Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Thursday, June 30, 2011
I spent an hour and a half laying on the grass in my parents' back yard looking up at the trees and sky turning from twilight to night, the evening dragonflies looking for dinner giving way to fireflies looking for dates.
For a couple hours everything was the same way it's always been. All was quiet and well.
Summer evening skies...dewy grass...bugs...some things are impervious to war.
10:24 PM
Monday, June 20, 2011
My mother's criminal record has been expunged.
It wasn't as straightforward as you might assume.
But.
As far as the harassment and child endangerment complaints are concerned, it's as if it never happened.
The trailer was also removed from her yard, but the property line is still in dispute.
And the neighbor who for some weird and unknown reason hates my mother is now engaging in some ridiculously immature and stupid antics. Like cutting all his trees so that there are "windows" through the branches showcasing his many (at last count five) boat/RV trailers and a bunch of junk engines and burn barrels he lined up on his side of the property line.
Yes. He's bullying my mother. And tearing up his own yard in the process.
We did find out that he's been harassing the township office, everyone in the township office, for the past two months, shouting allegations of negligence and corruption because they won't "grant" him various special permits to build on his property.
It's not quite all's well that ends well, yet, but I'm choosing to remain positive that we're heading in that direction.
On the way home from the courthouse it occurred to me that I'm living a Hallmark channel movie. Small town girl moves away to a big city for many years, then, after her father's death and losing her job and losing her high rise condo, she's in personal crisis and at a major crossroad in her life when her mother's illness prompts her to return to her small home town where a nasty newcomer is threatening to disrupt the calm, friendly way of life in her home town.
All that's missing is the former high school crush who's now a widowed veterinarian.
If it weren't so cliché and sad it would be funny.
I've never imagined what sort of movie my life would be, but I never imagined it as the premier movie of the week on the Hallmark channel. I mean, I'm glad I'm not living a Cinemax After Dark movie, but there has to be something between cheesy cliché Hallmark channel movie and cheesy cliché Cinemax After Dark feature.
9:47 PM
Saturday, June 18, 2011
So, my elderly former Cub Scout Den Mother, United Methodist Women's Society founder and district library patron donor children's book editor mother, who is recovering from mini-strokes and cannot walk or speak very well, had a harassment and child endangerment complaint filed against her.
I'll let you digest that for a moment.
Yep. My mother not only now has a rap sheet, it's of the most severe and harshest type of crime: Child endangerment.
And yet some wonder why I say, "There is no God."
It's not improbable, it's impossible.
Because there is too much hatred, hostility and utter stupidity in this world for there to be any higher power involved.
And after this chapter in the Life(?) I'm questioning evolution. Well, not evolution, we are definitely evolving...but not in a positive direction.
I accept that crap happens to me. It's what puts the (?) in my Life.
But my mother? You know when people say, "My mother's a saint" it's just a turn of phrase? Well, my mother is not a saint (because we don't believe in saints) but, she is saintlike. Purity of heart, cleanliness of soul and all around genuine, sincere niceness are just the tip of my mother's personality iceberg. Everyone who's spent even two minutes with my mother loves her. All my life I've been complimented on my mother, told how lucky I am to have her for my mother, that she's an angel here on earth, and all my life I have completely agreed.
So for anyone to even imply that my mother would harass anyone, or that she's even capable of endangering a child, is so preposterous that it can't be anything other than a comedy skit.
And yet...my mother now has a harassment and child endangerment complaint filed against her at the township PD.
It's always the ones you never suspect...
There is a property line dispute with a new neighbor. So, rather than call the police or argue and let things get ugly, my mother asked me to call the township and ask what we should do about the vehicles the new neighbor parked in her yard and the nightly log burning that takes place on her lawn. They were sympathetic but said we had to have a lot survey with stakes set and then post "No Trespassing" signs on the lot line stakes.
Okay. My mother knows exactly where the property boundaries are. She and my father have been paying property tax on that lot for over 40 years. She and my father have been gardening gardens, mowing the lawn, trimming the trees and keeping that lot looking like a well groomed country manner house estate garden for over 40 years. They know, intimately, every inch of that lot. They pH tested the soil, deciphered the delicate balance and found the right blend of grass seed for every inch of that lot.
But, my mother, being saintlike, didn't want to cause trouble and wanted to do things "right" so she paid the enormous fee (and I mean enormous, I'm thinking land surveying might be my new career) to have a land surveyor come out and officially survey the lot and place the lot boundary stakes. Lot boundary stakes are long iron stakes recessed into the property boundary corners (and/or on property lines). They can be located by metal detectors. The surveyor located one of the original boundary stakes, about a foot under the surface of the corner of the lot. Which clearly indicates that the new neighbor's vehicle is completely on my parents' yard, and his tree burning altar is also fully on my parents' lawn. But, wanting to do things official, the surveyor did not work from that stake, he started from scratch. And after two days of tons of surveying, calculating and effort (it's a really large lot) he found the original stake is right on the money, barely a millimeter of "drift" since it was originally staked. He placed new permanent irons in the ground and put temporary wood boundary stakes above ground.
Then, as per the township's guidelines and advice, I posted "No Trespassing" signs on the stakes indicating that my mother did not want anyone on her property without permission. Apparently this is an ordinance, even though it's private property you have to physically post a "No Trespassing" sign if you don't want people parking vehicles or burning trees on your lawn.
Sidebar: This is to say nothing of the HOA rules about boats, RVs, trailers and "motorized vehicles" not being allowed in yards in the neighborhood, or, more seriously, the county law about burn permits being required for all open flames other than regulation barbecues. One of my mother's neighbors got a ticket for a new fire pit because it didn't meet the regulation barbecue standards. And yet this guy is burning tree branches and lawn debris on a nightly basis.
Less than 24 hours later a police officer, we won't call him Barney Fife because that would be slander, showed up and told my mother there were harassment and child endangerment complaints filed against her because the "No Trespassing" signs were on the neighbor's lawn and are harassment, and the wood stakes are a physical danger to their little children.
Remember, the stakes are in my mother's lawn, as are the "no trespassing" signs, which the township office, which houses the police department, advised my mother to post.
Sidebar: The guy who filed the child endangerment complaint against my mother is the same man who uses an "Axe Man" style chainsaw to cut down trees in his yard without safety goggles or gloves and wearing flip flops, while his "little children" play 10 feet away from the chainsaw and the 50+ year old trees he's cutting down and burning. But yeah, I can see how a kid could run and trip and fall on a 12" x 1.5" piece of wood akin to a stir stick you get when you buy a gallon of paint. With bright pink ribbons tied to them.
The officer was rude and spoke to my mother like she was keeping dead bodies in the basement. Note that I am not making obvious comments about what shiny badges do to men of lower IQs. I will never allow anyone to speak to, or about, my mother that way so I called the police office. And finally spoke with a higher ranking member of the force. (Keep in mind this is a ridiculously small town with a police force of 6 people, including the dispatcher.) Also keep in mind in all the years my parents have owned their home in this small town they have never called the police or been involved in a police report. Of any kind, even a traffic violation. Also keep in mind that my dad voluntarily helped the local law enforcement with cars stuck in snowbanks, storm debris cleanup, water rescue operations and domestic and wildlife rescues. He even once served in a volunteer patrol when an escaped armed convict was reportedly hiding in the area. My dad's "team" was in charge of patrolling the woods were the convict was eventually apprehended, no small thanks to the evidence my dad and his team found while on patrol. (My dad was very saintlike, too, and very civic minded.)
Fortunately, my mother has other neighbors who know she's saintlike, and more importantly know the lot lines, and came to her defense. And fortunately the officer who we won't call Barney Fife because that would be slander was schooled by his higher up and the lot line issue is on its way to official resolution and the vehicle will be ticketed if it's not moved by next week. (And then towed. And impounded.) And the lack of burn permit issue is going to be "investigated."
But.
That complaint about harassment and child endangerment? Still stands. "Unfortunately our hands our tied. We take child endangerment very seriously and once a complaint is filed a full investigation, including social workers and safety evaluations, must take place. And because the property line was in dispute at the time the stakes were placed, and because a parent felt their children's safety was at risk, we have to follow-up to the letter of the law, regardless of questions of legitimacy resulting from subsequent evidence. This is for the safety of all children."
I tried to take the heat for my mother, I was the one who posted the "No Trespassing" signs on the lot boundary stakes, but unfortunately since it's my mother's property and I was acting on her authority, she's the one who gets the rap sheet.
And so I say, "And you wonder why I think there is no God?"
Yes, of course, this is "just" a ridiculous example of bureaucracy and small town bull shit. Of course my mother would never even be able to conceive a thought that would endanger anyone, especially a child. And even with his ridiculous libelous accusations and slander, my mother is choosing to forgive those who trespass against us.
But.
How is it possible that this can happen? Stupidity. Arrogance. Self-righteousness. Egotism. Stupidity. Stupidity. Stupidity. Stupidity.
This man, the neighbor, is apparently so dishonest, so stupid, so hateful and so self-involved that he is a) refusing to accept the indisputable fact of the lot boundaries, b) eager and swift to accuse a completely innocent elderly person of harming children and most disturbingly, c) eager, swift and willing to use his children as chattel in his lie-based slander of said elderly person.
If a Higher Power is capable of producing that sort of soul then I will gladly, happily, rot in burning Hell with a Lower Power who doesn't pretend to be anything other than a satanic demon unleashing evil in the world.
And as for evolution? If thousands of years has brought us to this point, this shining example of evolved DNA, I think it's time to return to the caves. Or perhaps we're just on the cusp of completing a full cycle when we'll slip back into the primordial ooze and start the whole thing over again.
1:58 AM
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Like a gazillion other women, I saw Bridesmaids. Yes, it is very funny.
But it's also very, very sad for us Annies (Kriten Wiig's character) of the world who didn't have the touching, "nothing will change, we'll always be best friends" touching climatic end scene with our "Lillian" (Maya Rudolph's bridal character). But the reality most of us Annies face when our friends get married is not the sort feel-good ending so popular at the cineplex. Typically people see movies to escape their reality, not confirm it. Hence Hollywood endings. Terms of Endearment, Beaches, Leaving Las Vegas...good movies, but, yeesh, not exactly feel-good escapes from reality.
I've been Annie in three BFF scenarios. Two turned out okay. Eventually. But one, well, the one that is the most difficult for me is ironically the one that mirrors the Bridesmaids story line. Almost exactly. My friend from childhood are still friends, but...since she got married let's just say we don't have a lot in common. Were it not for the fact that we've known each other since we played in our infant playpens together it would be difficult to ascertain that we are anything more than casual acquaintances. It's not her, it's not me, it's just life.
In much the same way Lillian (Maya Rudolph's character) married up and out of her roots and early career, my "Lillian" married well, as they say at the country clubs where she now belongs. Our cheap booze and 2-4-1 pizza nights with movie rentals ended exactly four weeks after she became betrothed. I knew her cousins and her friends from college and grad school, and I like them, got along with them. I assumed those women would be in the wedding, and, since I knew and liked them, I wasn't dreading the showers, bachelorette parties and whatever else I'd be subjected to during my "Lillian's" engagement and nuptials.
I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
My "Lillian" had moved to a large city (as had I) but we still saw each other frequently - visited each other and saw each other when we visited our parents in our home town. We planned our visits "home" to coincide. So we were still very much part of each others' lives and knew, or heard about, each others' friends.
I'd met her boyfriend-fiance-husband. I knew his family was wealthy, but I didn't realize how wealthy until my "Lillian" showed me The Ring. The four carat princess cut ring. That was the first clue that my "Lillian" was marrying money, real money. As the wedding plans took shape, it was abundantly clear that my "Lillian" was marrying into the sort of family spends a lot of money on big houses in exclusive neighborhoods, long term memberships in elite private country/golf/yacht/equestrian clubs and private villas in Tuscany. To say this guy is "connected" is gross understatement. I wasn't awestruck but I was a little surprised because my "Lillian" never liked pompous displays of wealth and her betrothed's family were not shy about showing off the trappings of their wealth. That was the first time "My Friend and Our Friendship are About to Change Forever and Not in a Good Way" antennae tingled. (No, the rock didn't tip me off because I know some men buy enormous engagement rings because they think that's what they're supposed to do, or they think it's what their girlfriend wants. I thought he just went a little overboard out of ignorance.) But, the guy seemed so down-to-earth and so enviro/socially conscience I thought, "well, just because this is where he's from and how he was raised doesn't mean he's unaware or that he can't eschew the lifestyle."
And then my "Lillian" introduced me to her new friend Suzanne. My "Lillian" met Suzanne while volunteering on a charity auction. And then Suzanne introduced my "Lillian" to her cousin, sparks flew, yadda yadda yadda my "Lillian" was about to marry Suzanne's cousin. And Suzanne was intoxicated by her matchmaking skills and her new friend/cousin. Suzanne started calling my "Lillian" "Cuzzie" and sometimes "Cuzzie Wuzzie." Pre-engagement, this would have triggered my "Lillian's" gag reflex. My "Lillian" would have quickly, sarcastically, either verbally berated Suzanne or, if feeling charitable, my "Lillian" would have taken the high road, politely smiled and then spent the next four hours laughing and mocking and berating her to me. But now, post-engagement and pre-wedding, my "Lillian" seemed perfectly okay with being called "Cuzzie Wuzzie" and attending luncheons and high teas with Suzanne at expensive hotels and private clubs. My friend mentioned Suzanne a few times, in passing, and I was vaguely aware that she introduced my "Lillian" to her fiance. But until I visited my "Lillian" shortly after the engagement I had no idea how much time she and Suzanne spent together and how close they were.
To this day I am not clear what surprised me more: that my "Lillian" could be such good friends with someone like Suzanne, or how easily she fell into the horsey set, the country club lifestyle. I truly did not think my "Lillian" had it in her, but there she was, navigating "that" social world as if she were born in it. (For the record, she was not. Pre-engagement, pre-Suzanne, the closest she came to any of that was that she rode horses at Girl Scout camp and had a Lilly Pulitzer skirt she found at a thrift store and wore to a Halloween party.)
Suzanne did not appear to like me from day one. And that's not just me being jealous or paranoid. In fact, I wasn't the one who picked up on her animosity toward me. I thought she was just loathe to anyone who didn't belong to her country clubs or private yacht excursions to Nantucket or Palm Beach or wherever the smart set yachted to those days. I thought she looked disdainfully down her nose at everyone, I didn't think I was special or singled out until at one of the showers (there were many), one of my "Lillian's" college friends remarked, "Wow, Suzanne isn't doing anything to cover up her jealousy, is she? I don't think it's possible for someone to be more chilly than she is to you without getting frostbite."
I chose to take the high road and assumed all was well, that my "Lillian's" college friend just misinterpreted Suzanne's general snobby haughtiness for targeted jealousy. So, even as the plans for the wedding began unfolding and my "Lillian" was more often merely informing me of what had already been decided by her and Suzanne than asking my opinion or advice, I wasn't upset or feeling left out. Still a little surprised at the posh direction the wedding was taking, but not upset.
I should probably mention that we were not the type of little girls who spent hours planning our dream weddings and playing bride. We were more the adventure play type of kids, accomplishing daring feats of skill and acrobatics on the swingset and forging trails in the woods and seeing how long we could hold our breath under water. And working on endless Girl Scout merit badges. Occasionally, though, we talked about weddings, but more about being married than the actual wedding. We both were called into flower girl duty a few times and we would report back, post-wedding, about the details and what we liked and didn't like about weddings (cake: yes. uncomfortable shoes and ugly dress: no) As we got older, my friend and traded our flower girl duty for bridesmaid duty, and, as ever, we reported back and compared notes about what we liked and didn't like about the wedding. At the time of her engagement she was definitely leaning toward elopement or small ceremony on a beach. But then, just like that, there she was planning a huge, 400 guest wedding at a swanky country club that required strings being pulled to be used as a venue, even by longstanding members.
Once, just one time, when my "Lillian" was giving me the weekly recital of the litany of plans she and Suzanne made, I said, "So I guess the elopement or small beach ceremony is off?"
Instead of laughing at herself as she would have done in days of yore, she all seriously said, "You'll find out when you get engaged, you realize you get this one opportunity to celebrate your love in this very public way, you want to do it right, with elegance and details, so you don't look back and wish you would have done this or that. Big weddings make it real, something concrete, give you something to remember. If you elope or have a small ceremony, there's nothing real about it, it's just a vacation."
And with that I realized my "Lillian" had changed. Drastically. That's the day I knew we were drifting. That's the day I look back to and mark as the day I should have kicked her in the ass with a reality check. But I didn't, I was too sure that she was just in some bridal euphoria and that my old, normal, sane, emotionally mature friend would return after the wedding. That was my speak now or forever hold your peace moment. Unfortunately I didn't realize it at the time. And I have forever held my peace.
I held my peace when Suzanne chose the dresses us bridesmaids would wear (an odd shade of blue, a weird length and fit, unflattering to all the bridesmaids except Suzanne and insanely expensive due to their designer pedigree). I held my peace when Suzanne chose to have the main bridal shower in, I kid you not, Bermuda (and held my peace when my "Lillian" didn't understand why none of her relatives and most of her friends didn't attend). I held my peace when Suzanne implored my "Lillian" to have a St. Tropez bachelorette party (which, fortunately, didn't happen, but a lavish Vegas one did happen). I held my peace when Suzanne convinced my "Lillian" that more flowers is always better and insisted on handling the cake details as a surprise for my "Lillian's" wedding. I even held my peace when my "Lillian" called to tell me I didn't need to bother to visit for dress shopping because she and Suzanne had already found the perfect one. I could change my next planned visit for a later date and come to a fitting. And I especially held my peace when the other bridesmaids started to more be more verbal in their disdain for the ridiculous turn the wedding was taking. A lot of fuck her and fuck it were entering into the bridesmaid vernacular. I tried to be a bridge to diplomacy between bridesmaids and bride/Suzanne. And that's how I came to think of my "Lillian." Bride/Suzanne.
The wedding was lovely. A bit over the top, but lovely. My "Lillian" and her husband are happily married with two kids (who attend private schools), two homes (one regular, one vacation) a yacht (they use once a year), two country club memberships (one golf, one horse/tennis), several globe-spanning vacations, and lots of time with his family including Suzanne and her husband and two kids who are, not coincidentally, the exact ages of my "Lillian's" kids. They planned the timing of their pregnancies. I kid you not.
One month after the wedding Suzanne's chilliness toward me turned to blatant catty disrespect. The jibes about my singleness, my career, my lifestyle, my everything, became the subject of Suzanne's "jokes." On the rare occasions we occupy the same vicinity she refers to me, addresses me and introduces me as Lillian's "Little friend from childhood." She drips the words with dismissive affect made increasingly poignant (read: pathetic) by the facts that I am still unmarried, childless, and barely scraping by financially.
I don't wish I had the thousands of dollars I spent on my "Lillian's" wedding. Sure, it would be nice to have that money, it would pay at least four months of my mortgage. But my "Lillian" still looks back on her wedding fondly, so it's worth every penny I had to beg, borrow and hock to finagle.
But.
Occasionally I wonder if my "Lillian" remembers what a financial hardship her engagement and wedding was to me (and to the other bridesmaids). She acknowledged it at the time, she prefaced every plan with, "If it's too expensive, if you can't afford it, just say so, I'll pay your way or tell Suzanne we want something different." Sometimes (rarely), I, speaking for us bridesmaids, stood up for our finances and requested something less expensive. And my "Lillian"/Suzanne would acquiesce...and then use their submission as ammunition against us during the next round of engagement duty. "We didn't go with the Jimmy Choo sandals, so we're going with the matching hair styles." "We didn't go with the trip to St. Tropez, so we're going to Vegas instead." Fun times. I should note that the original bridal party was to included four bridesmaids. One dropped out half-way through the engagement due to expenses, so Suzanne called one of her friends into duty, someone my "Lillian" or her husband-to-be barely knew. But I wonder, now, if she remembers the expense, the huge expense and sacrifices us bridesmaids made for her. I think not.
Because my "Lillian" called a few days ago to tell me how funny the movie Bridesmaids is. I had already seen it, and yes, enjoyed it but not for the same scenes, same reasons she did. She was laughing over several of the scenes, apparently completely oblivious that for me, the scenes she found so hilarious are not madcap comedy sketches. They are a documentary re-enactment of some of the most emotionally and financially draining moments I've endured in the name of friendship - during her engagement and wedding.
What I learned from this is that I highly, highly recommend that any bridesmaid who cannot comfortably manage the financial strain of bridesmaid duty should have a very frank conversation with the bride and just bow out of the role. If the bride is truly your friend she a) won't hate you and b) will probably appreciate your candor and honesty. I would endure most of it again for the sake of my "Lillian." But after that experience I was not shy about declining invitations to be a bridesmaid. I did walk down the aisle again, several times (I've tallied a lifetime total of 13 trips down the aisle but have never been married). But the friendship between myself and the person getting married, requesting my help, honor, financial obligation...is evaluated thoroughly before I accept the "invitation." And every time I've declined (yes, it's awkward) the bride (and on a few occasions, groom) has been very understanding and completely okay with my declining their invitation. I make it very, very clear that I'm not refusing them. ("It's not you, it's me.") I'm just not in a good personal financial place and things are stressful at work, and can't take on any more commitments of time and finances. I make it clear I'm happy to help, do leg work, decorating, whatever, and that I'm very happy and excited for them. This needs to be made abundantly clear and repeated often. And do as you promised: Show up for the showers, show up to help decorate or pick Aunt Mitzy up from the airport, whatever you can do that won't set you back emotionally or financially will be appreciated. And you'll avoid feeling resentful or angry at your friend, the bride or groom. In many cases you're not letting down your friend, you're saving the friendship.
And here's the wedding post-script and further reading about what happens when the wedding is over and the friends now have to deal with the friendship post-engagement/wedding.
When my "Lillian's" father's illness took a turn for the worse a few years ago, she and her husband and kids were vacationing with Suzanne and her family (they do this a lot, vacation together). I happened to be visiting my parents and stopped by to say hello to my "Lillian's" parents. Her mother told me her dad was not doing well and Hospice had been called. I visited with her dad for a couple hours, he recalled and laughed over some stories of the dumb stuff my "Lillian" and I did when we were little girls. I called my "Lillian" and told her I thought she might want to get home, her dad was not well. I heard Suzanne's loud laugh in the background. It seemed so cruelly incongruous to the scene I'd just left at my "Lillian's" parents' house. My "Lillian" didn't drop everything and rush to her father's deathbed. He hung on in Hospice for a couple weeks. She had time to get there, without even having to end her vacation early. But she didn't.
If we were still the kind of friends we were pre-engagement I would have probed her, dug deep for her to talk about why she wasn't there for him, and help her through the whole thing. Or maybe kick her ass back into reality. Because my "Lillian" never would have abandoned her father and certainly would feel bad, even guilty, for not rushing to be with him when he was dying. But my "Lillian" is not the person she was before she was engaged and married, pre-Suzanne.
I'm not jealous of my "Lillian," of her Suzanne, or their friendship or the kind of life they live. It's not me and not who I want to be.
And since her father's death I'm not surprised by anything my "Lillian" does, or more usually, does not do.
Every now and then we talk, and it's usually perfunctory, cordial. But sometimes, when she's had a glass or two of wine, she forgets who she is, now, and shows some hints of who she was, then, and I remember why we were friends and why I continue to forever hold my peace.
