I'm not anyone's mother, I reminded her.
She tilted her head toward my dog, and said, "Well...."
This seems to happen every year. And it always leaves me with strangely ambivalent feelings. This year, I replied, That is not my child, and my friend shrugged, a kind smile on her face. No telling what she was thinking.
But I'll tell this: People frequently refer to my dog as if it's my child. I, however, do not. My dog is ... a dog. A very cute dog. A lovely lap covering. A friendly companion. A fierce alert-force, always keeping an eye out for our collective safety. But he is not ... a child.
I just wanted to clear that up.
In other mother-related hoo-haw, I called The Norotious M.O.M. today for the first time in several months and wished her a happy mother's day (avoiding any commentary on the *quality* of her mothering). It was a relatively painless conversation. It lasted long enough for me to feel like I don't need to call her for another six or seven months. (Hello, Christmas!)
For my troubles, I was rewarded with some unwelcome news: The Notorious M.O.M. has completed the first draft of a book she has written about her experience with the most controversial, disturbing and painful "event" in my birth family's collective history: the four years my youngest brother spent in a coma before dying.
I do *not* want to read this thing. I can't begin to tell you how much I do not want to read it. So let's just leave things here: The Notorious M.O.M.'s perspective is likely to be repulsive to me. I can taste a little vomit in my mouth just thinking about it. So I'm gonna stop thinking about it.
Goodbye, you nasty little thought. Goodbye....
In other news, I attended two 12-step meetings this weekend, thus completing my school portfolio requirements. Now I just have to do the write-ups and turn the portfolio in this coming Friday. I'll have plenty of time for this tomorrow, given I'm working an "eternal" day -- 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., followed by 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. Managed to double-book myself. But I've got enough homework to keep me busy for the duration, so it will work out just fine (if I can stay awake!).
So the meeting I attended on Friday night was for Marijuana Anonymous. Didn't even know they had one of these, but King Rex sent me a link. He and I went to the meeting together. It was like other 12-step meetings, except for many of the group members referred to their addiction with a bit of humor: "Hi, my name is so-and-so, and I'm a stoner." Or, "... and I'm a pothead." Often with that "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" kind of affect. Know what I mean, dude?
The other meeting I attended was Narcotics Anonymous. I found a location close to my home and rode my bike over to it. Rode my big sissy bike. Which looks like this:
Yeah. I wrote *that* thing to a kind of run-down community center in a low-income neighborhood to attend an NA meeting along with about 40 other people, 37 of whom were African-American. Cruising up on my sissy bike, hopping off and walking into the meeting with my bike helmet tucked under my arm, I suspect I looked like the most *obvious* undercover cop EVER. Or at least like someone's kindly looking probation officer doing a little drop-in work.
But I enjoyed the hell out of myself. Of the four meetings I attended, this one was the most passionate. The attendees told the most fascinating and inspiring stories. There was also a fair amount of discussion on whether certain people were lying about the amount of "clean" time they had. Beyond simply being social, the community was in each other's business. Given the work it takes to kick meth, crack and smack, I suspect it's to everyone's advantage to have such an involved and active membership.
The meeting was very "busy," with people coming and going at odd but frequent intervals. The doors were constantly opening and closing. The trips to the coffee room were endless. Children kept running through the room, eating cheetos. Compared to the other (white-dominated) 12-step meetings I attended, this was the most energetic group. I'm not sure if that's a matter of ethnicity or a matter of the type of drug addictions in these people's pasts. Both/and, I assume.
I told S2 about the meeting, and she said my experience sounded similar to those she had at the same place while attending meetings to support a friend's recovery.
Later, I found myself talking to The Good Witch about this meeting, and mentioned that it was such a "cross-cultural experience" that I felt like I had visited a foreign country. This is a pretty sad statement about how segregated our society is, or at least how segregated is my experience of this community. But at least I got an eyeful and an earful of new information. I love shit like that.
And I was saying as much when The Good Witch replied, "Well, you also have that nice little latino community there just east of your place, you know. There's that little strip of stores...."
You mean the mercado and the tacqueria? I asked.
"Well, yes, OK," she said. Later, I realized she was also talking about the latino gallery and the *other* tacquerias. They are surrounded by tea and coffee houses, Thai and Italian restaurants and several nice dress and shoe shops and an eco-friendly pet supply place.
Then The Good Witch asks: "What's it like having clowns in the neighborhood? It must be interesting living with clowns."
It was a serious question, but I couldn't help laughing at it. Mainly because it *was* a serious question. I live in a neighborhood with a "clown house," that is home to SEVERAL clowns. I'd wager there are 15 or 20 people living in there. And yes, many of them are clowns.
They specialize in, among other things, welding bikes together to make gigantic, tall bikes, which seat the rider a good six to eight feet up in the air, requiring them to duck beneath 12-foot awnings when they ride these bikes on the sidewalk. Normally, they ride them in the street. And I think that if I had been driving a car the first time I saw one of these dudes, I would've tripped out a little, wondering if the bike was going to crash when they reached a stop light.
But the truth is these people are, in fact, clowns. They can stay balanced on those bikes or jump up and down from them in ways that look effortless. Most of the time, they're just going about their business. But every so often, they put clown makeup on and hit the streets for some serious clowning around.
And so, The Good Witch was asking a real question: What's it like to have these folks as neighbors?
The truth is that I notice them all the time, but not in a way that makes them seem unusual, I said. They're always in the background, and I've gotten used to them.
Every once in a while, though, those clowns do something that gets my attention.
Thankfully, none of them wished me a "happy mother's day." Rather, they just tried to sell me some homemade organic, low-sugar, gluten-free vegetarian dog treats. Five for a dollar or a handful of smaller ones for a quarter from a bubble gum dispenser they've put on the sidewalk in front of their house. It's always something.
Time to hit the hay. Gotta rise and shine early tomorrow.
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