Sunday, September 30, 2001

Not a Day of Rest

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Not a Day of Rest
I used to think that working was stressful. Already we need a vacation from our time away. The London Pass does not seem to be as beneficial as we thought it would be, although the transportation component has been a blessing. One of the problems has been that many of the attractions here in London have very limited hours. Most open at 10:00 am and close at 5:30 pm. That may seem like a sufficient amount of time, but when there are so many things to see and do, it is difficult to fit it all in. Then you have to figure out what is open on what day and sometimes it takes an hour or more to get to the area of the attraction. This all adds to the mix of frustrations. Sounds rough doesn’t it? We hope we have all of your sympathies.
Our day today started out with a tube ride to Westminster Abbey for the tour promised in our London Pass book, but it was not available due to religious services. We were able to view the three museums within the old monastery, which was quite interesting and full of royal history. English history is so complicated, but more fascinating than we had ever realized. We have been totally taken in by it. Ron decided to attend a portion of the Episcopal service at the Abbey and I took off in search of a Loo. See I am learning the language here. Big Ben is right next to Westminster and is looking very spiffy. When I was here the last time, he was covered with scaffolding for refurbishing. Of course, that was 1983, so he has had plenty of time to get himself together for a visit. Many people believe that Big Ben is the clock that is on the sides of the tower, but that is not correct. If that is what you thought, YOU ARE THE WEAKEST LINK and are out of the game. Well, okay, you can stay. Big Ben is the bell within the tower. Learn something new today?
The Jewel Tower is close to the Abbey and on our Pass, so that was the next stop. One would think this was a place filled with jewels as I did. All right, I am the weakest link this time. The tower was actually built for Edward III in 1363 to house his personal treasures. He had a moat dug around it to offer more protection. It was once one of the original buildings of the medieval castle of Westminster. Inside now are large displays that give an account of the British monarchy in regard to their level of power. Edgar the Great in the 800s had total control to the Queen now who is more of a figure head with Parliament having most of the political control. We spent a couple of hours reading the history. When we were on the second floor, we kept hearing this chanting. At first we thought it was the video on the third floor, but after viewing the movie, it was not. When we left there and was standing at the bus stop, we heard the chanting again. It was really more like yelling, shouting, and discontent. We saw a large number of people with masks and signs. Not wanting to miss a good demonstration, we went to investigate. It turns out it is the filming of the new movie “ Bridgette Jones’ Diary: Part 2”, so we were asked to leave.
Well we can take a hint when we are not wanted, so we took a bus in search of Wagamama. Really sounds British, eh? It is a chain of Japanese noodle restaurants that all of our friends here recommended. With the rain falling and feet aching, a hot bowl of soup with ramen noodles sounded comforting and nourishing. We found it after a long bus ride and entered our first Wagamama. It is starkly decorated with many blonde picnic tables each with six paper placemats and chopsticks. A person comes for your order. They have about 30 different soup/noodle/rice combinations. The noodles come in four varieties. I ordered a spicy chicken soup with wide noodles and Ron had a miso based soup with wide noodles. It saddened me to say that my soup was totally tasteless. Most of the filling was bean sprouts with other veggies, but the bean sprouts really dominated the bowl. It was slim chance on finding many noodles and the broth was neither tasty nor comforting. Ron’s was barely better, but not to any great extent. We may give this place another try, but not for a while.
With passes in hand, we rushed off to the Tower of London. When we reached there, we only had one hour left before it closed. The guard suggested we come back tomorrow as the full tour takes a minimum of three hours. With that information, we put it on our plan for tomorrow and walked the area lovely along the waterway getting post card views of the Tower Bridge. At the end of the walkway were a cluster of shops and restaurants. Shopping has no appeal when you are homeless. Why buy something only to cart it around with you? It is a money saver to have my shopping addiction wasting away. We did find a coffee house next to a historic ship called the Grand Turk, a clipper ship that was used in some historic battle, but the touring was done for the day and it was not of enough interest to us to investigate further. We planned our day for tomorrow.
The Tower Bridge looming over our heads was too enticing and we climbed the steps to walk the length of the bridge. It is a lovely view of London from the middle of the bridge and one is able, for a fee, to climb to the top of the bridge for an even better view. We have learned to pick and choose our energy battles. The bridge itself is painted a light blue with large emblems representing England and Scotland on the side. As Ron described it, he said it looks like frosting on a birthday cake and wondered how many arguments ensued in choosing the colors.
Since we have wanted to see some theater while we are here, we took a bus to the Leicester area where the theater discounters happen to be. They were closed, of course, but we thought we could to find what plays were available. Naturally, Lion King and Mama Mia are sold out, but we can possible get tickets if we go directly to the theaters. We both had to use the bathroom by that time and there was no public facility in sight. I asked a street cleaner where we could find a bathroom. He said there we none in the area, but did I just want to wash up? I told him our need and he suggested that we just enter any pub or fast food restaurant. As fate has it, all of the McDonalds, Burger Kings, even Starbucks evaporated from the area at that very moment. When we found a Pizza Hut, we thought we were in luck and rushed in. A hostess who wanted to seat us immediately greeted us. We looked over the menu and left totally unsatisfied. We did a quick walk down the street looking for a pub that would not ask questions and just leave us to do our thing. I grabbed Ron when spotting one and we sprinted through the door. About twenty feet in the door, I sensed something different about this bar. My mind found the memory of the Gary Larson cartoon of the chickens that walk into a bar full of cows. The caption states something like, “Suddenly, Ethel and Lucy looked around and realized that they were in a hay bar.” It was a gay bar we had found as our oasis in the bathroomless desert. We used the facility and left.
After taking the tube home, we stopped in our neighborhood pub to chug one with the locals and off to bed for another day of work, I mean touring tomorrow.
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Saturday, September 29, 2001

An Audience with a Queen

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An Audience with a Queen
After breakfast, I called Anne and firmed up plans for dinner later this evening. They offered to pick us up at 7:30 pm. That would save us from hunting down buses and possibly getting lost, so that was perfect. It was raining this morning and the forecast was for it to continue on and off all day. That meant the brollies (umbrellas) would have to be close at hand all day.
With our London Pass and travel cards in hand, we were off to Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guards. I warned Ron that they start to line the gate early to see, though the changing isn’t scheduled until 11:30 am. We had stopped at the Mews, the place where the Queens carriages are kept, but it is only open Monday through Thursday. We knew we would have to return. It started to sprinkle a light mist, but it was welcomed and we did not yet need our umbrellas. When we arrived at the Palace at 11:00 am, I was proven correct and all the good viewing spots were filled three deep with tourists. Ron’s plan B was to stand on the steps of the Queen Victoria memorial directly in front of the Palace, but about 6 dozen people already had that idea too. That is where we perched anyway, he with his video recorder ready for action. The plan was to leave the ceremony at 12:15, fifteen minutes early and beat the rush to get our tickets to the Palace tour. The rain started and was getting to be beyond sprinkles. Our plans were thwarted when at 11:15, people started leaving in droves and we made the assumption that the changing of the guards had been cancelled due to the weather. By 11:23, we were numbers 321 and 322 in line for our Palace tickets, umbrellas in hand and bladders starting to call out for relief. Seven minutes later, the guards started to process down Buckingham Palace Road. Never assume. Ron took off to catch a few minutes on video, but missing the best part, in the Palace courtyard. By the time we reached the ticket office, we were given appointments for 1:30 pm.
We had an hour and a half to find something to do. Not enough time to do anything substantial, we wandered through St. James Park and found the Guard’s Horse House. There are two guards in full regalia that stand without moving in the walkway of the Guard’s Horse House. They do it with pride being of service to the Queen, but the thought of standing in one place for hours while people are staring, cajoling, and snapping your picture sounds like torture. Two others sit stiffly while on horses at the entrance. Amazingly, the horses stay pretty still also, in spite of dozens of people pet the horse’s noses and stand next to them to have their pictures taken. My feet had started to hurt by this time and my ankles were swelling, so I could definitely empathize with the guards as well as the horses.
At 1:15, we decided we had better get in line for the tour of the Palace, but one of the guides told us we would have to come back at precisely 1:30. That meant that aching feet had 15 minutes to find relief prior to two hours of standing and walking. We found the children’s park across the street from the palace and planted ourselves there trying to get some relief.
When we started the tour, we had to go through a major security check, then walk through all of the gift shops to get to the opening of the palace. What can I say about the inside that we were able to see? I have seen more ornate in France and Germany. The outside of the palace is definitely not an architectural wonder, but it was build by and from Lord Wellington, not the royal family, so that is understandable. Inside, one would expect more. I think I was underwhelmed more due to the simplicity of it rather than the extravagance of it. The colors were really rather dreadful with red and pink being overdone. I am not sure if the pain I was feeling was clouding my judgment, but the best room was the theater where you could sit and watch a movie on Elizabeth’s coronation. I stayed for three viewings. It was a short movie. The tour was one of those things that you are glad to say you have done once in your life, but once is enough, for this palace anyway. I still want to see Kensington and Windsor Palaces.
After the tour, we took the bus to St. Paul’s Cathedral. It started out as a Catholic Cathedral, but was taken by Henry VIII for the Church of England. By the time we reached there, it was too late to use our London Passes for whatever tours were covered, but we were able to see enough to satisfy us without feeling a need to return. I had been here before in 1983, but this was Ron’s first time.
We decided to take a bus for a change and walked down the street from St. Paul’s. We found a nice wine shop and bought a bottle of Gallo Turning Leaf label of wine for Anne and Bruce for dinner. As we were leaving there, we spotted a pub called Bell, Book and Candle. Some of you may remember the movie by the same name with Kim Novak, Ernie Kovaks, Jimmy Stuart, and Elsa Lanchester. This was one of my favorite movies for years, so we decided we needed to explore this pub further. It bills itself as the spookiest pub in London. It is done in a real Halloween type theme on both the street level and the downstairs bar. When I went and ordered two espresso coffees, the barmaid said she would have to call downstairs to put the order in. Just as we made cozies with our seats, she came back and said “Sorry, we are closed.” We thought that was bizarre as it was only 5:00 pm, but we left anyway. It would give us time for a nap before dinner.
Bruce came for us at 7:30 pm and took us home. Bruce is a psychiatric nurse and has just accepted a new position as a manager at a new hospital. His specialty is adults, but he just passed the qualification for children also and is now working with children. Anne is a therapist and has been teaching. She is currently finishing her doctorate as she continues to teach. It was lovely to see a London home first hand. We seem to migrate to kitchens so that is where we started and we never left the kitchen that evening until it was time to leave.
We started with a delightful platter of two types of marinated onions. We had never had either and both were real taste treats. Anne said they are typically British, but not like anything we had ever had in the States. There were cheery tomatoes from their garden which were ruby red and full of flavor, green olives that were marinated with sun dried tomatoes, and marinated mozzarella balls. Bruce had made a Moroccan lamb dish that made our mouth continually discover new flavors with each bite. Two of the more unusual spices he used were sumac and dried lime. It was served over rice and of course we had to have two servings to show how much we appreciated his hard work. Actually, two servings were needed to satisfy our desire to maintain the tastes in our mouths for awhile longer.
Dessert was a wonderful mix of assorted cheeses, a few of which we had never had sampled before, so that was another taste treat that we would never have had left to our own devices. With the wine we had all consumed, it was the best option that after a lively night of sharing food and good conversation, that we take a cab home. This is another example of people’s generosity and caring to nurture new friendships and we were fortunate enough to be the beneficiaries for two nights in a row.
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Friday, September 28, 2001

London, Here We Are!!

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London Here We Are!

Breakfast at the B&B is limited, but satisfying and is served from 9:00 am to 10:00 am. My thinking is that is a little late to start the day of touring, but we will deal with it. They also offer breakfast in the room, but then you have to make decisions of what you are going to want to eat the night before by 8:00 pm. That does not fit into my live for the moment and stay focused way of thinking that I am trying very hard to stick to. There is a selection of fresh and warmed croissants, both plain and chocolate, cheese, ham, cereals, yogurt, and orange juice. We have a choice of tea or coffee and are presented with our own pot for either. The breakfast room is in an atrium type room that looks out on a small English garden. The birds in the birdbath sometimes entertain us while we break our nightly fast. The sun is shining and it promises to be a wonderfully warm day again in the 70s.
When we leave the B&B, henceforth known as “home” for lack of any other residence at the moment, we have a nice jaunt down to the Tube or subway. Our first stop this morning was Green Park, where once we surfaced from the underground like gophers, we were face-to-face with a Starbucks. What a glorious city this is. We did manage to by-pass it for this go around and walked on to Buckingham Palace to check the times and dates for the tour of the State Rooms. During the summer each year, some of the rooms of the Palace are open for public viewing. Normally, this ends at the end of August, but this year it was extended through September 30th. The tours are by appointed time and for the day that you book it only. We decided this would be our first stop tomorrow after we collect our London Pass later this morning.
The London Pass is a pre-paid ticket that if you purchase it outside of England, you can opt for a transportation ticket in addition. The pass itself gives you pre-paid admission to dozens of attractions and purportedly saves you money. We chose the 6-day pass to maximize our savings (hopefully) and to make sure we get to see all that we want to. The book that comes with the pass shows all of the features, attractions, museums, historic sights, etc. that are included and it is like being a child in a candy store.
From Buckingham Palace we went to the Wellington Arch, which is now open to climb to the top, but again that is a London Pass feature, so we by-passed it for another day. Wellington Arch is a monument to Lord Wellington. When you climb to the top, you are able to view London from up yonder. At the top of the arch is a famous sculpture of “Peace Descending on the Chariot of War.”
We found our way to the British Tourist Center, which is where the London Pass is obtained. We had ordered it ahead of time, so it was ready and waiting for us. We were not going to activate it until tomorrow, since it was already late and we wanted to utilize it for the whole day. The transportation card will be a great savings as the Tube is 1 pound 90 each way within 2 zones and they gets to be very pricey at one pound equaling $1.63 cents American. In the Tourist Center, they have a section for England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. Each has their own area with their own tour information and guides. Ron made the rounds and collected some goodies that we may or may not ever use, but they were all extremely friendly and willing to answer any questions.
From the center, we walked and walked all day long. We covered a number of the parks in the Royal Park System. Besides Green Park, we walked through Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, and Regent Park. In Hyde Park, we walked the length of Serpentine Lake, which turns into The Long Water after you cross a bridge. The sides of the lake are marked off as a bird and wildlife refuge. We have seen an incredible number of birds that we have never seen before. One in particular is about the size of a pigeon, but is all black with a white head and a red mark on their beaks. The feet on these birds look like flattened pea pods, but black in color and white spots where the peas would have been. They are fairly fast swimmers too. Some of the waterfowl do not have webbed feet at all and it is amazing to see what efficient swimmers they are. Kensington Gardens boasts a magnificent monument to Prince Albert, the prince consort to Queen Victoria. It is a beautifully constructed structure that looks like a very ornate two story gazebo with a large statue of the prince in the center. Along the waterway called “The Long Water, there was a statue of Peter Pan with all of the characters from the book pouring out of the base. It was festive enough to take a picture of and I may have it printed in poster size to send to my father, the other boy who refuses to grow up.
By this point in time, we were aching, our feet ready for a hot bath and massage, but that was not going to happen. We had a date to meet Yolande at 7:00 pm at the Embankment tube station. Nick was driving into London from work and would meet us. Yolande works in the city and commutes. The question at that point in time was where could we spend a couple of hours without walking until it was time to meet Yolande.
We thought a cyber cafe would be a safe bet and set out to find the EasyEverything cyber café, reportedly the world’s largest. This meant more tube rides and more walking. We decided to get a tube day pass for 4 pounds, rather than the 1.90 we had been paying. When we found EasyEverything, it was a great boon since their rates were so low. One glitch, they did not have hard drives, so it was impossible to upload this letter. More walking and more looking for other cyber cafes, which could accommodate my needs, was partly the love of sending this off to everyone and partly the need to sit for a period of time. Okay, more for the sitting than anything else.
When we found such a café, the floppy drive did not have the correct file on it and I could not figure out why. I had loaded it before leaving this morning, but it was gone. Later, I realized that I had misnamed it and it was indeed on the disc. While I was online, I received an e-mail from Anne and Bruce, another couple we met on the cruise in Egypt. They live about a half a mile from where we are staying and wanted us to come for dinner on Saturday. Funny how our social life is better in England then it was in California. My feet had been aching and was thankful for the break.
We met Yolande at the tube and we were thrilled to see her again as well as anticipating seeing Nick too. The three of us went to a pub to spend some time before our 8:30 dinner reservation. It was a lovely downstairs pub with all dark wood walls and private little rooms for parties that want a little more privacy. The pub was crowded with people in suits and dress clothes that had come directly from work. It was definitely a Thank God it is Friday atmosphere. Ron and I sampled a Dave’s Whollop beer in pewter mugs. We were hoping the Whollop would quiet the screaming our feet were doing and it did, or at least the company took our minds off of our aches.
From there we took a taxi, our first London cab ride, to pick up Nick from his parking spot and on to dinner…a dinner that was tattooed in our memories, never to be forgotten. This was a restaurant that Yolande had been to once about three years ago and had not had an opportunity to return. This was her self-admitted golden opportunity to return, bring Nick and to treat us all at the same time.
The name of the restaurant is Archipelago. None of my descriptions can do justice to this space. It is decorated in a Balinese, Thai, and other out of the ordinary styles. The lighting is low and the walls are covered with wooden statues, masks and other artifacts from exotic places. The restaurant is a feast for the eyes and the smells wake up your appetite as soon as you enter. You know immediately that this is not a dinner, but a life altering experience. The table was set with mismatched silverware, but each piece was a work of art, not just a functional tool. Joining us on our table was a hand carved foot long wooden iguana, a tropical bird and a small treasure chest and there was a vase of peacock feathers. The glasses for water and wine were each different and each a work of art in their own right. The treasure chest had four scrolls that were held by flower rings. The scrolls were our menus. On one side of the menu was an ancient looking picture of sail ships crossing a sea. The other had the offering of the establishment. Our waiter looked like Dennis Miller and had hair like a brunette Phyllis Diller with glitter not only in his hair, but down the front of his shirt too. He had a wonderful tableside manner that would not allow anyone to refuse to have a good time.
Even the bathrooms carry the theme. Both doors to the Men’s and Women’s room have identical Thai woodcarvings on them, not giving a clue, as to which is which. I chose one the first time and felt like I had walked into someone’s private bath. There were assorted cloth hand towels spread out, jars of various crème perfumes, and incense burning. I assumed that I had made the wrong choice and should have chosen door number 2, but Ron tried the door and found the same there.
Everyone’s dinner is a minimum of two courses, either a starter and main dish or a main dish and a dessert. However, for starters, they provide appetizers. Nothing on the menu was ordinary and the adventure was about to begin. One was quail eggs on slice of an unusual bread and the other was a chicken salad on spice crackers. Breads were served in a Thai boat basket and there were four varieties, all uncommon types. Yolande and I chose the Cayman Islands for our starter. The other name for this was Croc on a Rock. The platter was a piece of slate with two hot Tiger Eye rocks on it surrounded by three large strips of crocodile and a dipping sauce. Ron skipped over the starter, but tasted my croc. I admit that I set out to have an adventure, but biting through the skin of the crocodile did make me have to think of other things in order to continue. The last piece I successfully pulled all of the skin off of before biting it, so it was not so visually stimulating. Nick chose Galapagos Dodo Spears or more commonly known as peacock with a fruit satay. In addition, he ordered a side Locust Eater salad, which was greens with fried crickets, locust, and topped with a fried scorpion.
Entrees were equally enticing. Yolande ordered the Hot Marsupial, roo as in kanga rump on kumara. The waiter explained it as a big chuck of “Skippy’s ass”. Ron had the Coral Reef, which was Red Emperor fish with macadamia crust, I had the Swamp Fever or otherwise known as green-laden chicken Vietnamese style, and Nick had the Berber Tents, lamb with injera pancakes. Other options were frogs and other tasty treats. The desserts were equally ingenious and some were covered in 24-carat gold leaf. Ron, who had not ordered a starter, had to pick a dessert so thought he was safe with the Eskimo Tiramisu. It came as a chocolate and vanilla ice cream tiramisu with fresh raspberries surrounding it along with chocolate covered coffee beans and the garnish was a chocolate covered scorpion. After some hesitation and cajoling, he did eat the scorpion. We each had espresso with our dessert and even the sugar was unusual. The waiter brought out a tray with rock sugar, brown raw sugar, granulated, and fake sugars. This was a truly once in a lifetime experience for all of the senses and the company was as magnificent as the atmosphere and before we knew it, it was after midnight.
For as great as this city is, it is amazing that the tubes close around 12:30 am. Yolande and Nick went on the tube with us to his car and we said our good-byes there. Ron and I did not wander into our room until after 1:30 am, but it was a night like no other. As we readied for bed, Ron found a bit of scorpion stinger still in his teeth, another reminder of his walk on the wild side.
As we were getting ready for bed, we were saying how fortunate we have been to meet such quality people along the way. It amazes us that people that we hardly know, but hope to continue to get to know can be so generous, not only by inviting us for dinner, but by spending their time with us. We are very fortunate to have had so many people in our life both before we knew each other and since so willing to give of themselves.
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Wednesday, September 26, 2001

On the Road Again

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On the Road Again
We left my brother Kevin’s house with plenty enough time to get to the airport, not knowing what traffic may be like. Newark is considered a New York airport, even though it is in New Jersey. The airport was only an hour away under normal traffic conditions, but nothing has been normal since September 11th. There was a pensive feeling in the car as we drove. Although I love to fly, this time was different. This time was preempted by a black cloud; a black cloud that would like a long time to clear. This time, there were more reasons to be apprehensive about air travel than the recent articles about air rage. Air rage I could handle. Ron was quiet too. He was more quiet than usual and he usually has some concerns about flying under normal circumstances.
There were no traffic problems and we retuned the car within minutes, seven hundred and forty dollars for a three-week rental. Initially, we had not planned on needing it for three weeks, and this may be the last time I have to drive for a long time. At Newark, rental cars are all on the airport campus. When you leave the car rental company, you take an escalator to a Monorail station and that transports you to the concourse where your airline is located. We had a two stop ride on the Monorail before arriving at Concourse A.
I have flown in and out of Newark a number of times in the past. Today was different than all of the rest. It was so empty, a tennis match could have been staged in the ticketing area and not be interrupted or impeded. Each airline had at least one employee working their desk with the optimistic hope that they would have customers to serve. U.S. Air had three employees ready to be of assistance. The usual corrals barriers were in place to maintain proper lines without pushing and shoving, since most Americans do not know how to queue. There was no need and no waiting. Three employees and only one could have handled the client traffic and still have time to provide excellent customer service.
“Sir, there is one problem, your one piece of luggage is overweight by fifteen pounds. Your other piece is over by six. You will have to get rid of some of it or pay an extra tariff of $90.00” said the ticket agent. A cornucopia of thoughts stormed my mind “I have had a weight problem all of my life, why should my baggage be any different. Besides after the experience with my father, I have even more extra baggage to cart around. You think it is a problem for you? What do you think I have to deal with? You only need to get it to London, but I have had to carry it around for years. God only knows when I will be able to dump some of it.” My more rational mind looked at Ron and said, “We are reading furiously and dumping books along the way. It will be cheaper to replace them than it will to ship them back home.” He never thought he would hear those words pass my lips that I would want to leave books behind. Then we set to lighten six pounds from one suitcase. If it was going to cost $90 extra, we wanted to really get our monies worth from the one heavy bag.
The agent continued with “Sir, we can get you on an earlier flight to Charlotte and not that it matters, but I would suggest you take it.” If it did not matter, why did he suggest we take it? Ignorance is bliss sometimes and I did not want to know. I don’t think Ron did either, since he did not question it until we had our tickets in our hand. We agreed to take the earlier flight and went out for a cigarette. My mind was again racing. I just e-mailed everyone with the flight information. Was this the right thing to do or not. Would we be saved from disaster by changing or were we putting ourselves in harm’s way by taking this flight. So many things left to chance and no one to give a definitive answer. What if our plane was a dangerous situation and everyone thought we were okay because I said we were on a different one? What if no one noticed that I had stopped writing? That was a worse thought.
No one at the airport was smiling: not the airline employees, not the travelers, not the security personnel. While we were outside, all of the curbside check-in stands were void of employees, though there probably would not have been enough passengers to warrant their salary anyway. There were three skycaps standing by the door talking. Their new role was questionable, as we did not see them doing any work. Their repeated concerns about this being one of the airports where an airline was hijacked from, did not add to our sense of security. Ron and I just looked at each other wordlessly. They were worried they would be cross-trained as security personnel.
When it was time to board, the ticket agent called for those that needed extra assistance boarding and the First Class passengers. This consisted of three people. The frequent flyers with Gold, Platinum or Silver status were next, but no one budged. Rows 25 to 31 were next and again the line was short. Then she called for all other passengers to please board. The plane was a MD-80. Thirty-one rows back with three seats on one side and two on the other. There were no more than 50 people on the plane. Confidence is not returning with any rapid speed in the airline industry.
We arrived in Charlotte, now with four hours to spare, we decided to stop at a Chili’s Restaurant for a meal, not knowing if you would get anything substantial on the next flight. There have been talks about cutting meals on the airlines, due to the risks of using silverware and to save money since they are all hurting financially. Ron ordered a large hamburger and I had a Philadelphia steak sandwich. Both were dripping with juice, onions and mine had roasted peppers. Both were left uncut and fully unmanageable in this state. We flagged the waitress for a couple of knives to cut our sandwiches, but were informed they no longer had knives, not even in the kitchen. It was a challenge to say the least to heave a 12 inch roll to one’s mouth when the hinged side of the roll was saturated with juice and filling was free falling to the platter. Fortunately, they trusted us with forks. The second challenge was to cut the fries that had to have come from the world’s largest potatoes. We had never seen fries so long before, or maybe it just seemed so since we did not have a knife to cut them. I couldn’t help but wonder what Miss Manners would do in this situation?
The flight to London’s Gatwick airport was uneventful. They did provide meals and the silverware was plastic. Although there was a knife, there was no spoon, which made eating the yogurt at breakfast a real trial. We arrived on time at 8:10 am local time on September 27th. It took longer to get through Passport Control then it has in any other country we have been to. It seems that those that were of color were kept at the counter longer than others and there were a large number of people of color. After having a large coffee in the airport, we gathered our things and took a train to Victoria station. From there we had to take the tube or subway to Brixton. The hassles were where there were no escalators or elevators. We each have a bag that is at least 70 pounds, plus each of us has our 30 pound carry-on and I had my computer equipment on a backpack. Even with wheels, these things are a chore. At Brixton, we walked about 10 blocks to the bed and breakfast. We are certain our arms have been stretched at least two inches in the process.
Our bed and breakfast is a lovely converted house and very nicely decorated with a small sofa, bed, private bath and breakfast bar in our room. The neighborhood does not seem to be the most upscale, but it will be safe during the daytime hours. We needed a two hour nap after getting settled in and thought we would try to stay up to assimilate to the local time. There was an e-mail waiting for us from our new friends, Nick and Yolande. They are one of the couples that we met on our cruise on the Nile. They wanted to get together in London since they had invited us to stay with them an hour outside of London, but had declined their kind offer, or to be more honest, with all the problems lately had completely forgotten about it. Mental note to selves: Call them tomorrow.
Around the corner from our B&B is the Hobgoblin Pub and Wychwood Brewery. This was our first authentic pub experience. We sat out in the beer garden, the weather was lovely and in the mid 70’s. Of course, we had our first homeless person sit with us and chat. He seemed to be a very intelligent young man of Jamaican and English background. He story went that he was studying fine arts when he found his girlfriend in bed with someone else and lost his will to continue. Same Social Workers, different setting. Does it ever end? : ) He did offer his condolences when he found out we were Americans, then gave us the low down on what exhibits were available at what galleries around town. He also gave us advice about theft in the area. His name is Dean and he was very entertaining to speak with, but the pub owner did not think so and asked him to leave the property. We spoke in his defense that he was not bothering us, but it seems he has a history there, so has not been welcomed. Across the street is a little Jamaican restaurant that was inexpensive, so we decided to try a meal there. We each had Jerk Chicken, which was quite good, but this was the first time I had ever eaten in a restaurant where I have never been spoken to by the staff. No one said one word from the time we walked in to the time we left. We knew they had voices as they spoke with each other. When we walked by the first time, the restaurant was empty and it was the same when we ventured in. One would have thought that they would be grateful for the business. They may have been, but we will never know it.
We went back to the room where Ron watched a movie and I fought off the Sand Man. At around 9:00, the phone rang. I thought for sure it was our first wrong number in England, but a pleasant surprise, it was Nick and Yolande. We are meeting them for dinner tomorrow night.
Relaxation time starts now!
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Monday, September 24, 2001

Family Reflections: The Agony and the Agony

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I never planned on being a parent. Actually, I never thought about it at all, ever. Well that is not exactly the truth. Once I was coming out of anesthesia from an eye surgery and I thought about it then, but that doesn’t count. I was delirious at the time. Growing up with The Donna Reed Show and Leave It to Beaver, it never felt comfortable to me to come home from work and put on a smoking jacket and find my wife in pearls and an apron. Father Knows Best scared me. How could any father know all of the answers to life questions? I certainly did not anticipate having all of the answers when I had so many unanswered questions myself. Who would want that responsibility? Then to add to the confusion, I was growing up, like many of us, in a family that was as similar to these television families as chocolate is to vanilla. No, that was not what I wanted at all.
Life is so unpredictable regardless of how much you plan and think you have your course set. I now find myself parenting, albeit for a short term, a sampler, an appetizer of a piece of life that I never thought I would sample. To add to this hall of mirrors of my life, I am part of the sandwich generation. Sandwiched between two children ages 5 and 6 years old who are not even remotely related to my bloodline and my true flesh and blood, my 73-year-old father. How selfish I feel complaining about my fate when I see all of the families who wish they still had their family member to yell at them, to be angry with them. They did not anticipate their twist of fate that was dealt to them either. In my defense, I am facing the challenge with gritted teeth and sometimes a chuckle, but I am sticking it out a week longer than I had to and hope to make a miniscule impact.
When Ron and I arrived here at my father’s on September 6, 2001, the first thing we need the following morning was buy a 40 count box of garbage pail size trash bags. We filled four of them with old mail the first day. My father is competing for the Guinness Book of World Records for being on more charity and Please send us a donation lists. There were piles of stickers that start “Proud Sponsor of …” Others were still waiting for responses, but they dated back to last Easter by last count. We had to tranquilize my Dad while we tossed them, but he was accepting once the medication started working. Then it came time to start the separation process with the trinkets that have sat around collecting dust for years, complements of my mother. As I emptied shelves to dust, I asked him “What are you married to here, because the rest is going to charity.” I was able to fill two boxes and three more trash bags. When Ron and I drove them down to St. James Thrift Store, they were closed, hours 10:00 am to 1:00 pm only. Fearing that my father would regain his attachment disorder, we left them on the steps, despite the sign asking that donations not be left there. I thought that the worst that could happen is some needy folk could wander by and have an early Christmas by taking the discarded treasures.
With my father looking so haggard, it seemed like a necessary evil to start taking more responsibility with the children of his boarder. I am learning by the seat of my pants trying to balance verbal affection, not risking physical affection misinterpretations with solid directions.
No, you cannot have a snack a half hour before dinner is ready. (Yes, this had forced me to fix dinners too).
It is dinner time. You will turn off the Sega and come to the dinner table after you wash your hands.
Stay out of the street on that bicycle or you will not get to ride it for the rest of the afternoon.
Is that your jacket on the floor? Where does it belong? No, not on the floor hiding behind the sofa.
No, you cannot chase the squirrels around the yard.
You have 15 minutes before you have to go to bed and no, you may not watch television in the room until your mother gets home at 10:00 pm.
Did you do your homework?
Why aren’t you reading a book? It doesn’t matter that you can’t read there are pictures. I will read to you, but no, I am not going to jump up and down and act like I am fighting dragons like Super Mario does in the video game.
Yes, I include all of the rational reasons why this, that, and the other thing for each negatively interpreted statement that comes out of my mouth scaled down to their level of understanding. My years of elementary school teaching are coming in handy, however, I never had to cook and clean up for my students like I have to do for these kids. I am trying to make them responsible for their actions. I am trying to save my father from being worn down and out.
Being the professional Social Worker and therapist, I have spoken to Michelle in every way possible to make her understand the gravity of the situation. This is yet another situation where I experience flashes from Dr. Seuss’ book Horton Hatches an Egg or some similar title. The book for those uninitiated is about an elephant that happens to be meandering down a lane when he comes across a mother bird that is dreadfully tired of sitting on her egg waiting for it to hatch. Horton, kindly, but hesitantly agrees to take a shift warming the egg to a proper temperature so that the mother bird can get some respite. Once the mother bird tastes the sweetness of freedom, she goes crazy with excitement and states that she may never return. Horton is the ever faithful caregiver and stays on the egg through the rain and snow and until the egg finally hatches. It is at this time that the mother bird decides to return, but only to find that her offspring resembles Horton much more then it does her. Michelle has found her Horton and now there are three. She swears that she found housing that is available on November 15th I am not waiting around to find out if this is the truth. I did persuade her to go to the county services and sign up for childcare. The packet came today, praise heaven! The sad part is that both Ron and I are enjoying the children, however, they are so bright, it saddens us that they do not have stable environments and direction to fulfill and challenge their mental capabilities. and she will be moving then.
Last night, Nadine called yet again. She is the genderless person with the shaved head and numerous facial piercings that has enough strength in one arm to beat me at arm wrestling while I use two hands and my face. She spoke to my father and the conversation was short, but I heard him tell her what time we were leaving for the evening with friends. I knew she was coming for yet more money that would never be repaid. It was not wise to confront him and tell him not to do it. We all know how rebellious youth and seniors can be when told not to do something. So, I lied instead. I said, “Dad, we are running late for dinner with Daphnee and Ellie and I forgot to go to the bank (no lie yet). Do you have any money I can borrow until tomorrow (The lie is here as I intended to use plastic anyway)?” He handed me $15.00 at which I balked and in disbelief asked if that is all he had. He assured me it was. I continued to lay it on thick by saying that would hardly be enough to do me any good, but he did not come forth with any more money. My strategy was to fleece him of all cash, so that when Nadine came over later that evening, he would be able to honestly say he was cashed out and had nothing to lend. More on this later .I called my sister-in-law and asked her to call St. Michael’s Church where St. Vincent de Paul is located. I wanted her to make an appointment with the priest that oversees the charity so that I could discuss my concerns regarding my Dad. When I called, all I was able to connect with was the infamous voice mail and could not leave a message with my father’s phone number.
This morning, Ron and I were sitting out on the balcony drinking coffee. It was early. I could tell my father was not in a good mood and limited my conversation until he had time to come to grips with another day of not yet paradise. My Dad came out to the balcony and bends down along side of me and asks in a pleading tone, “Where did you put my waffle iron?” My reaction was to ask where he kept it and the response was on the kitchen counter. I reminded him in my most patient parental tone that I had asked him to put it away the morning I scrubbed the kitchen and where did he put it? He could not remember and we both proceeded to conduct an intensive search of all of the kitchen cupboards, the walk-in pantry, the dining room closet, the dining room hutch, the back porch, the front porch, and even under the dining room table. No waffle iron. For a few heart stopping minutes, I had to review what I had taken to St. James Charity. No, I could not honestly say I saw a waffle iron in my clutches when I was grabbing things with glee to clean off shelves, cupboards and closets. But then again, I could not be sure this was not the case either. Poor Dad looked totally defeated at that point. I felt like a parent that just practiced a “tough love” lesson with their child…”If you put things where they belonged, you would know where they are when you want them again.” God, I hate parenting and no waffles for this morning’s breakfast. This did not add to his festive mood.
Michelle told me that Nadine did show up after we left and was able to extract $35.00 from my father that he conveniently did not have to lend to me. My intuition was correct. Ron and I took off for the day running errands and trying to relax with diversions. While we were out, we bought a waffle iron, waffle mix, and syrup. My father brightened at the sight of the gifts and his mood was upbeat for the rest of the day.
Later in the afternoon, he was working on a new case from St. Vincent de Paul. He was on the phone talking and I did not think a thing of it until he handed me the phone and said someone wants to talk with you. The woman on the other end was a classmate of mine from 9thth grades. She and I had Latin, French and Algebra together and she lived around the corner. She had chased me for the two years, until I had change schools. I am the only one I know to this day that received love notes in Latin. It was embarrassing having to have our Latin teacher interpret them for me. I only was in the class due to a brief desire to become a priest, but when that wore off I lost interest in the class. Mary took it seriously and even made me hand sown handkerchiefs with Latin sayings embroidered on them. She’s BAAAACCCCCKKKK!! and 10
This evening, my sister-in-law called. She secured an appointment with the head of St. Vincent de Paul for me for tomorrow evening, Thursday the 20th. Colleen, my sister-in-law said the woman was anxious to see me again. When I questioned why this woman would be interested in seeing me at all let alone again, it turned out that the head of the charity is Mary. Thirty-two years later, I will get to see the woman who chased me like a hunting dog chases a frightened fox at an English hunt. My brother is going with me.
I was apprehensive about the meeting. It was my intent to walk in and make it clear that I was a professional Social Worker and they as an agency were not monitoring or protecting their volunteers sufficiently, then ask what they were going to do about it. However, Mary has known my parents for as many years as I have known her and it was uncomfortable for me to share such personal information with someone we knew. It would have been much easier spilling the story with a complete stranger such as a priest. As soon as Mary and I exchanged the usual pleasantries, she stated how glad she was to have us initiate the meeting. She said that she had come close to calling my brother a number of times to discuss her concerns with my father’s behavior, but had some trepidation about crossing the line. It took great strength to maintain the professional Social Worker stance as I now felt like a parent called into a parent-teacher conference.
Mary told us that Michelle has a long history of using anyone she possibly can and has abused every social system set up to help that exists. She explained that if Michelle had gone directly to a sheltering motel when she left her apartment, the housing authority would sanction Section 8 for low income housing almost immediately. Now that she is being sheltered, it is more difficult. Mary explained that they have discussed with my father how he has abused the rules of the agency, tried to reeducate him, and finally had to sanction him, by not referring any more clients to him. It is against the rules for a volunteer to give our their home phone number let alone their address. They are trained to press star 67 on their phones, which will block their numbers from caller ID. If they need to give out a phone number they are to us the number at St. Vincent’s office. We were assured that Mary knew about my father’s private donations to clients and had been lectured about it repeatedly. They even offered to have him make the donation through the agency so that he could get a tax deduction receipt.
Mary kept repeating that we needed to get Michelle out of the house and soon. I asked for suggestions, since I am caught between my father’s wishes and his welfare. To add to the confusion of the situation, I am only here until next Wednesday, which means my brother will have to be a much stronger force than he has been. It seems that even if my father wants to be a willing victim, the Adult Services agency will take some actions regarding financial abuse. Mary stated that the police would also come to tell Michelle she needs to leave. There seemed to be a silver lining to this dark cloud. St. Vincent’s will also pay for some therapy through the Catholic Charities for what is assumed to be unresolved grief from my mother’s passing away.
We left with the plan that my brother and I will confront my Dad tonight, Friday about our meeting last night. Tomorrow, we all have a family meeting with Mary to rehash this one more time to have him confronted with Michelle’s history with us as witnesses, then to devise a plan that either he can live with and contract to or one that we need to take further action.
It is amusing or if I let it be sad to say that I was gone for over an hour and he never realized that I was missing. The whole time I had mental gymnastics over what I was going to say about my whereabouts. Ron stayed home to fix dinner after we had gone grocery shopping earlier in the day. My father was perusing his coin collection when I returned and he never said a word and neither did I. Tonight my brother and I join forces over this situation for the first time. Since I am the elder by seven years and the more assertive by several lifetimes, I am the leader of this pack. For all of the times that I have had this role professionally, it is only a distant memory when having to perform the same tasks for my own.
4:30 am everyone is sound asleep. The phone rings and it is our room. It quickly incorporates into my dream and becomes easily ignored. Ron was not so lucky and answered it. That woke me enough to know that it was Nadine on the line. Hearing Ron’s responses I could guess what was being said on the other side of the conversation.
Ron: It is 4:30 in the morning. He is sleeping. Who is this?
Ron: What is it you need?
Ron: No, I do not think I will wake him up. What is it you need?
Ron: What kind of emergency is it?
Ron: Don’t you have family or friends you can call to help you out?
Ron: If this is an emergency why do I hear other people in the background laughing?
Ron: I don’t think you are his friend. Friends do thing both ways and he seems to give and you have not given anything back.
Ron: No, I am not waking him. Good-night! And the phone is hung up.
My hazy thoughts were waiting for the phone to ring again, but it did not happen. It is going to be a long day.
Family Reflections
Senagers – (seen-a-gers) The a is a long a like the word able. Definition: Any human being over the age of 60 years old, such as a senior, who void of mental illness, regresses to the rebellious stages of a chronological teenager. Example: The senager became defensive when questioned about his helping others who have the potential to abuse him.
Quoted from the Ryan James’ Book of Creative, but Unorthodox Words Needed to Deal With Life’s Unexpected Situations, 1st ed.
Friday afternoon was one of those days where the moisture hung in the air, but was too stubborn and sadistic to rain and provide relief. The air was warm and breezy, even if the sun was too shy to show it’s face. It was the type of day that zapped your energy just because. There was no reason needed, it just did. It was the type of day that the last thing in the world you wanted to do was confront your father about his activities. Life is not always a multiple-choice quiz, sometimes there are essays to be written or spoken whether you want to or not. This was one of those days that demanded an oration. I just needed to wait for my back-up buddy, my brother. He was planning on leaving work early, but I was secretly hoping he would not be able to make it. This is one of the few times, where I could justify and rationalize procrastination.
I need to pause here to make a confession. At some point in the morning, the phone rang. I ran for the upstairs phone thinking it may be Nadine yet again. It was serendipity that I picked up the receiver at the exact same time that my father picked up the downstairs phone. Neither the caller nor the called knew I was sharing the line with them. It was Fran, my Dad’s first private welfare recipient turned “girlfriend”. She asked him if Nadine had called and he said that she hadn’t only because we had not had the chance to tell him of the early morning wake up call. She went on to tell Dad that Nadine stole her car (the Buick that he gave her) and that she, Fran had called the police to report it stolen. Fran claimed the value of the car as $3,000 to make this a felony. There was a warrant out for Nadine’s arrest. Fran said that when she went to take her son Chris to school that morning, her car keys, the car, and Nadine were all suspiciously missing. The story went that Nadine had taken the 14-year-old neighbor boy along with her and was out drinking all night long. Nadine had not returned home yet. The worst part about eavesdropping is that there are so many questions that are left unasked. If Nadine had not come home yet, how did she know she was out all night, had the kid next door with her, and was out drinking? None of these questions did my father think to ask. I was left with missing pieces to this puzzle, but was still somewhat relived to think this may mean the end of Nadine in my fathers’ life. Fran continued with the admonition not to lend Nadine any more money. She asked if he had and he confessed to twice in the last week. Fran said that Nadine has been using drugs for the last few weeks. All of the time she was speaking, my father reactions were repetitions of the monosyllabic “Oh” in various intonations. Then he uttered, “But she went through rehabilitation once. I thought she was done with all of that stuff.” Fran assured him that once is not enough and had high hopes that Nadine would find herself in jail to help in her rehab process once again.
At first, I thought there may be some hope for Fran. She has not come around since we have been here, so I have never met her. Then she questioned whether or not “his son was around” and my suspicions were renewed. When he replied that I was upstairs, she continued with her saga of her telephone being on the verge of being disconnected. She said she worked out a payment schedule with the phone company and had to pay $120.00 by October 2nd. She did not come out and ask for the money, but she did stroke his ego by saying how he has provided for everything that Nadine needed and she treats him like this. The next chorus was “I never ask you for anything.” Hint, hint, I won’t ask you for the money for the phone, but if you should offer. My father’s response was to ask for a payment coupon that she was supposed to provide to him so that he could pay a bill. She claimed she had not found it yet, so he huffily reminded her that he needed it to make the payment. The unanswered question is is Fran the one who defaulted on the loan he co-signed for?
This was one of the few times my brother has ever been on time. He left work early and was sitting in the living room when I came down the stairs. I was curious as to what reason he gave our father for this unexpected visit, but did not have the opportunity to ask. Ron was prepared to fix dinner and to keep the children inside playing with their animated games while we had our conversation outside. Michelle was not home yet, though she went into work at 10:00 am. Kevin, Dad and I went out on the back porch and sat around the table. Dad still did not have a reaction to this masculine gathering.
I began the conversation (notice I did not use lecture) with the statement that Kevin and I felt like we were called to the Principal’s office for a Parent-Teacher Conference, because our kid has been bad. Dad sitting comfortably in a wide wooden chair, planted himself even more firmly in his seat, flung one arm over the back of the chair back and said, “Oh, yea!” I could tell from his posture that this was going to be a long discussion and despite the thousands of times that I have been in this situation, professionally, this was not going to be a professional experience. He had a smirk on his face that reminded me of a high ranking political figure and I had the same compulsion to smack it off of his face.
We told him St. Vincent de Paul was concerned since he was not blocking his phone number when making calls to their clients, was using their phone number for return calls and was giving out his home address. He refuted everything. We said they are aware of his giving private loans to people that they have refused. He could not deny this, but he defended his actions by saying he interviewed these people to make sure they had jobs and could pay him back. He set up payment plans with them and had them sign contracts for repayment. These were no interest loans. He claimed he only gave money to those who were good for it. I then offered the information that Michelle had told me. “I understand from Michelle that you co-signed for a loan with one of your ‘clients’ and she stiffed the company, so that now you are responsible for it.” His response was that Michelle had a big mouth.
He gave scenario after scenario and I tried to explain that if someone is short on their electric bill for the last month of summer due to a 10 month work contract, they need to learn to better budget their money over the time they worked. This is especially true if this is the fourth year it has happened. He was getting upset, defensive, and close to hostile in his defense of the “good work” he is doing. My brother was a passive observer during this debate. I used every professional Social Work example I had ever experienced to define the problem for him personally as well as St. Vincent as an agency. Most of the responses were “Yea!”. At some point, he said that I did not know what I was talking about and that he had an appointment at 6:30 that evening when one of his clients was going to pay him in full for his generous loan. Ten minutes later Ron came out apologizing for the interruption and said there was a woman on the phone that could not be persuaded to leave a message or call back. Dad went to get the phone and Kevin said to me, “Colleen said you wanted me to follow your lead, so I am being quiet.” I reacted with “I wanted you to follow my lead, but feel free to jump in any time.” When Dad returned, it turned out that was his evening appointment and the woman has some other hard luck story that prevented her from paying her debt for yet another week. He believed her in total without question.
The things that Kevin and I were incredulous about were the stories that people told him that he believes without asking further questions or verifying the facts.
My boss deducted $180.00 from my pay for some unknown reason.
Someone stole my rent money order from the apartment mailbox and I can’t find the
receipt.
I need $35.00 to pay for a court fine and my paycheck was not ready yet.
The list of excuses are transparent enough to make a savvy 13 year old wonder, hesitate and deny similar requests, yet he finds them fully plausible.
My last bit of ammunition was to present my reasons in part, as to why my mother and I did not speak for the last four years of her life, thinking that family bonds could usurp strangers needs. I started to explain that my mother as he well knew was also an unofficial social worker needing to do good deeds for strangers. She did this to the point of putting her immediate family obligations on hold in order to make a stranger’s life more pleasant. Having had to deal with this most of my life, I had been to the point of no return when she did it the last time we were visiting at Christmas in 1994. I did not make it home for Christmas very often since moving to California, much to my mother’s chagrin. What was planned by all to be a family gathering of peace and joy to celebrate the season and the fact that Ron and I could be there to join in, turned into a shambles of a holiday due to my mother’s need to save face and do for others. She totally sabotaged all of the plans all of us made so that she could accommodate others and put the rest of us through the misery while she did it. That was the last time I had allowed her to disrupt my life, but let me include here for the reader that there were more issues between us then this, before moving forward.
With this expressed, I looked at him in the eye and said “Am I going to having some semblance of a family or not? Let me know now and I can move on with the rest of my life. I asked what really happened last year when you came out to my graduation? I felt like we had a wonderful two weeks together, we were able to bond again and we started to develop a closeness that we never had in the past. We e-mailed each other at least twice a week and had a sincere interest in each other’s life, but then it all stopped on your end. When I called, you told me you were too tire from St. Vincent work to check the computer. It was only until later that I found out it was Fran, then Michelle that were taking all of your time and not St. Vincent work. If you want to put strangers ahead of your children and let them wear you out physically, mentally, and emotionally, let me know now. You cannot even be available for Ron and I to take you out to dinner or a movie. Tears started to well and dribble down my cheeks. You have to run home to baby-sit for Michelle or fix the kid’s dinner. Who is more important, Michelle or I? You have not done anything with Kevin and the Boy Scouts for months. You were so active with your grandsons and their involvement in the Scouts and then one of these women shows up and you drop you grandsons instantly. Don’t you think they notice and wonder what is happening? We have been here over two weeks and you have not had one evening to spend with us alone, because some stranger’s children burden you. You are 73 years old and do not have the patience or stamina to maintain this type of schedule for very long.”
His retort was that when Alexis starts school, he will have the morning free to do what he wants. My response was that this was not his family; he should have all the time in the world to do what he wants since he is retired. It is not his responsibility to take care of other’s children, especially when she qualifies for childcare through the county. We had talked ourselves out for over two hours and he agreed to the meeting with Mary at St. Vincent de Paul the following noon to discuss her concerns.
Kevin had a scout meeting and Ron had made dinner, so we went in to eat. Michelle had come home in the meantime and immediately went to the back porch once we had gone to the dinner table. My father was busy getting the kid’s plates prepared for them, when I said “They have a mother and she is here, let her do that.” He snapped back, “Well then you tell her.” I went out and told Michelle to come take care of her children. She came in briefly, arranged their plates and disappeared once more.
Saturday morning, calm airs were circulating and it seemed like there was hope in the future. Our meeting was at noon and Dad rode with Ron and I. The meeting was at the St. Vincent de Paul office and Mary started it immediately once Kevin and Colleen arrived. She confronted my father with the fact that they knew he was making private loans or donations. He gave her the same stories that he gave Kevin and I the night before. He defended his actions with all his might, but Mary was rigid with the rules of the agency and with the common sense that they may have more background information on these people that he may not have been privy to. She gave examples of the numerous times some of the clients have received aid. She explained the reasoning for why some are now refused. She listed a long list of Michelle’s offenses and stated that they had given her $200.00 for a security deposit and then the next day Mary saw her in the pet store with two purebred dogs and Michelle spent $200.00 on fancy dog supplies. She told him the list of people that Michelle had used prior to him and that if Michelle had gone into a motel when leaving her last apartment, she could have qualified for the Section 8 low income housing. She reminded him that Michelle did not do a thing for her children when she was around and she had a reputation of going out drinking with girlfriends. She included that Michelle did not do a thing to assist in the cleaning of his house and left it all to him. She had personal knowledge of this having been to his home.
Mary tried to explain the nature of co-dependent behavior and his trying to fill other needs with these actions. She suggested he get involved with their Stephen Ministry, where a trained paraprofessional would be a sounding board for him. I requested that this match be made prior to my leaving, so that I could be assured that it happened. He had agreed to it. Mary also insisted that Michelle had to leave and October 1st was not unreasonable. She told him that many did not like the motel that was used for the homeless, but due to this fact, they were able to organize their finances even faster and find apartments. She said that Michelle was a user and when she bled him dry, she would be off to someone else. Mary included that she does nothing for her children and probably should not have them, but at this point since my father is doing the caring, there is nothing to be done about it. I asked him in front of everyone, if he would agree to tell Michelle to leave by the first of October and if he wanted Kevin and I to assist him with this task. He said “Yes!”.
Once again, I shared the fact that it upset me and concerned me that the father I once had respect for who had incredible intellectual interests has turned into a domestic with no personal interests. I reminded him of how he used to love to read Dickens, Shakespeare, listen to classical music, and had visions of travel and use to speak about taking classes at night school for personal interest. Now, he doesn’t have the time or motivation for any of it. Then I asked him if he commit to take two weeks and visit us wherever we are in Europe? He said he would like that and again my eyes puddle up and betrayed my emotions. I asked him in front of witnesses where he would like to go and we would be there for him. He said he always wanted to go to Ireland. Ron and I agreed that although we had not had plans for Ireland, we would rearrange our travel to include it. Mary’s final words were that he was on restriction. He would not have ‘clients’ of his own, but could go out as a partner with another worker, he could dole out food on the appropriate Sunday, but other than that, he was restricted. He agreed.
We left the meeting in a sense of peace and accomplishment. Ron and I offered to go grocery shopping and get the food for dinner if Kevin would cook and we could have a family dinner together. Later at my Dad’s house, he told him how much trouble he had with women and that he had such bad luck with them. I did not tell him that I have heard from multiple sources that had asked three different ones to marry him. Later, we went for dinner and it was like being part of a family.
On the way home from Kevin’s house, I told my father that I had wanted to go to the Quaker service on Sunday morning. Ron had agreed to go and asked if he would like to attend also. He said he would. The service was scheduled for 10:30. We did not get home until 2:00 am.
Sunday morning, I overslept and jumped in the shower. Michelle and the kids were still in their room, which I found unusual. The kids are usually downstairs watching television by 7:30. By the time I was ready to go, I had to rush Ron to shower and my father was still sleeping soundly. Rather than wake him, I left him a note explaining I did not want to wake him to rush to get ready and we would see him after the service.
When we returned home, the house was empty and the car was gone. Michelle had talked about taking the kids to the Philadelphia zoo, which would mean using my father’s car for the day. I made pancakes for Ron and I not knowing when my father would return, but he did after we had finished eating, the dishes washed and put away. He had walked to church, which is a considerable distance from his house. He fixed his breakfast refusing my offer to cook something for him. He was quiet and Ron and I both knew something was wrong, but decided it best not to question it.
An hour later, the phone rang. It was Fran inviting my father for lunch. It was three o’clock, but he decided to go anyway. As I was at the sink doing his dishes, I asked him if he spoke to Michelle about her hours for Monday or Tuesday, so that he, Kevin and I could speak with her. It was not until then that I found his source of discontent.
His response was “I don’t know what her hours are yet, but Michelle has decided that she doesn’t want anymore meetings.”
I could not contain my anger and frustration with these bizarre events. I shot back with “I don’t care what Michelle wants. It is what we want. She has no business making any decisions in this matter. I will tell her if you don’t want to.”
With more hostility than I have ever seen my father muster, he shouted back, “She reminded me of our agreement that she could stay here for two months or until she has the money to get back on her feet and I am abiding by that agreement.”
With more anger, less professionalism and years of hurt I yelled in response, “You heard what Mary had said about Michelle yesterday. How naïve can you be? If you are going to meet us in Ireland, there is no way she can be living here alone.”
He snapped “She is staying here according to our agreement and that is all there is to it.”
The fearful child in me retorted with “ I will make sure that Kevin calls Child Protective Services twice a week and if he doesn’t, I know Daphnee will. She is an unfit parent and someone needs to protect those children.”
At this point, he walked out, put his bicycle helmet on and rode his bike to Fran’s house. I called Ron in from outside, told him what had happened and told him to start packing. I was not going to allow myself to witness my father’s destruction by some stranger who has more control over him then the bonds of his children. I e-mailed Mary at St. Vincent and gave her an update of the morning’s events. I asked for her to check into the possibility of getting Adult Protective Services involved for financial abuse and to further restrict his involvement in St. Vincent’s until he could show more sound judgment. I called my brother at work and told him what happened. He was as incredulous as I, but invited us to stay with him. We packed up our things and left while he was lunching with his other girlfriend.
Before going to Kevin’s, we stopped at my friend Daphnee’s home. She is a Social Worker also and once worked for the State of New Jersey. She agrees with me that due to my father’s ability to function independently, even with his poor judgment and lack of common sense, there is no recourse for a financial conservator or guardianship. There is a lawyer on the Board of Directors at St. Vincent de Paul, so I will e-mail Mary and ask for her to check on it also.
I have cleansed myself of my father. He is now my brother’s responsibility if he chooses the task. If he doesn’t, my father is on his own to learn the lessons we tried to bring to light, but which he refuses to learn. I have said many times, that family does not always have to be related by blood. I was blessed to experience family when I lived with strangers in Michigan Now I have Ron’s family to be a part of. Family is sometimes where you find it and adopt those who are welcoming and nurturing of you. and those memories have sustained me for years.
For all of you who have my father’s address as a way of contacting us via postal mail, we have now changed all of that to Daphnee’s address:
Wednesday cannot come soon enough and then we will be flying from Newark to Charlotte to London. Flight information to follow.
RJ
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