The one upon whom I lean

I think in the 20 years or so I’ve been writing on open diary I’ve not done the theme of the week writing prompt. I decided okay, thanksgiving and what not, give it a shot. I’ve got a few of these folks.

My mom first off. She’s been really fabulous on and off for the last 50 years. A solid B+ for “lean ability.” Sure, I can hear you thinking, “B+, your mom?” Well yeah she’s not a saint. She’s not superhuman. My mom was born on a farm in South Georgia during the Great Depression. She’s got issues and not all of them have to do with not having fluoridated drinking water as a child — but yeah, her teeth are a cautionary tale. Brush and floss my pretties, brush and floss. My mom went to a literal one room school house, to nursing school, to raising a family and traveling the world. She’s educated, sophisticated, cultured and kind. She’s the last of the last of the last of the comfortable middle class. My mom told me a story about being in Red Square in Moscow about twelve years ago and it was about trying to keep up with a fast walking tour guide. I asked her, “did you at any moment marvel at the fact you went from the farm in Georgia to Red Square in a single lifetime?” She did not — she is gracious but expects everything that comes her way and a little big more. Anyhow, how do I lean upon my mom — she’s almost always right. Not 100% but close. A solid B+ record in terms of being right. I can ask her advice on any subject and she has something smart and helpful to say. The few times she’s been wrong have been a relief, frankly. She’s like me a bit negative in her thinking. I’m a bit like her, I guess is more accurate to say. Plus all the love, high quality restaurant/travel experiences and lavish gifts she’s shared with me over my life. Like really lavish gifts. She bought me a Montblanc pen two years ago for Christmas. It never leaves the house.

My sister, yes she’s my role model in many ways. Wise, reasoned, compassionate and strong describe her best. If I’m having a mental crazy nervous break down freak out she’s my first call. I do have mental crazy freak outs from time to time. Like real ones — the kind that in the 50’s would have landed one in a hospital with shock treatment and heavy doses of sketchy 1950’s drugs. Oh they loved an invasive procedure back then. Anyhow, my sister taught me to read. Not like literally read but rather how to read literature. She instilled in me a love of the written word as well as the visual arts. She is someone who makes the sensible choice and yet she does not fail to live. When Microsoft asked her if she wanted to go to Tokyo for a year to work on MS Office over there she was like, “sure thing.” I know SO MANY PEOPLE including some distant family members who have never left the country, never would, have no desire to do so let along go live overseas for a year or two. I would go still in a heartbeat — I’d go anywhere right now that’s not war-torn or highly likely to put me in jail for “the gay.” SO yes, my sister is person number 2 on my go to list.

Down in third place is my husband who is very, very, very lazy. I think he would probably kind of sort of help out if I got in a pinch and it wasn’t too far out of his way. He’s so lazy. I’m being a bit jokey jokey here. My husband is the love of my life AND he’s a lazy sack of shit. But you know, you get what you really want if you’re honest. What I mean by that is, I’m super self reliant and super independent and if Dean did a bunch of stuff around the house I’d be annoyed at him for doing it wrong. So what he does do, that I very much appreciate is he pays for things. Cleaning lady, vacations, meals out and lavish, lavish gifts. Mind you, he gives me hand me down re-gifts but they’re still super lavish. Gucci sports coat that makes me look skinny? Check. Nice shoes so I don’t embarrass him at fancy art event? Check. Week long rental in Martha’s Vineyard? Check. It’s more than the money though. Our incomes swap places all the times. Some years I earn more, some years he earns more. What I really rely on him for is emotional support. Also, he’s taught me a lot about the value of family and spending time with people you love. Making an effort to be with friends. He loves a party (!?) and is first to show up, last to leave. This alone keeps me from turning into the Unibomber. However, if I’m sick or injured or need him to run an errand — yikes. So lazy. I still remember spending an hour on the floor after I passed out post hernia surgery because I was alone and couldn’t get to my pain medications he left on the other side of the room, far out of my reach. It was like “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?” the home edition. He relies on me, too… for tech support.

Fourth but rising fast is my writing partner. He’s come a long way from his days as a shifty, unreliable alcoholic who cost me $20 every time I saw him. “Can I borrow $20?” Oh my god! It was awful — and as a co-dependent and adult child of an alcoholic of course I had to say “yes.” I mean if I wasn’t enabling him what was the point of our ongoing friendship? Now that he is leaning hard on 60 he’s cleaned up his life and is a successful TV director. It only took like 20 years? He is the kind of friend who would actually pick me up from the airport if I asked — not that I would, good god, I’m not a monster. He gave me a lavish gift of an Oculus Go a few years ago — which was nice to re-visit during the quarantine as a way of escaping the four walls of home. He also gave me ten million career opportunities and life experiences I’ll never forget and wouldn’t trade for anything. Years ago he was in Toronto shooting a TV show and while he was away his dog-sitter called me, deeply upset because Brian’s dog had died. She died of old age — nothing weird here but certainly a dog-sitter’s worst nightmare. I had the dog sitter drop the dog off with me and I put her on ice, in an igloo cooler until I could take her to the vet for cremation the next morning. Brian called me up weeping — naturally upset. Now truth be told I was not even a little bit sad this dog died. I love dogs but Daisy was a barking, biting, shaking bundle of cortisol in the shape of a chihuahua. Brian asked me if I would take a photo of her and send it to him. So there I was at 11 PM trying to stage a photo shoot with this dead dog whose EYES WERE OPEN and her tongue was sticking out and had TURNED BLACK!!! Rigor mortise had set in and there was no way I was getting those eyes closed or her tongue in her mouth — well not easily. I had to photoshop that picture a lot. Anyhow, when the time comes I know he’ll return the favor.