recent happenings
It's hard to believe it's been almost two weeks. Two weeks in Providence would mean so many things had come up, been considered, and then dealt with as necessary. Two weeks in Enfield, and I've done little but sleep. It takes less to fill a day here.
Today, I poured boiling water all over my right hand. I had just made a bowl of ramen, and had filled it over-full, pouring from the pot directly into the bowl. In a dazzling display of wit and foresight, I picked up the bowl to dump some broth into the sink, slopped some over the side, jerked my left hand, and consequently flipped the bowl over onto my right hand, spilling all the contents onto my fingers before the bowl crashed to the floor and shattered. Tell me, what exactly does one do first when standing alone in the middle of the kitchen with a burned hand, 3 cups of boiling water and ramen noodles spread on the floor with shattered pottery dispersed through it, and bare feet? Quite a conundrum. But, although I have some lovely blisters and my fingers are a remarkable shade of pink, it looks like my hand is in full working order.
Other than that, things have been very uneventful. I have literally spent all day both yesterday and today watching TV. Because, as far as I can tell, there is no reason why I should not. I watch Judging Amy, and then Law and Order until Charmed comes on, upon which time I either watch Oprah or do something else. Not something I could get used to, I don't think, but still, rather enjoyable for a point of contrast.
I have purchased a teach-yourself Italian set from the bookstore, which claims on every available surface to be the same one used to teach American diplomats, and have been doing that for a couple hours every day. We are working on pronunciation first, how to avoid aspirating consonants and such. I have very high hopes for the results of this program; my Italian act is on the line!
The rest of my intellect is busy on my family. My mother, predictably, is driving me crazy and I'm sure that for her, I am doing likewise. I think there's a version of ourselves that we save for when we are with people we think will always love us, and that is why we are always worst to our families. It's a backwards logic, but I think we conclude that we love each other, so why be careful? And thus are ruder to those we care about than we'd ever be to a stranger. I guiltily can see this for myself. In any case, she doesn't understand my need for conversation, and I don't understand her need to be unchallenged. My father has been on business for over a week, and so denied of any willing partner, I initiate conversations with Mom. The result: she ends up with somehow hurt feelings, I end up exasperated and unsatisfied, and go away feeling like a terrible daughter. We don't exactly argue, but I see her total lack of interest in evaluative discourse, and I become disproportionately disgusted. She first feels put-upon by my questions, which she interprets as challenges to defend herself, which, quite honestly, they probably are, but are good-spirited as opposed to attacks. If I ask her what she thought of a particular book, I want to know why, which constitutes a defense. She, I think irrationally, feels attacked and becomes angry. If I have read the same book, I might offer a differing opinion, which exacerbates the entire issue, because then, I have also invalidated her opinion. I recognize that this is a sore spot, but ungenerously and constantly try to make her do it anyway. Resulting in my disgust at her lack of engagement, guilt at willfully pushing her buttons and refusal to accept her as she is, and her anger or hurt feelings. As you can see, it's a very productive practice. If I were being ruthless I could understand, but I don't understand how my mom, or other people, can be so insecure in their own ideas that any attempt to discuss them is seen as an attack, or dissent is seen as an assertion of superiority. I don't want to be left to my own opinions; I can't possibly figure out what's right by myself. I think of my mind as a peer-reviewed journal, and resent it when others don't think the same of themselves. But I'd better learn fast how to deal with the disparity, because I think the vast majority of humanity is like mom. I think hanging around with academics has spoiled me, and what's assumed as given there is in the rest of the world cruel. Debate in the world is very bad manners. I don't want to be an Ivy intellectual snob. But I think that I irreparably am, and as a matter of fact, always have been, and that's why I had a tough time growing up. That is not the way it works in Enfield.
In other news, my grandparents are failing. At Christmas, Grandma tripped on her slipper, fell the 1 ft off the couch and slightly dislodged a piece of her artificial hip. Which apparently has continued to worm its way out for the past six months until she finally decided to go to the doctor, who scheduled an emergency surgery for tomorrow, to basically relocate her joint. Understandably, this all hurt like hell, so Grandma has had a tough six months. We have no idea why she waited so long. People in pain get a lot of leeway as far as I'm concerned as far as manners go. But even so, she has been insufferable. Grandma has never been the easiest to get along with, but has soured over the past few years. She has plenty of reason; she's had a hard life, chronic pain, and a difficult husband. And she very clearly loves her family. Yet. She is awful to my mother, who does everything for her. Gives her hell for every little thing. Gives her hell for well-executed kind things, too. Can't compliment her on anything, even when Mom is begging for approval. And it isn't restricted to Mom. She orders me around like you wouldn't believe, and never a please or a thank you either. She bitches out the baseball players on the TV. And when she's not mad, she's complaining. Prices up at the grocery. New priest isn't Polish. And her favorite topic, my grandfather. Who admittedly is no saint, but she won't give the man any space. Won’t afford him any dignity at all, irritatedly discussing his recent bladder-control issues right in front of his children and grandchildren. She only tastes the lemons in the lemonade. I probably have no right to criticize, but I find her attitude insulting. How dare she, who has so much, fail to recognize any of the good? The hell that she inhabits is largely self-imposed, and she has no right to blame it on the rest of us. I don't think you can make a decision to be happy, or calm, but I think you can make a decision to be generous. I think she decided to resent the world, and it offends me on some level I don't understand. Maybe she can't help it, maybe it's like depression, in which case I am in the wrong. But somehow I feel we are morally obligated not to ignore the good in our lives.
Grandpa is also not doing very well. He'd had pneumonia and the recovery is proceeding slowly. Previous GI, pulmonary, and cardiac issues are coming up again, back in force. He had an unexplained hemorrhage today in his eye, which my asshole-Optometrist-uncle refuses to go examine. He is also confused, which for some reason, only me and my father seem to recognize. The rest of the family finds it easier to get mad at him for being stupid. He can't remember to take his pills, and can't seem to understand why he's sick. He can’t remember that he has an inhaler for his breathing. So, grandma has to remind him constantly. This is understandably extremely irritating for both of them. Grandpa is furious that he forgets, and so when he can't think of something or gets reminded, gets very noisy and agitated. A lot of times he yells at Grandma, which of course is not appropriate at all. Grandma, of course, can't be expected to put up with that on a regular basis, but the problem is, doesn't put up with it at all. So she starts hollering back, and the house explodes. Over and over again. Grandpa isn't thinking well, so also does stupid things like tucker himself out looking for a particular hanger for an hour, when he can hardly walk, rather than asking Grandma where she put it. Which is such a stupid thing to do, Grandma, and my mother, and her siblings, yell at him. Which of course solves the problem completely. He is disgusted at his own weakness, and confusion, and dependence on others. He can’t distinguish between his various ailments, so takes the nitro when he really needs the tums, and tums when he really needs the albuterol, which he forgets about entirely. So he doesn’t feel better, so he thinks the medicine’s not working. Which he also takes out on others. But nobody’s willing to be the bigger person, and it all degenerates into shouting.
Simultaneously, my mom is trying to quit her job, which let me remind you is working for my asshole uncle. She told him over 3 months ago, and he was to have hired someone new for training so that she could stop on June 1st. He hasn’t even put out an ad. If she stops working, he WILL go out of business. He verbally abuses her at work, and she retaliates by showing up for work at noon, everyday, instead of 8:30.
Now remember, grandma is going for her surgery tomorrow. That means somebody has to take care of grandpa, who for all intents and purposes can’t do a thing for himself. We don’t know why, but grandpa has never been able to even properly microwave food: he was utterly useless in the kitchen even before. So now, all these arguing, furious people have to coordinate a 24-hour schedule for 3 weeks, when grandma might possibly come home, and who know what help she will need then? Mom had planned to not be working, but since uncle asshole is being an ass, Mom is not available to be with grandpa, which she shouldn’t have to do alone in the first place.
My role in all of this? I am to be the perfect pixie, the darling granddaughter who has no problems. I flit between people and listen to them complain, and nod understandingly that it must be hard. Distribute alcoholic beverages and smile and giggle, and tell funny stories until they laugh. I am Enthusiastic About My Future. I’ve seen Beautiful Things and know Wonderful People. Don’t worry, I’m not saying I’m the saint, I also bitch out my mother and smart-talk my uncle, but for the grandparents and at family parties, I am their little butterfly of joy. However furious anyone makes me. However much energy it takes, however I might want to behave. I am there to dispel drama. Because honestly, it’s all I have to offer. There is nothing else of me that they want, and no way for us to interact without it. I am the unpleasantness police, a self-appointed job, truly, but one I perform for self-preservation. The atmosphere at these gatherings makes me sick.
My question finally, after all of this: Are we obligated to respond to life’s lemons with grace? And even if difficulty affords us lots of space to be ungraceful, to what extent am I required to forgive you for being awful?
Today, I poured boiling water all over my right hand. I had just made a bowl of ramen, and had filled it over-full, pouring from the pot directly into the bowl. In a dazzling display of wit and foresight, I picked up the bowl to dump some broth into the sink, slopped some over the side, jerked my left hand, and consequently flipped the bowl over onto my right hand, spilling all the contents onto my fingers before the bowl crashed to the floor and shattered. Tell me, what exactly does one do first when standing alone in the middle of the kitchen with a burned hand, 3 cups of boiling water and ramen noodles spread on the floor with shattered pottery dispersed through it, and bare feet? Quite a conundrum. But, although I have some lovely blisters and my fingers are a remarkable shade of pink, it looks like my hand is in full working order.
Other than that, things have been very uneventful. I have literally spent all day both yesterday and today watching TV. Because, as far as I can tell, there is no reason why I should not. I watch Judging Amy, and then Law and Order until Charmed comes on, upon which time I either watch Oprah or do something else. Not something I could get used to, I don't think, but still, rather enjoyable for a point of contrast.
I have purchased a teach-yourself Italian set from the bookstore, which claims on every available surface to be the same one used to teach American diplomats, and have been doing that for a couple hours every day. We are working on pronunciation first, how to avoid aspirating consonants and such. I have very high hopes for the results of this program; my Italian act is on the line!
The rest of my intellect is busy on my family. My mother, predictably, is driving me crazy and I'm sure that for her, I am doing likewise. I think there's a version of ourselves that we save for when we are with people we think will always love us, and that is why we are always worst to our families. It's a backwards logic, but I think we conclude that we love each other, so why be careful? And thus are ruder to those we care about than we'd ever be to a stranger. I guiltily can see this for myself. In any case, she doesn't understand my need for conversation, and I don't understand her need to be unchallenged. My father has been on business for over a week, and so denied of any willing partner, I initiate conversations with Mom. The result: she ends up with somehow hurt feelings, I end up exasperated and unsatisfied, and go away feeling like a terrible daughter. We don't exactly argue, but I see her total lack of interest in evaluative discourse, and I become disproportionately disgusted. She first feels put-upon by my questions, which she interprets as challenges to defend herself, which, quite honestly, they probably are, but are good-spirited as opposed to attacks. If I ask her what she thought of a particular book, I want to know why, which constitutes a defense. She, I think irrationally, feels attacked and becomes angry. If I have read the same book, I might offer a differing opinion, which exacerbates the entire issue, because then, I have also invalidated her opinion. I recognize that this is a sore spot, but ungenerously and constantly try to make her do it anyway. Resulting in my disgust at her lack of engagement, guilt at willfully pushing her buttons and refusal to accept her as she is, and her anger or hurt feelings. As you can see, it's a very productive practice. If I were being ruthless I could understand, but I don't understand how my mom, or other people, can be so insecure in their own ideas that any attempt to discuss them is seen as an attack, or dissent is seen as an assertion of superiority. I don't want to be left to my own opinions; I can't possibly figure out what's right by myself. I think of my mind as a peer-reviewed journal, and resent it when others don't think the same of themselves. But I'd better learn fast how to deal with the disparity, because I think the vast majority of humanity is like mom. I think hanging around with academics has spoiled me, and what's assumed as given there is in the rest of the world cruel. Debate in the world is very bad manners. I don't want to be an Ivy intellectual snob. But I think that I irreparably am, and as a matter of fact, always have been, and that's why I had a tough time growing up. That is not the way it works in Enfield.
In other news, my grandparents are failing. At Christmas, Grandma tripped on her slipper, fell the 1 ft off the couch and slightly dislodged a piece of her artificial hip. Which apparently has continued to worm its way out for the past six months until she finally decided to go to the doctor, who scheduled an emergency surgery for tomorrow, to basically relocate her joint. Understandably, this all hurt like hell, so Grandma has had a tough six months. We have no idea why she waited so long. People in pain get a lot of leeway as far as I'm concerned as far as manners go. But even so, she has been insufferable. Grandma has never been the easiest to get along with, but has soured over the past few years. She has plenty of reason; she's had a hard life, chronic pain, and a difficult husband. And she very clearly loves her family. Yet. She is awful to my mother, who does everything for her. Gives her hell for every little thing. Gives her hell for well-executed kind things, too. Can't compliment her on anything, even when Mom is begging for approval. And it isn't restricted to Mom. She orders me around like you wouldn't believe, and never a please or a thank you either. She bitches out the baseball players on the TV. And when she's not mad, she's complaining. Prices up at the grocery. New priest isn't Polish. And her favorite topic, my grandfather. Who admittedly is no saint, but she won't give the man any space. Won’t afford him any dignity at all, irritatedly discussing his recent bladder-control issues right in front of his children and grandchildren. She only tastes the lemons in the lemonade. I probably have no right to criticize, but I find her attitude insulting. How dare she, who has so much, fail to recognize any of the good? The hell that she inhabits is largely self-imposed, and she has no right to blame it on the rest of us. I don't think you can make a decision to be happy, or calm, but I think you can make a decision to be generous. I think she decided to resent the world, and it offends me on some level I don't understand. Maybe she can't help it, maybe it's like depression, in which case I am in the wrong. But somehow I feel we are morally obligated not to ignore the good in our lives.
Grandpa is also not doing very well. He'd had pneumonia and the recovery is proceeding slowly. Previous GI, pulmonary, and cardiac issues are coming up again, back in force. He had an unexplained hemorrhage today in his eye, which my asshole-Optometrist-uncle refuses to go examine. He is also confused, which for some reason, only me and my father seem to recognize. The rest of the family finds it easier to get mad at him for being stupid. He can't remember to take his pills, and can't seem to understand why he's sick. He can’t remember that he has an inhaler for his breathing. So, grandma has to remind him constantly. This is understandably extremely irritating for both of them. Grandpa is furious that he forgets, and so when he can't think of something or gets reminded, gets very noisy and agitated. A lot of times he yells at Grandma, which of course is not appropriate at all. Grandma, of course, can't be expected to put up with that on a regular basis, but the problem is, doesn't put up with it at all. So she starts hollering back, and the house explodes. Over and over again. Grandpa isn't thinking well, so also does stupid things like tucker himself out looking for a particular hanger for an hour, when he can hardly walk, rather than asking Grandma where she put it. Which is such a stupid thing to do, Grandma, and my mother, and her siblings, yell at him. Which of course solves the problem completely. He is disgusted at his own weakness, and confusion, and dependence on others. He can’t distinguish between his various ailments, so takes the nitro when he really needs the tums, and tums when he really needs the albuterol, which he forgets about entirely. So he doesn’t feel better, so he thinks the medicine’s not working. Which he also takes out on others. But nobody’s willing to be the bigger person, and it all degenerates into shouting.
Simultaneously, my mom is trying to quit her job, which let me remind you is working for my asshole uncle. She told him over 3 months ago, and he was to have hired someone new for training so that she could stop on June 1st. He hasn’t even put out an ad. If she stops working, he WILL go out of business. He verbally abuses her at work, and she retaliates by showing up for work at noon, everyday, instead of 8:30.
Now remember, grandma is going for her surgery tomorrow. That means somebody has to take care of grandpa, who for all intents and purposes can’t do a thing for himself. We don’t know why, but grandpa has never been able to even properly microwave food: he was utterly useless in the kitchen even before. So now, all these arguing, furious people have to coordinate a 24-hour schedule for 3 weeks, when grandma might possibly come home, and who know what help she will need then? Mom had planned to not be working, but since uncle asshole is being an ass, Mom is not available to be with grandpa, which she shouldn’t have to do alone in the first place.
My role in all of this? I am to be the perfect pixie, the darling granddaughter who has no problems. I flit between people and listen to them complain, and nod understandingly that it must be hard. Distribute alcoholic beverages and smile and giggle, and tell funny stories until they laugh. I am Enthusiastic About My Future. I’ve seen Beautiful Things and know Wonderful People. Don’t worry, I’m not saying I’m the saint, I also bitch out my mother and smart-talk my uncle, but for the grandparents and at family parties, I am their little butterfly of joy. However furious anyone makes me. However much energy it takes, however I might want to behave. I am there to dispel drama. Because honestly, it’s all I have to offer. There is nothing else of me that they want, and no way for us to interact without it. I am the unpleasantness police, a self-appointed job, truly, but one I perform for self-preservation. The atmosphere at these gatherings makes me sick.
My question finally, after all of this: Are we obligated to respond to life’s lemons with grace? And even if difficulty affords us lots of space to be ungraceful, to what extent am I required to forgive you for being awful?