Monday, July 25, 2011

A Three Story Life: Geometrically Storied

Dear Paul William, li'l bro,

I saw pictures of the new puppies today, which is a fun part of this particular day and week. I even heard Penny singing for her puppies on a video! Are you going to get one? Michelle and I both like the grey one on the left. You undoubtedly didn't see the Facebook pictures. I did. But, of course, being the shaman warrior you are, you will figure out which one this puppy you should have is.

Scott is getting deeper into Alzheimer's. Dad still thinks this is a behavioral issue, even though he had me fooled that he was not in denial. We've been doing pretty well. I figured out (is there such a thing as figured back out?) that Dad is pretty smart and he evidences this more and more when we can talk about things other than Scott.

Scott had a rough week what with getting into a new car at the dealership and being confused about the people in the house because there is a sewer backup in two units, and the camera revealed it was necessary to jackhammer the floor right over my shoulder.

I had a mini-breakdown. We were going to dinner because the plumber/workerbee/cement guys didn't get out of here until later, and it's taco night at Rio Grande, which Dad likes. I went up to ask Scott if he wanted to go to dinner. He was not quite in the room. He's angry lately. Dad used the word violent which is too severe. But Scott is mad. So I'm scared. Dad's scared. I was trying to explain to Scott about the chicken fajitas he likes, and he wouldn't look at me, and I figured out I was disturbing him and I was scrambling, and I said, "well, maybe I'll just get a carryout from Taco Bell." And, Paul, our baby brother, he glared at me. He jabbed his thumb at the door, his jaw clenched, and Scott yelled "then go get them."

So I went downstairs and told Dad I was going to get a carryout, told Dad the story, and he tried to get out of his chair, his jaw clenched, and he was going to the stairway to yell at Scott. I said, "let it go, Dad." And Dad yelled "He will not control every goddamned thing." And we were off to the races.

I called Jane, broke down, and asked her what I need to pray for, for all of us. And she said peace. And I stopped sobbing and went upstairs to talk with Dad. He began to tell me a story about Scott in diapers, Dad walking with Scott down the street, and Scott was running away, and Dad caught him and tapped him on the diaper and Mrs. Glass yelled "how dare you spank a retarded child" and I thought there will be no reasonable talk about this. So I got a carryout, crying the whole way, and then Michelle called and said she was picking me up. I said "why?" And she said "for dinner." And I said I already ate. And she said then I'm picking you up, you're getting out of the house, I don't care where we go.

And there is the ridiculously long story about how I saw the puppies on Michelle's cellphone. Michelle, beautiful soul that she is, thought puppies are cheerful. And, of course, they are.

So, are you going to get one? I want one. I really do. But unfortunately, right now, I want one big enough to eat Dad.

Linda Ruth Dian, big sees

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