What I Did This Time of Year in 1997

Well, for one thing I didn't actually have this calendar; it was one of those years where I had a rare miss in my collection (hard times). But by sheer chance that February I began one of my perfunctory efforts to keep a diary (so much easier now with a computer) and so preserved a snapshot of how things were shortly before the cascade of so many big changes. It begins well but kind of peters out, like most of my endeavors at the time. I regret the bit of turbulence between me and Mom, but there it is. The record slows down and ends shortly after the last entry here. New notes in [square brackets].

1997 FEBRUARY 18

 

The relevant data of my existence is already contained in some small yellow sheets on a pad; dates, names, and places. What follows is, I hope, a combination of journal, memoir, anecdote and essay that will reveal the essence of what I am to my contemporaries, to posterity, and most importantly, to myself. As I fast approach my thirty-fourth year I feel the need to take stock; to think about where I am and how I got here and where I should go; to find out what I really think, believe, and feel.

I'll begin with an anecdote. When John and I were in high school we worked on an epic fantasy in the Tolkien tradition. It was called Goldfire. We plotted an outline and discussed what would happen, and then John would write the chapter. We got about a third of the way through before it petered out. At places in the story outline, we were good enough plotters to know some incident was needed for the timing of the story, but weren't sure what to use. So to give ourselves some latitude and allow for organic growth in the tale, we simply wrote "Something happens here."

It struck me the other day that in the telling of my own story there are many spots where, dramatically speaking, something should have happened. At graduation, first love, leaving college, leaving home, even learning to drive, something should have happened, as it happens in most normal American lives at this period. Instead there are spots--"Nothing happens here."

Mine, of course, is not "a normal American life"--if there is such a thing. The dramatic accents are displaced, developments are delayed. I might go so far as to say it is naturally unnatural; that the unusual thing is the usual thing that happens to me or is what I do. For me to act, to quote, to use large or dramatic words or style is neither pretentious or unnatural, it's how I am.

Today, the day I start this autobiography, is February 18, 1997. It is a pleasantly warm day with fresh winds and racing clouds, clear light and emerald green winter grass. Trees are bare and drifts of dead leaves are still piled in corners, but there seems a tang of promised spring in the air. Plowing, mowing, and the song of innumerable birds in the trees. The clanking of Jimbo's windmill, the rustling of Sam's greenhouse plastic, the tinkling of distant chimes and the rude banging of dog-shed doors are all part of the vigorous wind's orchestra, along with hissing grass and roaring trees.

Pop went for his two-year anniversary checkup on his heart. Mom frazzled herself trying to cope with Kelsey and Kaitlyn. Mike recorded a special on[Thomas]Jefferson. John worked from 1 PM to 8 PM at Blockbuster. Meals were scrambled eggs and toast; ham and cheese sandwiches; ribs, cheese noodles, and spinach. I helped take care of the babies from 7:15 AM to about 10 Pm, while Pop was at the doctor's. Kelsey is big, smart, and strong for her age; she could identify two dimensional pictures at eighteen months. She's very curious and can already work buttons, switches, and doorknobs. She wants to be outside, or "shide" as she calls it, all the time now. Mike typed an inventory list for Nanny [still alive at the time!].

 

1997 FEBRUARY 19

A warm, wet day, with tornado and flash flood warnings at night. Meals: Tuna sandwiches; chili rice, dips, cream style corn. When John got home from work he and I went to town and got lottery tickets; I blew $7. John bought some gold-flecked drink and two six packs of Killian's Brown Ale to celebrate finishing a two week stint at work with no days off. I drank two ales. We watched a concluding episode of Deep Space 9, that joins the Cardassians and the Dominion and re-unites the Klingons and the Federation. Right now it is almost 3 AM and I am tired from sweeping and washing. I saw a program on the pyramids that had animation voiced by most of the cast of I, Claudius! I wonder what brought that about? Babelese recorded for the day: What is the difference between a drop and a wee drop? A wee drop is much larger.

 

1997 FEBRUARY 22

Big skip here. I've been very depressed, thanks to Mom.

On the 20th Mike and I went to the library. I got Burr by Gore Vidal; A History of the Devil by Gerald Messadie; Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut; and Zanies, a book about eccentrics. That night Mom was asleep; I was watching TV. When she woke up and went potty, she demanded the clicker. I said I was watching and in control. She said in a flat matter-of-fact voice "You don't control anything around here." Just to put me in my place. I simply left, and for the last few days have practiced 'erasing' her. This entails not looking at her, not speaking to her, and not being around her. I still do whatever job she asks me, and answer yes or no to direct questions, but little more. She knows I'm mad at her and becomes more conciliatory. It works better than all the arguing and fighting in the world.

The best thing that happened today was Mike and I worked on supper together: chicken fried patties, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans.

 

On the 21st, about 1 AM at night, Nippy and Rocky got in a fight. Apparently Rocky was still hanging out in the back of the yard when Mike thought he was [penned] in the garage as usual. It's so dark you can't always tell. I was washing dishes, heard the fight, and went to tell Mike, meeting Pop on the way out; he had heard it from his bedroom. He and Mike went out; Rocky had Nippy by the throat. Each grabbed a dog, trying to get them apart. I ran around uselessly trying to find something to hit them apart. At Mike's suggestion Pop hit Rocky in the balls: this made him let go. As it turned out Rocky didn't break the skin on Nippy's throat, where he could have easily killed him if he wanted. Instead he had bitten Nippy's penis. Not too badly apparently; he seems alright.

On the 21st John and I went to Wal-Mart and got a Luke in Stormtrooper disguise, Scout on Speederbike, and Vader Lightsaber. When we went to HEB to get a Zombie Spawn, of which there had been two, scant hours before, but now there were none, which depressed me a little. But we went to Hastings and looked at the action figures magazine at all the new Star Trek, Spawn, and Star Wars figures coming out.

 

I have now (22nd) finished Zanies (not bad) and Bluebeard (okay) and am on The History of the Devil (dry). I save Vidal for last as he's the most meaty.

Pop, perhaps, deserves a citation for bravery and ridiculousness: rushing out on a frosty night in only his baggy old underwear with the backyard light lit up for anyone to see, to save the dogs.

Mike doctored and stayed up with Nippy for hours till the bleeding stopped; the next day Nippy seemed able to urinate alright. We'll see how it goes.

 

1997 FEBRUARY 23, Sunday

Mom finally formally apologized to me. We had fajitas today; I had trouble making guacamole out of the rock-hard avacados Pop had bought. We, or rather I, set the crib back up in the living room. Are You Being Served? had Christmas episodes. I finished History and began Burr. Art Bell had the author of 5/5/2000 on to talk about upcoming world catastrophes, and Mike and I listened and commented as I washed dishes. I have out-lived so many end-of-the-world scares (and, let's face it, they're tittivating and interesting) that I'd actually have to see actual fire falling from the sky before I take another one seriously. We both agreed the most sensible attitude you could have about them is "Whudya gonna do?"

 

1997 FEBRUARY 24

A pretty ordinary day. Kids, nurse [Mom had a nurse come in to check on her every week], meals, TV. John had a lot of fun playing with Kelsey, giving her rides on a chair. Read Burr. It's just what I've been looking for in a Revolutionary War novel.

 

1997 FEBRUARY 25

Rainy, cold, and nasty. Tenor of the home good. Mom and Pop went poker playing and we cared for the kids till Andy picked them up. John had off today. A catch-as-catch-can meal plan all day. I haven't been able to write as many reflections yet as I had hoped; right now at 2:30 AM I am too tired.