July 23, 2004

• Tough decision….

  Aww, I guess it wasn’t that tough.  It’s about half past three
  ayem, and I just finished putting my groceries away.  I’m not
  sleepy, and enjoying the smooth jazz on the radio, so I had to decide
  whether to climb in bed and read myself to sleep, or blog.  Guess
  what I decided.

  Last week my alternate driver said she
  wouldn’t be available to drive the van from the rehab center to this
  week’s NA meeting, so I said I’d do it.  Tonight when I got there,
  a staff member popped out the door and told me no one was there. 
  The residents and the van had gone on an outing to Thunderbird Falls
  and wouldn’t be back until way after our meeting, so Greyfox and I went
  on over to the Alano Club and made coffee before the meeting.

  But first we had to get in.  It’s a funny situation there. 
  For a while the club had a resident manager onsite and we could always
  get in, found the place warm all winter, and often he’d made coffee for
  us.  He’s gone now and someone in power decided not to replace
  him.  More often than not when we arrive for meetings we find the
  door locked.  There’s a sign inside that door asking the last
  person to leave to lock it when they go.  That’s what I did
  tonight when I finished washing cups and cleaning up after our meeting,
  so someone tomorrow may need to go in a window to open the door from
  inside (as one of our rehab residents did one night), or they may opt
  to slip the lock as I did tonight.  I’ve seen other people use
  their credit cards for that, but I’ve got a better tool:  my old
  Spyderco Clip-Flip, the twenty-some-year-old prototype of the knife
  they’re now calling the “Police” model. 

  Greyfox and I
  briefly discussed what crime if any we committed.  He declared it
  wasn’t burglary since we took nothing, wasn’t breaking and entering
  since we broke nothing, and at worst it had to be illegal entry. 
  I pointed out that the sign outside says it’s open from 11 AM to 10 PM
  to members and for a half hour before and after meetings to everyone
  else, and we were within half an hour of our meeting time.  The
  club was open, just not unlocked.   He said he’s said it
  before and it bears repeating, I shoulda been a lawyer.  I think
  I’d have been happier as a forensic pathologist, if I’d gone the
  academic route.  As it is, I think my resumé’s probably more
  interesting reading than it would have been had I gotten that PhD I was
  on track for before my father died.

  It was a better than
  average meeting, a small group. lots of time for sharing and toward the
  end it turned into an open discussion instead of the standard series of
  monologues.  One newcomer was there for his first meeting, one man
  still in early recovery who is compulsively making two or three
  meetings a day to maintain his abstinence, two women back in after
  having been out for a while and realizing keenly the difference between
  simple abstinence and true recovery, plus Greyfox and me and one other
  regular.  The topic was how God talks to us.  For Greyfox
  it’s in things he hears and sees, such as on TV or trash he picks up
  off the ground.  For me, it’s the voices in my head, such as my
  mother’s voice saying, “Look on the bright side,” or my father’s voice
  saying, “pay attention.”

  The old fart and I had made a movie
  date a couple of days ago, so after shopping we went back to his cabin
  and watched a video.  When he’d found the video, he’d called me on
  his cell from Blockbuster to ask me if I’d ever heard of Mel Gibson
  playing Hamlet.  I hadn’t, nor had he, and I suppose that’s
  understandable, given that the movie was released in 1990, the year we
  were married.  I had been ‘way out of mainstream culture and media
  for a decade or so by then, and he fell out for a while when he fell in
  with me.  With Franco Zeffirelli (who made Brother Sun, Sister Moon,
  one of my best-loved movies of all time) as director and screenwriter,
  and a cast of actors we both know and respect, and its being his
  favorite Shakespeare play, we decided it was worth a try.  After
  seeing it, I’d say that was putting it mildly.

  This was the
  best performance of Hamlet I’ve seen in this lifetime, and I’ve seen it
  played by Richard Burton and at least a dozen other theater
  companies both amateur and professional.  Mel Gibson spoke those
  immortal lines with more of the feeling and depth of understanding that
  brings comprehension to an audience than any other actor or reader I’ve
  ever heard.  Helena Bonham-Carter as Ophelia stole the show. 
  Hamlet’s feigned madness and Ophelia’s true insanity could never have
  been portrayed better, and perhaps never as well.  As star-crossed
  lovers, those two have always put Romeo and Juliet to shame.  The
  setting, a castle in starkly beautiful natural surroundings, made for a
  far better production than one could get on any stage.  We two old
  Shakespeare lovers, old souls who knew the Immortal Bard back when he
  was a mortal of ill repute and lousy credit, were wowed.

  It
  was around one or after when I started home.  By then the sky was
  beginning to brighten in the northeast.  The season of the
  midnight sun is nearly over; it’s almost getting dark at night
  now.  On this side of Willow, I came up behind a big rig heading
  up the highway, and I slipstreamed in his wake until I got to my
  turnoff, then flashed my lights at him, “bye and thanks,” and shifted
  down to first gear for the rough dirt road.  Doug was already
  asleep, so I unloaded the car, put perishables away, then checked my
  comments.  I noticed I had some new subscribers and checked out
  their sites before putting away the rest of my groceries.  Now,
  I’m beginning to feel sleepy.  I hope my writing’s not having the
  same effect on my readers.
  

  • 9:38 am
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