January 10, 2007

11:55 a.m.

West Virginia and After

Charleston, West Virginia

I hear the distant harmonious whistle of a train somewhere in town, amid the traffic noise off Court Street and out toward the highway. We got here today under the guidance of Chris's new GPS system, whose software is outdated and which kept sending us down dark, deserted roads to find restaurants that didn't exist. It has a female, British voice. We thought there should be a button one could push if the directions turned out to be wrong, upon which it would emit a number of possible answers: "Sorry. I admit I was wrong." "Please, spank me." "Forgive me; I'm premenstrual." Chris said something about adding a blow-up doll feature, but I don't know.

Anyway it was about 11 hours to get here; we went in one car this time and Chris drove the whole way. Our presenter, who books us an arts center, a church, and a school all on the same weekend in the same town, puts us up in the Embassy Suites hotel here in Charleston and man, it's posh! I get an entire suite TO MYSELF, for THREE NIGHTS, and the schedule is easy and there's a gym and a free cooked breakfast. We're on the top floor so there's a nice view of the city. Some of the trees on the main drag still have their white Christmas lights on. I wish I had a nice glass of wine, but I do have a good book, and I'll be going to sleep soon anyway.

We had two great First Night gigs on New Year's Eve; it went without a hitch even thought they were 3-1/2 hours apart. I stayed overnight at James's. We got up late, ate a diner breakfast at noon, watched some Little Britain, I dozed against his shoulder on the couch for a while, and then I drove home.

I spoke with my Celebrancy teacher this week, who tried valiantly to keep me in the class (she's very sweet, but she's much younger than I am and has her irons in fewer fires), but in the end I still chose to defer til next year. So instead of cramming for Class One tonight I am writing to Diaryland. Much more satisfying.

The big news lately is that my estranged brother Austin, about whom I have probably never written here, is getting up to more no good in Texas, and it may come to an unprecedented climax. Rose and I are generally not in touch with him; she had to have some contact during the aftermath of my father's death, but he's basically a rotten apple that no one here wants anything to do with. Rianna, his wife of some 26 years, who tried to leave him four years ago when he was having a(nother) affair and getting up to criminal activities, got back together with him after her son shot himself in the head at the girlfriend's house, and Rianna fell apart. We've had no contact with her since then until recently, when she called Rose to tell her that they were finally splitting up.

A little background: my brother was a very difficult birth. He was large, and mom was in labor for over 24 hours when they decided to pull him out with forceps. He entered the world looking like a conehead, which righted itself in time, but my mother actually wondered, over the years, whether he suffered any brain damage from the trauma. He has always been without conscience, a con artist, a salesman, a hedonist. He drinks, smokes, eats and takes drugs to excess. He is diabetic and grossly overweight. He loves to file lawsuits and then go on vacation with the money. He and Rianna at one point moved from their longtime home in Texas to Florida, because the IRS was after them. Bankruptcy followed, though somehow they managed to hold onto their timeshare in Florida. The first almost-split took place when they were in Florida around '02. I can just hear him talking Rianna into staying together; he was done with the 19-year-old receptionist anyway, and had gotten fired from the car dealer where he was supposed to be selling cars (but was fucking the receptionist instead). Rianna had a breakdown over her son, and has been on disability ever since.

So here is what we learn from Rianna: Three years ago Austin was in a car accident. He was mostly all right but his back needed surgery. Apparently he'd had these ongoing back problems already, but he's trying to make it look like they're solely from the accident, and he's filed (surprise!) a million-dollar lawsuit against the other driver. Surgery fused 5 vertebrae in his lower back, and there followed years of physical therapy. He now gets around on a motorized scooter, though I gather he can still walk as well. The litany of prescription drugs he is on is frightening. Oxycontin, valium, ambien, a dozen others. Muscle relaxants galore, uppers for daytime. On top of this he's doing coke and crack. Then they employed a young woman (21) they know who works for a home health care place, to come in and help Austin with his p.t., look after the house, clean up, etc. This turned into three-hour massages (sans panties -- "I don't like the panty line") and Austin groaning loudly and generally inappropriate interaction, right in front of Rianna. Miss Perkybutt also has a four-year-old son whom she lets run amok in the back yard, tormenting the dogs. Austin has given her significant gifts of jewelry, again with no attempt to hide this from RIanna.

There were fights; then they decided to go to the timeshare for a week and do Disney. (Hey, they're both on disability; no work schedule; why not?) On the morning of departure, Austin announced that Ms. Flashpants was coming along. There was more fighting. They got to Disney and Austin disappeared; he was supposed to pick Rianna up at one point and never showed, so she walked the half mile or whatever back to the hotel; turns out he'd hooked up with some folks and was doing crack somewhere (and probably getting a panty-free rubdown in the bargain).

Light dawns over Marblehead. (This is a town in Massachusetts, for those of you unfamiliar with New England, and this is one of my favorite phrases to describe epiphanies.) Rianna suddenly comes to her dwindling senses and says, "What the HELL am I still doing with this asshole?" There is more fighting. When they return, she is at her volunteer gig when a call comes in from a friend in the Sherriff's office. Friend says, in a muffled voice obviously meant for no one else to hear, "Do you know you have a loaded gun in your vehicle?" Rianna avows that no, she has no such thing; she is phobic about guns ever since her son offed himself, and the friend says, "Your husband has just called the sherriff and told him that there is a loaded gun in your car, that you've threatened to kill him, and that he should go and check it out." Rianna goes out to discover that this is all true; there is a loaded handgun in her glove compartment. She calls a friend to help her because she cannot touch the gun; he does not succeed in convincing her to take it to the police, but instead they go to the house (Austin is not there) and hide the gun. Rianna then packs as much as she can quickly, takes two of the three dogs, and takes off for her brother's home in California, the only sanctuary she can think of.

Next day she gets a call from the insurance company; Austin has cancelled the insurance on the car. She drives to California anyway.

At her brother's, she gets a call from the Sherriff back home wanting to know where she is so he can serve divorce papers to her. He also says Austin is claiming she stole a number of items from the house. She does not tell him where she is, but explains what Austin has done and suggests he go to the house and ask Austin to open the safe and show him what is in there. The handgun is one item (she does not tell him it was planted in her car first); there are also two sawed-off shotguns and another illegal firearm. Two rings her son gave her are missing from the safe, she says. She assumes Austin has hocked them. The things he is accusing her of stealing are, in part, things my mother gave her in gratitude for helping her move from her Georgia home to Connecticut before she died.

A few days later, Austin, whose whereabouts are known to the Sherriff, is served with divorce papers. I don't know what happened regarding the safe, but if he's in violation of gun laws in Texas he may be in for a long prison term. May I say, in all simplicity, I hope that happens. Incarceration is the only thing that will stop this man.

Meanwhile he has a daughter from his first marriage many years ago. Her mother managed to keep Austin from contacting Livvy until a letter from Austin managed to get through when she was about 16. She's well into her 20s now; over the years she apparently has come to realize that Austin is a shit, and has little relationship with him, though she loves Rianna very much. We have never met her or heard from her... until now.

Whether coincidence, ruse or fate, Livvy has chosen now to get in touch with Rose. When she first came to Austin she was a young, unwed mother, overweight and troubled. Now she's twenty-something, married, with three kids whom she apparently adores, and seems to be on a better track. Her reason for contacting Rose, awkward and hesitant as it was, was that she realized she has a whole branch of family out here she's never met. She' sad that she never got to meet "grandma" (my God, that's my mother) or gramps before they died. As one who has ONE close living relative, a crappy other sibling, and an aunt and uncle in Georgia whom I never see, I do understand the need to reestablish the tribe. I thought it was touching and brave that she offered herself. I don't think there's any hidden motive, either; we just need our families, and maybe now she's old enough to realize that there is strength in numbers.

In spite of some mixed feelings and caution Rose wrote her back, and Livvy was thrilled. I plan to write, too, when I have a little time to think about it all and what I would say. Imagine, me, with grandnieces and nephews. I hope to Goddess they got the good and honest genes my brother seems to have missed out on.

Tired now. Hotel channel surfing and bed.

********

Okay, I saw part of a Jane Mansfield documentary last night and then dreamed about tits galore. Then there was the dream about being in a stranger's house with the band, and I had to pee before we left, so went upstairs to find a bathroom. The teenage son was still sleeping and his room adjoined what looked like a bathroom, but the toilet had a complex contraption on it for drying bathing suits and towels. By the time I had unearthed all that I realized it wasn't a toilet at all, and the son had gotten up and was peeing in the real bathroom next door. Sheesh. I hate those dreams. Might as well get up as have dreams like that. The train is calling again in the distance, Charleston is waking up, and so am I. Time to make the coffee.

********

One sensible breakfast later, I checked out the workout room and the pool, and wished I'd brought my suit. I made a conscious decision not to bring it, but the pool looks inviting. I'll hit the treadmill in a while. I visited the gift shop, manned today by an Indian fellow who recently moved here from 17 years in California. Even this unseasonably mild weather seems too cold for him, even though he lived in Chicago for a long time too. His cousin runs the shop. I had to ask how much a few things were, which made me think some prices might be arbitrary. Candles on sale; buy five of these, get this holder free, or this one, or this one. I wonder if he had a hard time in California, or got divorced, or some other life-changing thing. I bought a little stuffed kitty for Dar, and a "Hillbilly Livin' " magnet of which there was a whole series. I'd have bought them all because they were funniest together, but too expensive en masse.

This place is so cool. I wonder what time sound check is.

I'm rereading one of my favorite books, "Jitterbug Perfume," by Tom Robbins. It's a great one to read aloud if you love doing character voices. I guess at some of the accents.

********

Excellent workout; I ran a record 40 minutes on the treadmill, which is easier than running in the real world. At the community center where I work out at home, they have spray bottles of diluted Simple Green and paper towels so everyone can wipe off the machines after each use. It made me wonder how much sweat is on these machines, and how often they get cleaned. I haven't seen much of my mates today. I stopped by to drop off set list info from last year, but we breakfasted at different times and they seemed to want to be doing their own thing.

********

Sunday night

We're playing in four different classes at a Montessori School tomorrow morning. Another very early day, then some 12 hours of traveling. I'll probably conk out in the car in spite of the back seat being more than halfway inhabited with gear. I'm tired. We played a lovely church service this morning, and went to town on one of Carol's sort of blues-country tunes, in which our host, who is one of the speakers at the church and a really great harmonica player, joined us.

I did not keep my resolution against dessert this weekend. Oh, whatever.

Anyway we had the rest of the day off, and were going to see a movie, but we took our host out to a late lunch which went until 3:00, and by then we were out of steam. I just stayed in the room channel-surfing and contemplating a nap (without ever taking one) until evening. We had a little rehearsal tonight, throwing together a school set for tomorrow. The nightly Manager's Reception proffered free drinks, so I brought up a glass of wine. Hard to believe it's almost time to leave already.

I think about touring for a few months at a time as some do, like if we were being booked by someone high end who could put us into bigger rooms, and staying out for longer, in better hotels and playing almost every night. I could stand it if we had a team behind us promoting the gigs, pushing a CD, setting it all up for us. And we'd make so much money... and then I think how ironic it would be, since I've been planning my life as if we'll be phasing out in a couple of years, trying to slowly get all these other endeavors in place. What if suddenly I had just about NO time to see James? What if my little book company and my Reiki practice and my Celebrancy had to be put on hold because suddenly STUFF HAPPENED? All I can say is, not a moment too soon.

Maybe I can even fall asleep before midnight tonight. The alarm is going off at 6:00, much too early for rising at this time of year.

********

Monday morning, 6:05am

Fifteen minutes ago I had a dream of being in a big house where a party was to take place. The owners were Hispanic, apparently. I didn't live there but I did... I had a bureau and I found some silver-blue wide-wale cordeuroy pants I didn't know I had. I was delighted. Then I went downstairs and there were things arranged all over the living room floor, family photos, whatever, for the guests to see. My friend Alice from Texas was there with me. I was helping clear out a bit of my own clutter and I lost a picture of my old friend Larry, whom I haven't seen since about 1985. It slipped out of the frame and another picture was behind it. I couldn't find the picture of Larry and then there was a commotion in another room and I went in to see what the noise was. That back room had a bank of windows on one wall and I saw we were right at the edge of a harbor. My dad (who died three years ago) was there, and he said a fighter jet had gone down. I looked into the water and sure enough, the cockpit and tail of a black fighter jet was sticking out of the water, swirling, the pilot still trapped inside. It was sinking fast. I ran back out to tell Alice and bring her in, and by the time I returned the jet had sunk, and no one could do anything. The water was roiling, people were screaming, and I knew the pilot was going to drown. I wondered how airtight the planes were.

Hmmm, Chicken Picata at 9:30pm?

How weird to be up so early. I look like absolute hell. Gotta shower.

********

Wednesday, almost noon

I�m home. I�m on hold with Verizon Wireless while Kenny tries to figure out who is using my cell phone number every month to vote on TV, at about ten dollars a pop. I also frequently get porn text messages now. I never had these problems with my old number...

Okay, I was on hold for so long that I was bumped back to another operator, but she�s now figuring out a way to stop all the nonsense. She�s researching whatever chat club stuff this number was previously subscribed to, and endeavoring to cancel it. I love getting someone competent.

I�ve been on the phone all morning, which is not how I envisioned this day... addressing my home phone bill, which is going up as my promotional things expire. I�m bummed today about all this money going to two phone bills, neither of which I seem to be able to reduce any further. It�s ridiculous that we�ve come to this � can�t do business without internet access, cell phone, and home phone. Also I now have to fast tonight and drive 50 minutes tomorrow morning to have bloodwork done (routine checkup, way overdue). An option is to stay overnight at Rose�s, as she�s 5 minutes from the place, but I just don�t want to! I want to sleep in my own dang bed. So it just means I have to get up very early tomorrow and be up for a couple of hours before I can eat anything. I can defer today�s laundry to tomorrow and bring it to Rose�s then. Just means most of the day will be sucked up over there. More reason to go to the gym again today, though now my mind is all fuzzy.

Okay. I now have the numbers of the stupid subscriptions my cell phone number is still attached to, and she told me how to unsubscribe from them. The bill is all straightened out. I think I�ll make lunch; maybe then I�ll feel more clear about the rest of the day. There�s an aquacize class I wanted to go to at 2:00 (exercising in the shallow end of the pool! Something fun for someone slightly apprehensive about being in deeper water) but it�s hard to imagine getting organized for that. Funny how a few detours can derail me like this.

I ate so horribly last weekend � everything in sight, basically, outa control � that I�ve put myself back on a points-counting regimen for a while. It seems the only way I�ll pay attention to what I�m eating. It has become a sudden obsession, this counting, this measuring and planning. All food has become wonderful. I got curious, too, as to how much protein I was eating, how much fiber. So I�m chronicling everything. Usually I can reverse the junk food habit when I make the decision to, but I was making the decision and still going for the dessert. That concerned me. The fact that I was thinking, �Well, I�m 48; why not just let myself get a little fat now?� is telling. Anyway it might mean I�ll eat lunch on time for a change instead of deciding to go out on all my errands from twelve to three-thirty, by which time I�m starving and don�t know whether to eat lunch or dinner.

NEWS FLASH!! Chris just called me to read an email that just came in from England. We�ve been accepted at the Cropredy Festival (Fairport Convention annual reunion, for those of you old enough to know who they are) for this summer!!!!!!!! We�re going to England!!!!!!!! Chris has never been out of the country at all. Yikes, I have to get my passport renewed!

And that�s a perfect way to end this entry.