first?' she asked him.
I frowned again. 'Nah,' he said. 'A can of Marvel Mystery Oil should give it a few more seasons.'
(I still don't know what's so special about Marvel Mystery Oil, but I have heard him say that so many times I probably should.)
Though I am still typing this I got ready for bed about an hour ago, just after I came back up stairs. At 11.00 I had been in the kitchen getting a glass of cranberry juice when I saw the light on down in the back garage. No, I did not have to ask-- I know my daddy well enough. Even as I stood there he stepped backwards out the open garage door, stood there in the rain staring back at it, and then finally said some gentle comment at his fibreglass prodigal child before bringing down the door.
...
Strange blog quiz
Monday 5 January 2009
I was browsing other people on Blogger and found this bizarre quiz posted on someone's blog. I don't know her yet but I will contact her soon-- as soon as I post my answers to it! (Thanks, Jill!)
Here goes--
TIME FOR THE CRAZY QUESTIONS...
Q: If you were stranded on an island, name 4 friends you would bring--
A: Why would I want to bring my friends along to suffer with me? Oh, but if there was a lot of food, cold drink, and room to play games there, I would bring Becky, Rita, Catherine, and does my sister Jessy count?
Q:If you only had 3 days left to live, what would you do?
A: I would visit everyone I know to tell them all how much I love them. Then, I would thank God.
Q:If you could beat the snot out of anyone on earth, who would it be?
A: Pedro
Q:If you could increase one of your senses, which one would it be?
A: Sight-- I hate wearing glasses.
Q:If you could meet anyone alive today, who would it be?
A: The Dalai Lama... really.
Q:If you were forced to either have sex with a squirrel or have sex with a turkey, which would you pick?
A: This is a really dumb question. I don't think either one of them would actually do anything but annoy me. (Does anyone have a real answer to this one?)
Q:Do you believe in God?
A: Absolutely.
Q:Do you know a girl who has sex so much, she is infamous for it?
A: No, not really, but I know a few boys that (claim that they) do.
Q:Do you know anyone that looks like a celebrity?
A: We have a neighbour who looks like actor James Cromwell, the farmer from 'Babe'. I have met a guy who looks a lot like Ringo Starr. And then of course my dad looks like my dad.
...
I was browsing other people on Blogger and found this bizarre quiz posted on someone's blog. I don't know her yet but I will contact her soon-- as soon as I post my answers to it! (Thanks, Jill!)
Here goes--
TIME FOR THE CRAZY QUESTIONS...
Q: If you were stranded on an island, name 4 friends you would bring--
A: Why would I want to bring my friends along to suffer with me? Oh, but if there was a lot of food, cold drink, and room to play games there, I would bring Becky, Rita, Catherine, and does my sister Jessy count?
Q:If you only had 3 days left to live, what would you do?
A: I would visit everyone I know to tell them all how much I love them. Then, I would thank God.
Q:If you could beat the snot out of anyone on earth, who would it be?
A: Pedro
Q:If you could increase one of your senses, which one would it be?
A: Sight-- I hate wearing glasses.
Q:If you could meet anyone alive today, who would it be?
A: The Dalai Lama... really.
Q:If you were forced to either have sex with a squirrel or have sex with a turkey, which would you pick?
A: This is a really dumb question. I don't think either one of them would actually do anything but annoy me. (Does anyone have a real answer to this one?)
Q:Do you believe in God?
A: Absolutely.
Q:Do you know a girl who has sex so much, she is infamous for it?
A: No, not really, but I know a few boys that (claim that they) do.
Q:Do you know anyone that looks like a celebrity?
A: We have a neighbour who looks like actor James Cromwell, the farmer from 'Babe'. I have met a guy who looks a lot like Ringo Starr. And then of course my dad looks like my dad.
...
02 January 2009
Disappointment
Friday 2 January 2009
I was online this morning... this after being online late last night... after having been up late the night before which was New Year's Eve... and so I have got completely off my schedule. I ate breakfast in my room and then decided to have a bath and get out of this house, go somewhere, do something, even just have a ride down the coast or across to the bayside or anything. So I had a nice warm bath in my bathroom here, soaking in hot water and staring out at the greying sky till when I got out I noticed it was snowing. Yes-- there out on the bay, between us and the barrier island, light white flakes are blowing round in the air.
I wrapped in a towel and went out to the gallery where I could look westwards-- and yes, there I saw even more of it, nearly obscuring the road from my view. 'Grrr!' I said to myself.
Jessy came round the corner then, in her long navy-blue robe, and high-heeled slippers-- and probably nothing else! --and heard me. 'What are you "grrr'ing" about?'
I pointed, still clinging to the towel. 'Look at it.'
She looked out the window with me and nodded. 'Janine, this was forecast for today.'
I stamped my foot. 'I wanted to go out!'
'And do what? Look, Daddy's back, and Josie's coming over, and we're going to play Apples. That is, if you are.'
I nodded, reluctantly. Oh, I love playing Apples to Apples. It's always fun. And Mother will make hot cocoa and we will all sit in the kitchen with a fire, we elders playing Apples to Apples and the little ones playing whatever else on the floor. It's what we're best at as a family. But I have been in this house since we went to the movie last week and it gets a little stifling.
Oh, I don't really mean that. Back 250 years ago, playing something like Apples to Apples was typical. I would have been staying inside most of a winter, doing laundry (by hand), baking (all day), sewing (for charity), and reading (when permitted to). I would have been wearing much more clothing than I usually do here and taking it off much less often and having a nice warm bath maybe once a month-- if it was warm enough-- and not once a day. And all my other prospects-- like about dating, which was only for the purpose of finding a husband-- would depend on the weather and my father's inclinations and the available guys in the neighbourhood or at church. A girl my age lived for a dance once or twice a year-- it was the only other social life any of us would have had. Everything else revolved round the family.
And so I really can't complain about having to stay in with my family. They accept me for everything that I am and never judge me. And they are interesting and amusing and intelligent and supportive. I mean, I could have much worse company. And so I guess I will go down stairs and play Apples to Apples with them all. Or... now that Jessy's friend Josie is here taking refuge from the snow too, maybe I will stay up here online. Hmmm.
...
I was online this morning... this after being online late last night... after having been up late the night before which was New Year's Eve... and so I have got completely off my schedule. I ate breakfast in my room and then decided to have a bath and get out of this house, go somewhere, do something, even just have a ride down the coast or across to the bayside or anything. So I had a nice warm bath in my bathroom here, soaking in hot water and staring out at the greying sky till when I got out I noticed it was snowing. Yes-- there out on the bay, between us and the barrier island, light white flakes are blowing round in the air.
I wrapped in a towel and went out to the gallery where I could look westwards-- and yes, there I saw even more of it, nearly obscuring the road from my view. 'Grrr!' I said to myself.
Jessy came round the corner then, in her long navy-blue robe, and high-heeled slippers-- and probably nothing else! --and heard me. 'What are you "grrr'ing" about?'
I pointed, still clinging to the towel. 'Look at it.'
She looked out the window with me and nodded. 'Janine, this was forecast for today.'
I stamped my foot. 'I wanted to go out!'
'And do what? Look, Daddy's back, and Josie's coming over, and we're going to play Apples. That is, if you are.'
I nodded, reluctantly. Oh, I love playing Apples to Apples. It's always fun. And Mother will make hot cocoa and we will all sit in the kitchen with a fire, we elders playing Apples to Apples and the little ones playing whatever else on the floor. It's what we're best at as a family. But I have been in this house since we went to the movie last week and it gets a little stifling.
Oh, I don't really mean that. Back 250 years ago, playing something like Apples to Apples was typical. I would have been staying inside most of a winter, doing laundry (by hand), baking (all day), sewing (for charity), and reading (when permitted to). I would have been wearing much more clothing than I usually do here and taking it off much less often and having a nice warm bath maybe once a month-- if it was warm enough-- and not once a day. And all my other prospects-- like about dating, which was only for the purpose of finding a husband-- would depend on the weather and my father's inclinations and the available guys in the neighbourhood or at church. A girl my age lived for a dance once or twice a year-- it was the only other social life any of us would have had. Everything else revolved round the family.
And so I really can't complain about having to stay in with my family. They accept me for everything that I am and never judge me. And they are interesting and amusing and intelligent and supportive. I mean, I could have much worse company. And so I guess I will go down stairs and play Apples to Apples with them all. Or... now that Jessy's friend Josie is here taking refuge from the snow too, maybe I will stay up here online. Hmmm.
...
01 January 2009
Welcome 2009
For New Year's Eve we had intended to be in New Jersey at the house on the beach there but two things intervened. The first was that my nieces and nephews have got sick and we were asked to postpone our visit till this weekend. The second was that Daddy would not be allowed to set off firecrackers-- at least not legally. So, we would be here.
Jessy was on her phone all day Wednesday hoping to find a party to go to. In the end Daddy decided he would not drive her home too late at night and would only let her accept invitations to a party at a female friend's house where there would be parents home all night and she could stay over. None was forthcoming. We would be staying here. Normally this is not a problem as we have had New Year's Eves in the past in which we just sat round looking at old home videos of us or of Lisa or of Daddy's oldest family movies on DVD or even some of Mommy. Of course there are also videos of his band-- well, either of his bands-- and plenty of other things including the 18th-century-style wedding he and Mother had, and so on. For some reason New Year's always makes us all sort of pull back and stay close. I don't think that's a bad thing at all, and it sure beats a party full of drunk people whom you can't trust two minutes past midnight.
We ended up each inviting a friend. I invited Becky whom I met on the first day or two of school here. We have always got on well and she is not dating anyone either. She's not the most sociable person in school, meaning that she doesn't go out much at al unless she's invited, which rarely if ever happens. I feel sorry for her sometimes, but as I have got to know her I respect and love her more and more. It's just a shame that a pleasant-looking, morally decent, intelligent girl is so unpopular. In that way we both have something on common. Neither of us will yield on our principles and so we each end up on our own most of the time. So she was a natural choice for me to invite and I am happy she was able to come over.
Jessy invited Rita-- yes, pretty, uberpopular Rita who was somewhat wary of the parties she had got invited to. I don't like to admit it but this is probably the influence Jessy, and even I, have had on her. Last year Rita would have gone to any party and braved the 'elements', if you will, for the sake of cultivating a reputation of being admired and desired. This year she is more selective. An invitation from Jessy to just come to our house, hang out, and stay over till after pancakes for brunch was exactly what she had hoped for. And so it was settled.
Becky got here first because she has her own car. I put her bag in my room-- that would be the easiest solution. Mother and Lisa and J.J. were all in the small parlour reading and Daddy was sitting in the kitchen beating the dickens out of a new set of strings, as he says playing hard is the only way to break them in. When Becky and I came in he put down the guitar and was all politeness... as usual. He really does like to make a good impression on our friends. Becky knows enough about him as my dad that she is no longer awed by who he is, or, I might say, who her parents know he was. He got us each a glass of (low-alcoholic) eggnog and we talked about how our Christmases have been. We never get that much for Christmas-- not like new cars or computers or diamond jewelry, you know, just whatever we happen to need and at least some of the stuff on our Christmas lists. I know people like Becky often assume we are these hyper-rich people who jet all over the world. The reality is that Daddy pays himself a very modest 'allowance' from his investments and we live within those means. That means we girls get the same speeches about money that anyone else would. As for myself I am glad of it. I would NOT want to have an unlimited budget for all the world (I guess that is an ironic or stupid figure of speech to use for it! --but there it is).
Rita's mother dropped her off at about 9.30 and we watched 'Ten Things I Hate About You' (Jessy's choice) in the TV theatre down stairs. Daddy came down with us and Mother did too after tucking in J.J. Lisa tried staying up but fell asleep in Daddy's lap and he carried her up stairs. Meanwhile through all this a storm was blowing through. Our uncle in New Jersey had phoned earlier reporting that they had had snow. The wind built through the night till it was howling and pretty scary. By 11.45 we were all convinced that we would NOT go outside and set off fireworks. Other people did, though-- we could hear them all over the place. We watched the ball drop on Times Square and the stupid comments of Hilary Clinton and the Jonas Brothers. I said it was pretty banal. Becky asked if we had ever been to Time Square for New Year's. I said, 'No.'
Daddy laughed. 'I have,' he said.'
'But that's ancient history,' I teased him.
'London was better,' he said, and then smiled at me.
'London?' she wondered.
'Yes,' I said. 'We were there for the Millennium.'
'Really! That big party they had there?'
I nodded. So she had us tell her all about that. I was only little then, of course, but I remember Daddy being on TV and people like Elton John and Richard Branson speaking there. There was also a concert one night which we also attended. Daddy got out some old photos on DVD and we watched them on the big screen. After that we watched 'She's The Man' (Jessy's choice again, getting us ready to act in 'Twelfth Night' by choosing all the Shakespeare adaptations she can find).
So it was nearly 3.00 by the time we all tromped up stairs. Rita was to stay with Jessy and Becky would stay with me. I've had other people in my bed before-- always friends, you know, or sisters-- hah!-- and although it always sounds like it'd be awkward it really never is. Becky wore sweats to bed, same as I do when it's cold, and we faced each other over the gap between the pillows talking till we both fell asleep. Actually I was grateful for her being under the same covers. It was a brittle cold night that was passed most comfortably and warmly because she was there.
In the morning none of us got up before 11.00. I suppose this is typical. Perhaps not surprisingly, Rita was the latest sleeper. I suppose she would have had to be the only one of us more pampered and self-indulgent than Jessy! Mother made pancakes as promised and one-by-one we excused ourselves to shower. I know some people find it awkward to shower at someone else's house, but I rather insisted that both girls have showers here, just out of being a good hostess. I know how it feels to forego it. So they both did (not at the same time). Becky had hers in my bathroom, which she already likes because it has a view of the bay and the islands and the ocean beyond. She says I am the only one she knows with a bathroom with a view!
I actually napped this afternoon before writing this. Daddy was watching the Concert for George down stairs and I sat down there and watched that for a bit-- till of course he got out the guitar again to play along with it and then I came back up stairs and got ready for bed.
So, there were no wild parties, no excessive drinking (just our eggnog and the usual glasses of champagne at midnight), no making out on couches or strange boys' beds and no driving home amidst all the drunk drivers. And no firecrackers... though there might have been. Not very exciting I am sure-- but pleasant all round, with a nice chance to further cement friendships.
...
Jessy was on her phone all day Wednesday hoping to find a party to go to. In the end Daddy decided he would not drive her home too late at night and would only let her accept invitations to a party at a female friend's house where there would be parents home all night and she could stay over. None was forthcoming. We would be staying here. Normally this is not a problem as we have had New Year's Eves in the past in which we just sat round looking at old home videos of us or of Lisa or of Daddy's oldest family movies on DVD or even some of Mommy. Of course there are also videos of his band-- well, either of his bands-- and plenty of other things including the 18th-century-style wedding he and Mother had, and so on. For some reason New Year's always makes us all sort of pull back and stay close. I don't think that's a bad thing at all, and it sure beats a party full of drunk people whom you can't trust two minutes past midnight.
We ended up each inviting a friend. I invited Becky whom I met on the first day or two of school here. We have always got on well and she is not dating anyone either. She's not the most sociable person in school, meaning that she doesn't go out much at al unless she's invited, which rarely if ever happens. I feel sorry for her sometimes, but as I have got to know her I respect and love her more and more. It's just a shame that a pleasant-looking, morally decent, intelligent girl is so unpopular. In that way we both have something on common. Neither of us will yield on our principles and so we each end up on our own most of the time. So she was a natural choice for me to invite and I am happy she was able to come over.
Jessy invited Rita-- yes, pretty, uberpopular Rita who was somewhat wary of the parties she had got invited to. I don't like to admit it but this is probably the influence Jessy, and even I, have had on her. Last year Rita would have gone to any party and braved the 'elements', if you will, for the sake of cultivating a reputation of being admired and desired. This year she is more selective. An invitation from Jessy to just come to our house, hang out, and stay over till after pancakes for brunch was exactly what she had hoped for. And so it was settled.
Becky got here first because she has her own car. I put her bag in my room-- that would be the easiest solution. Mother and Lisa and J.J. were all in the small parlour reading and Daddy was sitting in the kitchen beating the dickens out of a new set of strings, as he says playing hard is the only way to break them in. When Becky and I came in he put down the guitar and was all politeness... as usual. He really does like to make a good impression on our friends. Becky knows enough about him as my dad that she is no longer awed by who he is, or, I might say, who her parents know he was. He got us each a glass of (low-alcoholic) eggnog and we talked about how our Christmases have been. We never get that much for Christmas-- not like new cars or computers or diamond jewelry, you know, just whatever we happen to need and at least some of the stuff on our Christmas lists. I know people like Becky often assume we are these hyper-rich people who jet all over the world. The reality is that Daddy pays himself a very modest 'allowance' from his investments and we live within those means. That means we girls get the same speeches about money that anyone else would. As for myself I am glad of it. I would NOT want to have an unlimited budget for all the world (I guess that is an ironic or stupid figure of speech to use for it! --but there it is).
Rita's mother dropped her off at about 9.30 and we watched 'Ten Things I Hate About You' (Jessy's choice) in the TV theatre down stairs. Daddy came down with us and Mother did too after tucking in J.J. Lisa tried staying up but fell asleep in Daddy's lap and he carried her up stairs. Meanwhile through all this a storm was blowing through. Our uncle in New Jersey had phoned earlier reporting that they had had snow. The wind built through the night till it was howling and pretty scary. By 11.45 we were all convinced that we would NOT go outside and set off fireworks. Other people did, though-- we could hear them all over the place. We watched the ball drop on Times Square and the stupid comments of Hilary Clinton and the Jonas Brothers. I said it was pretty banal. Becky asked if we had ever been to Time Square for New Year's. I said, 'No.'
Daddy laughed. 'I have,' he said.'
'But that's ancient history,' I teased him.
'London was better,' he said, and then smiled at me.
'London?' she wondered.
'Yes,' I said. 'We were there for the Millennium.'
'Really! That big party they had there?'
I nodded. So she had us tell her all about that. I was only little then, of course, but I remember Daddy being on TV and people like Elton John and Richard Branson speaking there. There was also a concert one night which we also attended. Daddy got out some old photos on DVD and we watched them on the big screen. After that we watched 'She's The Man' (Jessy's choice again, getting us ready to act in 'Twelfth Night' by choosing all the Shakespeare adaptations she can find).
So it was nearly 3.00 by the time we all tromped up stairs. Rita was to stay with Jessy and Becky would stay with me. I've had other people in my bed before-- always friends, you know, or sisters-- hah!-- and although it always sounds like it'd be awkward it really never is. Becky wore sweats to bed, same as I do when it's cold, and we faced each other over the gap between the pillows talking till we both fell asleep. Actually I was grateful for her being under the same covers. It was a brittle cold night that was passed most comfortably and warmly because she was there.
In the morning none of us got up before 11.00. I suppose this is typical. Perhaps not surprisingly, Rita was the latest sleeper. I suppose she would have had to be the only one of us more pampered and self-indulgent than Jessy! Mother made pancakes as promised and one-by-one we excused ourselves to shower. I know some people find it awkward to shower at someone else's house, but I rather insisted that both girls have showers here, just out of being a good hostess. I know how it feels to forego it. So they both did (not at the same time). Becky had hers in my bathroom, which she already likes because it has a view of the bay and the islands and the ocean beyond. She says I am the only one she knows with a bathroom with a view!
I actually napped this afternoon before writing this. Daddy was watching the Concert for George down stairs and I sat down there and watched that for a bit-- till of course he got out the guitar again to play along with it and then I came back up stairs and got ready for bed.
So, there were no wild parties, no excessive drinking (just our eggnog and the usual glasses of champagne at midnight), no making out on couches or strange boys' beds and no driving home amidst all the drunk drivers. And no firecrackers... though there might have been. Not very exciting I am sure-- but pleasant all round, with a nice chance to further cement friendships.
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