Puffy white clouds and small patches of blue today. Rain coming, the weather people say. I can feel it in my bones, gimme sympathy. Oh, wait, that would be a line I stole from the Metrics:
It’s early afternoon and I’ve just seen off the nine-year-old grandson who spent the night last night. Per his request, I had made “white lasagna” for dinner–lasagna with Béchamel sauce, Italian sausage, mushrooms, and Parmesan–which he devoured piece after piece of and finished off this morning. He and I had a good time watching “The Blues Brothers,” despite my husband being a complete no-show after promising he’d be home by two in the afternoon to take GS somewhere and not showing up until ten. (Fact: you don’t have to be an alcoholic to act like one.)
It helped that my younger son dropped by with my other nine-year-old grandson, so the two boys played happily and my son and I had a long and fruitful conversation about alcoholism, AA, resentment, fear and what can be done to relieve it. My son is very disciplined about recovery. Twice a day, he spends time writing down an inventory of his resentments and the fears they’re based on, then meditates for 20 or 30 minutes. It’s given his life a kind of balance it never had before, kept anxiety from taking over, kept him sober for 11 (or is it 12?) years. I respect him hugely.
Last night, I was so furious at my husband, I tried doing the same kind of inventory. It was quite illuminating about fearing abandonment and rejection, helped me put things in perspective–i.e., it’s not always about ME.
I love seeing the grandkids, and this one is particularly dear to my heart because he and his parents were living with us the first four years of his life. After dinner, he pulled his Halloween costume out of his backpack and announced he was wearing it to bed. Take a gander:
It’s called a morphsuit or second skin. Form-fitting, covering the entire body including the face, it’s actually a little sinister, as though you’re looking at some alien form. With infinite patience and persuasion, I persuaded him not to keep the skin-tight front and back hoodie over his face at night. “Breathing,” I said, “it’s a good thing.” He looked at me scornfully, but complied. I suggested reflector strips on the back for Halloween, but he would have none of it. The whole idea is to move quietly through the night undetected. (Except, presumably, when you hold out your bag and shout, “Trick or treat!” Happily, this is not my problem. His parents will be with him and will keep him safe.) I tried to imagine myself in a morphsuit. Shudder-worthy. Witches robes for me.