May 22, 2008

A BON CHAT, BON RAT

Cali called from across town to complain that I have not updated my blog enough lately. Despite that he sees more of me now than he ever did in the last 16 years since we met cute at the Sea-Tac airport. "I don't have much to say right now," I said. "But I have already read Hounds of Love," he said. I can tell you all I know and that's about it, then I have to go.

I took my dad to the park yesterday for a walk and some outdoor respite. He is ambitious about not using his walker and I said only on the grass, cos I'm the boss lately. After the walk, we were resting on the blanket and I was watching people come and go, and thought "wow, people in california are so committed to exercise, they go walking in the hills even if they only have 20 minutes." It took me another four minutes to realize I had actually parked me and my dad right at the prime entrance spot for men who use the park for clandestine encounters. Exercise time in the cruisey zone. I didn't alert my dad to this. He was sleeping.

Taking care of someone all the time is easy when you love them the most. Not easy. Simple. It's less perspective shift, more lobotomy. Nothing else in my life is as important as this, so I just don't think about it. My dad is a kind and gracious patient. Last night I woke him up to take his blood pressure and I said "how do you feel?" and he laughed and said "Annoyed." Sometimes I wonder how it will feel to return into my regular life, or rather, my Chicago life, back into working on making the book after all of this, returning to routine. My life already feels different because I have a much greater knowledge of my friends love and their willingness to, for example, deliver cat litter to my broken-legged roommate. My days are one extended Friendship Is... mug. "Friendship Is... 5 lbs. of Tidy Cat and dropping my Netflix in the mail."

I'm here until the end of June, I'm imagining. I mostly just tend, and cook and wrangle with all the stuff that has to be wrangled. I miss the cats, my rusted-ass bike and how funny all my friends are. People here are not as funny or as angry. I miss both; I'm into outrage and lol's and potholes and struggle and thats why I like Chicago. I don't see poor people here anywhere. It's weird to go days and not even casually encounter poverty. Maybe Glendale is just not the place to find it.

Last night I bought supplies and then potted every pot Arlie could find in and around his house because I needed to do something that was not important. An activity of no weight of consequence. 12 pots of Zinnias that may or may not bloom after I am gone from here.

Posted by Jessica at May 22, 2008 05:19 PM | TrackBack