Dangermond.org

A friend of mine in San Francisco was often fond of saying there are no answers in the back of the book we were given. And while that is mostly true the fact is there are answers to us individually. The moment we stop listening to what we should be doing, or how we should be reacting, and start listening to the inner dialogue inside of us, we find our way out of most dilemmas.

I find that when I’m in conflict about something, I tend to go out and ask my wide network of friends what to do about it. I consult the internet now as well – googling things like how to cope with a failing mother or how to stop berating myself for not doing all things I set out to do as well as how not to be perfect. But it’s when I stand back from the noise and listen to my gut that I get the best advice. If I feel like something I am doing is wrong, then no amount of siding with those friends who support my decision will make my gut feel better.

Yesterday, I was listening to two nasty messages that were left on my cellphone and I was able to stand back and see how clear the person thought they were right and how wrong they were for me. So what is the best way to handle – I tried first the Dangermond approach – avoidance. Then I sent a note to the parties that be and explained my position rationally.

Siblings that are tight are the exception not the norm is what my friend from Brazil said the other day. And you have to teach your blood relations how to treat you just as you do everyone else in the world.

We woke this morning to a silvery grey fog that hung and clung to landscape here on Bayou St. John. As Loca and I walked through the spooky park this morning, we marveled at how quiet the fog makes the world. It’s interesting because one of the lores of the South is that it is so hot people have their windows open and you can hear the private conversations for miles because voices travel easy over the viscuous humid air. But in the fog there is a silence that hangs like moss from the trees.

My mom said today that she is sick and tired of this – and I don’t much blame her. She’s hooked to the medical machine and there is nothing pretty about that. I tell the nurses every day, you make my job look easy and fun in comparison. Sheesh.

But meanwhile, while she is there, I’m the one with the rambling messages from my nutball sibling asking me what I did with a wicker table that was at mom’s house. This wicker table has taken on huge dimensions – inquiring minds would like to know – and for the life of me I am not sure what she is speaking about – is it the one that she gave mom centuries ago, the one that I believe mom gave either the woman who lived across from her or the guys who live downstairs – the only thing I remember is that someone gave mom another table that she had brought in and that one moved – but I thought it was in the spare room.

The point is WHO CARES – who cares about a goddamn wicker table? I’m sick and tired of this.

I worked on a book project for a guy one time who asked me why waste time reading fiction and I told him because you learn about life through fiction. Nothing could have been truer than just putting down the first in the Stieg Larsson trilogy, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, I realized that there are fucked up families everywhere. Thank god! Because I was starting to think it was just mine.

At first I was not getting into the book, I’m not a huge mystery lover, but then it grabbed me and once it had me, I was staying up late trying to finish.

But after I read the horrors of how this one family being investigated had Nazi sympathizers, serial killers, rapist, child molesters and incest galore – it made me feel all warm and fuzzy that I just have a few criminals, personality disorders, autocrats, alcoholics, and OCD topped with ADD issues going on among my clan.

There is something heartening about knowing it could be worse.

Last night I dreamt that we had adopted a baby girl and she grew up a month in every second that passed and I saw from my office window Tatjana holding the little girl who had just been an infant moments ago and I lamented not having spent time with my baby. Then Tatjana said that she dreamt we had adopted a baby boy.

What gender do you want, people ask. Does it really matter? I respond.

Right before Katrina, City Park had a bond that was approved to do major renovations and additions to the park. One of them was the Big Lake project which is on the right of the entrance. After four plus years, the project is completed and the lake is sporting paddle and row boats and big spouting geyser in the middle. Aside from the trees, the infrastructure, and its position right next to the New Orleans Museum of Art, it’s the people I go there to see.

Every morning, old and young, black and white, thin and not, head out to the 3/4 of a mile path around the lake and shake their stuff.

It has been raining all day in New Orleans and that’s just fine with me. After a marathon lunch with my brother yesterday, I was ready for some self-imposed R&R. I did not get on my bike, but I did a get a walk with Loca. And then for lunch we made bow-tie pasta with manchego and fried eggs and a cucumber and tomato salad. That just about did me in.

After catching up on bills – grrr – I got a message from a friend in one of the states we are running our adoption ad – she had clipped it for us!

La Violencia de las Horas

Todos han muerto.

Murió doña Antonia, la ronca, que hacía pan barato en el burgo.

Murió el cura Santiago, a quien placía le saludasen los jóvenes y las mozas, respondiéndoles a todos, indistintamente: “Buenos días, José! Buenos días, María!”

Murió aquella joven rubia, Carlota, dejando un hijito de meses, que luego también murió a los ocho días de la madre.

Murió mi tía Albina, que solía cantar tiempos y modos de heredad, en tanto cosía en los corredores, para Isidora, la criada de oficio, la honrosísima mujer.

Murió un viejo tuerto, su nombre no recuerdo, pero dormía al sol de la mañana, sentado ante la puerta del hojalatero de la esquina.

Murió Rayo, el perro de mi altura, herido de un balazo de no se sabe quién.

Murió Lucas, mi cuñado en la paz de las cinturas, de quien me acuerdo cuando llueve y no hay nadie en mi experiencia.

Murió en mi revólver mi madre, en mi puño mi hermana y mi hermano en mi víscera sangrienta, los tres ligados por un género triste de tristeza, en el mes de agosto de años sucesivos.

Murió el músico Méndez, alto y muy borracho, que solfeaba en su clarinete tocatas melancólicas, a cuyo articulado se dormían las gallinas de mi barrio, mucho antes de que el sol se fuese.

Murió mi eternidad y estoy velándola.

por César Vallejo

I took Loca for a walk today through the park and she hopped most of the way there. It’s amazing that the Crepe Myrtles are losing their foliage while there are new shoots of green all over the park. It’s winter – right? There were puddles of water everywhere because of the rains we have been having and the disappearing ferns that cover the live oaks were thick and caused the hirsute branches to look radiant green.

Across from the Peristyle they are building a new ampitheater. They’ve removed the tennis courts and plan to relocate them elsewhere to make room for this new addition.

As we were coming back out of the park, I thanked Loca for coming into my life and for constantly pulling me outdoors for these walks in the morning. I always say she needs them – and she does – but I need them too and so she helps give me a convenient excuse for our morning walks.

Our advertisements start tomorrow – we want to adopt is the message. A friend in the park yesterday told me that her friend went to his yearly work conference and got on stage and said “My wife and I are trying to adopt and our attorney told us to tell everyone.” Which has been our counsel as well. That night her friend met someone that led to them having a baby.

Last night at the opera, we ran into a person who had a similar experience in adopting his now three month old.

So here’s the message – it makes no sense for two people with good jobs who enjoy their life to say I want to adopt an infant and raise them while approaching old age – but that is what where we are doing – it is a life long dream for both of us to be parents – and tomorrow we are beginning an ad blitz for two weeks to see if someone wants us to be the parents of their child.

Go figure.