A Study in Potato

 

 

“You know what? It’s your dad’s 50^th birthday, and grandma M and grandpa S will be flying into town to celebrate by joining us at this new modern restaurant downtown” Mom said, as she entered my bedroom while I was drawing one afternoon.

 

“Oh really…the five of us?” I asked her, as I continued to create.

“No, your uncle, and his wife will be joining too. We better set reservations NOW- like this very DAY if we actually want to get IN there with the additional numbers….I don’t think S and M realize how hard that place is to book” she said frowning.

“Well, I guess you better go get it all straightened out ahead of time..” I suggested.

 

She was right of course, his folks probably had no idea that in larger cities, some popular places needed weeks in advance for a reservation, not days, and adding a few extra seats could very well make a small thing, a very big deal.

“I better go talk to your father..” she replied, and trailed off into the other room.

“Okay” I replied as I continued on, not giving much thought to the reality of a family visit at all.

 

It was mid-October, and it had been warmer than usual for that time of year. A visit like this was somewhat surprising, and completely unexpected. I almost wondered if it was bad news somehow disguised as five-star meal.

 

I mean, his folks weren’t KNOWN to do anything unusual like dropping shoes, but flying in to celebrate was kind of out-of-nowhere to begin with, let alone extended family flying also in, and then at this new modern experimental place downtown...What were they serving there again?

 

I began to wonder, and soured at the thought of some bazaar platter with squid and beets, or greasy sausages drizzled in designer sauces, all zigged-zagged across the top- which were typical of many new, fine dining spots on the Chicagoland scene in the early 1990’s.

 

 Did I really want to sit through all that mystery? I was knee deep in an autumn daze of Led Zeppelin and artwork, and would have preferred to chill in my room, with the place to myself instead, or a walk to the beach before dark. Yep, that was my idea of relaxed at 15.

And this birthday celebration- I didn’t really want to go to this, but did I HAVE to go? It sounded like a real effort to get reservations, with a bunch of pretentiousness to boot.

“I guess I kinda HAVE to, if EVERYONE is going...” I thought to myself, “Well, at least it will have appetizers and salads maybe- and probably chocolate cake or something”, as I continued to sketch away on my larger sketch pad, with a bright aqua conte crayon.

 

“We got reservations for three weeks from now..at first there didn’t seem to be room for a 7 party table, but then we explained we wanted an earlier reservation, and there was no problem” Mom said, sounding exhausted,as she walked in half hour later.

“Oh really..Why is that?” I asked with curiosity.

“I think it’s because they have less tables available on the weekends during peak dinner hours, since it’s a small dining room to begin with” she explained.

“Ah..” I replied, half listening as I half didn’t care.

“Yes, so I want you to look through your closet and consider what you're wearing, and what you might need...do you have any stockings?” she asked me as she opened the closet door to see what I had in supply.

“Why would I have that..?” I asked. I was never a heels-and-tights kind of a girl to begin with, and even less so in my early artist teen years.

“It sounds like we will need that, and what about shoes…Where are those black flats..?” she asked, and began to look on the ground in the dark, unlit closet.

“They are in the back of the closet somewhere” I said.

“Do they still fit, or..?” she inquired.

“Yeah, I think they do..” I replied.

“Fine, so let’s see what you have..” she said, and continued to look through the closet of hanging clothes, flipping through most of it rather quickly.

“I can just wear that black dress with the lace and flowers..” I said, as I was somewhat annoyed we were doing this now, and with a whole 2+ weeks to figure it out, wanted to figure it out later.

“You mean that cotton one?..” Mom began to ask as she looked at a navy jumpsuit hanging lazily on the white plastic hanger, “…isn’t it damaged?”.

“Just on the underside, in one part…I can sew it” I said confidently.

 

The more I thought about dressing up for this thing, the more I didn’t want to go. I already knew it would probably be a very typical family gathering thing, and I didn’t have the slightest interest or investment in having to prepare for it by wake up early next Saturday, hunting out some dress that I would probably wear once, and then outgrow by next year.

 Plus, those damn wakeups. I was never an early riser, but the schedule never changed:  8 am wakeup, with a 9am breakfast, and already shopping by 10. I’ was barely waking up by 10am, let alone hungry by 9,  and god fucking knows my parents weren’t sleeping past that. They started days at 6am, and 8am WAS the ‘late sleep-in’ hour….and absolute nightmare to a night owl like me.

 

I just didn’t want to do it no matter how I sliced it, and would have chosen to wear jeans, but in doing that, would have never heard the end of it from the entire clan, or perhaps not even allowed in- due to dress code, to be sure.

 

That clan. There were some pretty clear events that seemed to happen on the regular with my stepdads family, and I was tired of it- just exhausted with the repeating pattern of conversation and vibe, over and over.

I didn’t want to partake in it, no matter the  amount of stars in my dinner, I just didn’t want to see it, eat it, or know it:

     I didn’t want to see my grandma pop the bread rolls in her purse as she had been known to do. That’s right, she would just pop ‘em in there, since they were ‘free’. She would take the opportunity to stock up for her own dinners at home, and now I could only imagine how this would go down at the new top haunt that had just opened up 6 months ago.

 

Would she have a purse big enough? And how would she get them through check-in at the flight gate?  But most importantly, if she had to decline her clever roll caper, how would she react watching those bread rolls get whooshed off the table without a single pay-off? Would she just smile, or look upset? I really started to consider it.

And the other one. Grandpa S….I didn’t want to have to see my grandpa snap a gasket as he normally did every time we went out:

       Without fail, he would stress about some minor detail, then get all snarky about it; Like ‘which way to get to the restaurant’, or ‘the best time to leave’ to arrive on time, or exactly which ‘side options’ were available with his dinner order- Whatever it was, was just a matter of when.

 

First was ‘the thing’- his fixated stressor, then came ‘throw-a-fit-of-confusion’, then naturally get confronted about it, and then, after a long hem ‘n’ haw with long winded explanations , would simmer down to a stronger appetite than he had BEFORE the whole ordeal- and without fail, he would set up shop time and time again, knife in one hand, scotch in the other,  with us there at his table, same as it ever was.

 

I stopped sketching for a moment, and reflected on it a bit more.

I mean, after all these years of visiting them at their house in upperstate New York, how might these two behave at a place out of their element, and on completely unfamiliar terms? Would the normal quirks play out? Or would there be a snap-to sense of civility only saved for special occasion? I really wanted to know.

But that sort of curiosity didn’t outweigh a Saturday morning sleep-in, and if something in that closet wasn’t fancy enough to attend by my mothers standards, it was reason enough to not go at all by mine, and she knew it.

 

“Fine. If that’s what you want to wear. I have some necklaces that might look nice with it. We could take a look after we get dressed the day of” she replied, seeming satisfied with the event well planned for.

“Okay” I replied, and got back to sketching.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But It’s New

 

I saw my friend the next day at school, across the street from the front doors (which was the designated smoking area), who was standing there, smoking.

“Hey” K said, as she blew a big waft of smoke in front of her white wispy hair, and deep black velvet jumpsuit.

“Hey” I replied.

“Did you finish that assignment?” she asked me.

“No” I said.

“Why not?” she looked and me, and frowned.

“Because it sounds stupid” I said matter-of-factly.

“Well, you better finish it, or they will grade you down” she replied with a raised eyebrow, and serious tone.

“So” I stated, as I lit I cigarette.

“So that means you fail the course…You don’t want to fail the whole course over one assignment” she replied, and took another drag of her smoke.

“That’s true” I said.

 

I thought about it a moment:

        I had a very specific high school plan at that point in time- it was to pass all classes, but by doing the very least amount of work- and with every facility at my disposal to do so, it was an interesting challenge put before me as I entered freshman year, and met K. 

I definitely found it more refreshing than the 500 pounds of books that was loaded on us every year as the semester began, but surfing the dredges of low grade point averages still held SOME responsibility- and that included actually passing classes, meaning, to reach the actual goal; which was to graduate lowest in class, with highest marks in my chosen select courses ( usually art classes). It was a tricky a balance, indeed.

 

So naturally, I grabbed the book out of my backpack, and began flipping through the chapters while scrawling answers on the homework sheet..I mean, I knew ANY answers at all was better than none, and was sure to get me SOME credit.

All I really had to do was make some coherent sense of what I was scrawling on the faded xerox sheet.

 

Ding!

 

“You got like, 10 minutes. Do you think you can finish it?” she asked me, looking curious.

“Maybe. Did I tell you? My grandparents are flying into town.” I replied.

“Why?” she asked. She knew they never visited, and wondered herself.

“I don’t know, but they want to take my dad out for his birthday, and we're going to go to some fancy restaurant downtown. I have to go” I whined.

“Oh, that’s cool” she said cheerfully.

“No it’s, not, those people suck” I said feeling under-the-crunch and rather annoyed, as I dotted the ‘i’ on the crumpled page.

“Yeah, but it’s probably a nice place, isn’t it?” she inquired.

“Oh, probably..” I said

“And when are you going?” she asked.

“I think it’s on a Sunday” I said.

“Well, that’s cool..at least it’s not on a Friday, or some shit” she said dryly.

“That’s true, but I hate formal dress-ups…having to sit there for fucking hours..no smoke break..and with those people..fucking yuck” I complained, as I stopped writing.

“Then don’t go” she replied, and took a drag of her cigarette.

“I can’t, my mom already set the reservation, and it’s some monster effort deal she had to make with the guy on the phone, they’de be super pissed if blew it off” I replied.

“That’s sucks” she replied.

“Yeah” I said as I finished my cigarette, and began to race my hand through the chapter sections.

“Well who knows- maybe the food will be really good” she said, as she finished her square.

“That’s true..it’s some new place. Some really modern place that some people say is crazy to charge what they are charging, and the food is really experimental too.”

“ Oh, really..that’s sounds odd” she said and frowned, as she lit another cigarette.

 

Mornings at the high school were like that- where you had to double puff before the longer smoke-free sessions inside began, and although there was one of 4 cafeterias that had a smoking area, it was way the hell over on the other side of the lot- even the grown-ass teachers and staff had to stand across the street, getting their nic fit fix all squared away before math class, or whatever.

I was just grateful that K always seemed to be there, ready to lend me a ear, and a smoke when I needed it.

“I know" I continued "....So, it’s some bougie place with fucked up food, and I gotta get in hose for this shit, with no smokes, and sit there with that bunch of people” I complained, as I wrote my name on the top left corner of the answer sheet.

“Yeah, that really does sound shitty” she agreed, as began to look off into the distance, towards a mutual friend of ours.

 

 

Ding!

 

“Sounds like you have 5 minutes left“ K announced.

“Yeah., I’m almost done..” I replied, as I scribbled away, and with half the answers filled out, really felt I might be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table for One

 

So, the big night finally arrived, and I was dressed in no time, having found a gold chain from Mom’s collection, and was sitting on the stiff oval antique chair in the livingroom, pretty much ready to get back before we even left.

I could hear both mom and dad running around, grabbing various objects, in heavy heels on the wooden floor.

>clop clop clop<

“Are you sure they know how to get there?” mom asked.

“Yeah, I called them twice- they are taking a cab from the hotel, and they are staying 3 blocks away- it shouldn’t be a problem, sweety. Which coat do you think looks better?” he replied, holding up a couple of various tweeds.

Mom looked with a pensive face. “Hmm..This one looks better with the colors you have on, I think” she replied, and held it up to his shirt, as she tilted her head in decision.

Dad turned around to look in the old antique closet door mirror, “I agree..Okay, let’s go..Li..are you ready?”

“Yeah” I replied.

“Are you looking forward to tonight?” he asked me with a smile, and raised brows.

“Sure” I replied.

“It probably won’t be TOO long- it’s a very busy place, you know, they have other reservations right after us” he stated.

“Cool” I said with a smile, ‘cuz I was actually really happy to hear that:

 

        That we wouldn’t have to stay, and listen to Grandpa S chat on and on about problems which were really unproblematic, while sipping on after-dinner drinks, as Grandma wrapped up the event with a last minute heist of ketchup/sugar packets.

“Excuse me honey, there’s no sugar- be a doll, and refill these? Mhmm ..Thank- you” M would say to the passing waitress already carrying a shitload of platters, and plop it on top of an already daunting balancing act, and then casually turn her attention back to the conversation at hand, with a confused looking waiter just happy as hell to get off the floor without a dish dropped.

 

“So, what kind of food do they have there?” I asked him, as we waited for mom in the living room.

“You know Li, I really don’t know, but from the sounds of it, the menu can change nightly” he said.

“Really? Like whole new dishes?” I asked.

“Yep, that’s what I hear, so no one’s having the same dining experience there, it’s all very new” he stated.

“That’s fuckin weird” I commented dryly.

“Yeah, well this place is all very new, and I hear the food is excellent. You will have a good time there, Li..this should be fun, I’m looking forward to going there”.

“Cool- sounds great!” I replied with a cheerful smile. I mean, I didn’t want to go, but it was the guys birthday, and seeing my happy face with an eager soul was probably the best gift he was getting after 50 years, seeing as how they weren't really into gift exchange on the big days.

“All set?” mom asked us as she stepped in flowing with soft brown curls, and pungent high end parfume.

“Sure, Yep” dad replied, as he got up to go.

 

 

 

And off we went, arriving right on time, and saw the others inside:

 

“Hi, yeah, we just got here too” said dads brother L, as hugs round robined the gathering, and greetings were exchanged.

“He has really good timing” mom said to everyone, as she took off her coat, and handed it to coat attendant.

“Hi Li” my aunt S said to me with a smile.

“Hey..” I replied.

“Hi Li” said my uncle L, “How have you been? It’s good to see you”.

“Yep. Where are we sitting?” I asked him.

“You know I’m really not sure… I think they are getting the tables together now” he replied as he looked over at two waiters dragging tables together, and moving utensils around.

“Hello..” began a tall, slender man.

 

No one heard him.

 

 “HELLO there.. Good EVENING, I am G, and will be guiding you along your journey here. How many of you will there be?” he asked in an airy French accent, and waited for someone to reply.

 He was a thin man with longer brown hair, which was slicked back into neatly combed layers of gel thickened highlights. And as he stood there, tall as a tree, in his long black suit, blinking and staring blankly,  I began to wonder who the hell he was…..I mean, he wasn’t the host, or the coat check girl..he wasn’t the bartender or a busboy..was he our WAITER?

Whoever he was, he was beginning to look annoyed at the lack of communication.

“Uh, yes..Hi there”, my dad pushed through the talkers, and approached him, “This is a table for 7, under L J or R J..?”

“Let me look into it” said G, and whisked away in a flash.

My mother frowned, and whispered to my dad.

“Well, he said he has to check it, if he says he needs to see, okay” he replied quietly, looking a bit unsure.

“Well, they said it was ok” mom said beginning to frown.

“Let’s see what he says” dad replied, and kissed her on the cheek.

 

  'Oh great. Now we have to SEE if were booked? Oh jesus- don’t let old gramps catch wind' I thought to myself, and looked over, noticing grampa S happily engaged with his son L and his wife S, as they sat around a small cocktail table, by the front bar.

 

G eventually reappeared in his hard, pointy shoes, and announced “Everything looks to be in order,  your table will be created, and ready in about 10.....?” he paused to look at another waitstaff standing next to him, “8 minutes. Please enjoy” he finished saying as he gestured his hand around the cocktails in everyones hands.

 

We eventually got chaperoned into the dining room, which I guess was 8 minutes later, and saw a room surrounded by soft pastel peach walls with white trim, and delicate gold accents hinting throughout the scenery.  As I looked up, I saw a graceful chandelier hanging above, in gold swerving arms, and white petal lampshades on its ends.

‘Hm, this is pleasant’ I thought to myself, an began to sit down in a soft, velvety chair.

 

“I need to sit over here” announced S, as he pointed to the plush booth seating along the wall.

“Of course, your comfort is key to our setting” replied G replied gallantly, as he gestured to the chair.

Of course G didn’t REALLY know why he needed to sit there, but everyone else did, and it had very little to do with S’s comfort, and EVERYTHING to do with his eyesight; S liked to sit closest to the kitchen, no matter WHERE we went, making that one spot, the natural choice.

See, he liked to clock the waiters, and watch the dishes as they came out, oftentimes commenting on what OTHER foods were being produced that looked scrummy, that he NOW regretted, NOT ordering.

 

Ironically, this restaurant had 2 doors into the kitchen, and S took notice right AFTER he sat down- just as his eyes got ready to fixate on the ONE door he spied initially:

 

“Oh.,oh..” he said all blustered and surprised ”..there are TWO doors into the kitchen I see…”

“That’s right dad, isn’t it GREAT?” Dad said all happy, and being seated across from him, was clearly the birthday boy, and boy was he having it.

M began to look around the table with a frown.

‘Let me guess; no condiments for her to snatch?’ I laughed to myself, wondering what might happen next.

“Is there two sets of forks here? Or is this someone elses?” M asked

“It’s two sets M” responded S, who were both seated across from me.

“Okay..I was just making sure..” she trailed off.

 

G presented himself once more, this time with a fleet of silent busboys who hurriedly handed out oversized menus the size of suitcases to everyone at the table.

 “We have a very special selection for you this evening. Chef has created an inspirational series of dishes made specifically around an early harvest of sprigs just picked earlier in the day-“ G began.

“Is that on ALL the dishes?” S asked.

 

I didn’t blame him for interjecting- What WAS this sprig again? And what EXACTLY did it taste like?? Even I was beginning to sour at this guys pitch.

G stood there somewhat stunned, and flouncing with how to respond:

“Sir, we have a select menu here. One that is designed with complete satisfaction to your dining experience-“ G began.

“-Okay, good. Because I will have a steak.” S replied.

G looked aghast, and stood there frozen while his slicked backed brown locks began to fray forward, over his thin brimmed glasses. “Sir, chef has not created steak as our journey option for this evening’s menu, however, if you would look over the selection you will see the choices that have been prepared for you this evening” he replied coyly. You could just tell G had served this up before, and knew exactly how to respond to silly questions like this one.

“What do you mean, you don’t serve steak.?” S began, “ You don’t serve meat, or what?!”

G looked down at S over the rim of his glasses, with a rigid jaw, and said “If you would look over the menu, you will see we have a large variety for tonight’s options, including the chefs special…”

I looked at the menu briefly, and noticed the ‘A la carte’ list:

 

Braised goose

Marinated prawns in light fennel

Lobster Tail

Island Salmon with ginger blossoms

Roasted beef tip in Marionnaud sauce

 

‘Hm. Those all sound kinda gross’ I thought to myself. I mean, I was a typical junk food loving teenager happy with fries and nachos, I didn’t want to eat onions with pheasant OR braised prawns with crapsauce. Plus, at that point in time,  I was somewhat on the vegan spectrum, dancing with the idea of NO animal product at all, while fasting most of my days away.

Today was no different, and I was ready to put something identifiable in my body- I was getting hungry while I kept reading...

And now that I looked at it, there was no salad options either. “Damn. I’m shit outta luck” I said to myself.

“What?” Said my uncle L, who was seated next to me, and leaned over to hear me say it again.

“Oh nothing- it’s just that it ALL looks like meat dishes, and I wanted something else” I replied. L was just the right guy to mention this to, since he himself was somewhat of a vegetarian, and while only occasionally eating fish, I wondered what he might choose.

“Not all of it, the special isn’t -I don’t think..” he said, as he looked back at his menu.

I turned to the next section in the ‘Who-Sell-Out’ sized menu and saw 4 small words in the center:

‘A Study In Potato’

“What the fuck does THAT mean?” I smiled to myself, “ Oh yeah, that’s the one. I’m DEFINITELY getting THIS”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Simply Not Done

 

 

Everyone seemed ready to order, and after a lot of back-and-forth between no steak for S, and look-at-the-choices G, they both seemed to compromise on beef tips, but with no sauce.

 My uncle L was just ducky with the Salmon option, not opting to join me in a vegetable crusade.

‘….And THAT’S why were MOSTLY vegetarian’ I thought to myself’…yeah, L got it right…that’s a smart way navigate’ I thought, as G turned his attentions towards me:

 

“And mademoiselle..what is your selection?” he asked me, ready to get the order in, and us fork deep into a voyage we couldn't forget:

 

“I’ll try ‘The Study in Potato’” I said with a smile, and handed G the menu.

“Oh, no no…the choices are from the A la carte..” G explained.

“Yep- and I want ‘The Study in Potato' on the next page’” I explained.

“You can’t choose that” G replied.

“Why can’t she? It’s on the menu, isn’t it?” Dad cut in, with raised eyebrows.

G looked over at him and began “The choices for tonight adventure are in an A La Carte presentation- she is looking at the 8 course section”

“So?” he remarked.

“So, the table has chosen A La Carte.." G began.

“What’s the matter?” grandpa S asked as he finally took his attention off the busboys racing through both kitchen doors simultaneously, and looked at pops for an explanation.

 

Dad started to interpret, as my mom spoke up:

“Well, her portions can certainly be served alongside our appetizers, and salads..” she stated in a calm manner.

'Wait, There are salads with the A La Carte??' I thought ot myself, wishing I had known sooner.

“We could bring out SOME dishes” G reasoned, “…but 'TheStudy in Potato' is an 8 course meal- 3 presentations would hardly be sufficient..”.

“What? What does he mean ‘she cant order it’- it's on the MENU, isn’t IT?” Grandpa Snappy now got the whole story, and started raising his voice over the crowd. People at the neighboring tables peered over.

 

Oh right- the neighboring tables; dressed up couples on all sides, and the ones near Grandpa S did NOT look pleased. But what about the ones near me? Some preppy brunette 20-year old, with perfectly layered wisps of hair which floated gently around a thin light blue ribbon tied together, on a dainty bow hanging sweetly on one side of her head.

It seemed to have matched her thin light blue sweater spot-on, as I noticed her date; a young man who seemed frozen like a statue in khakis, and a button down.

 

“Hm, well at least THOSE two don’t look pissy about the squabbling…. I wonder if they are on a first date or something. God, just imagine coming HERE for your first date, like WHY?” I wondered to myself as G sliced into my train of thought.

“So another selection would be more agreeable to the flow of the dinner- the timing you see” G said gently as grandpa S stared at him waiting for more, and then S began:

 

“It’s on the menu isn’t it? Why would you put something on the menu, and say it isn’t offered?! WHat kind of a place is THIS?  She wants the ‘Study in Potato’,  and she can order anything she wants!” S said in an insistent tone.

‘Oh jesus, here we go’  I thought to myself.

 “Here” I motioned to the group, “ ..just pass me the menu, let me look at the A la Carte again”. I announced as I looked for the gigantic bed- sheet sized menu to reappear- I mean, fuck- why didn't they just write 'salad included' in there- I'm wasn't interesting in creating drama over fucking potatos.

 

“I can just tell you what they are, since it's only 5 dishes Li” uncle L said.

“Sure, thanks L” I said.

“S, she’s decided to choose from the A La Carte, it’s no problem” my mom said to grandpa S.

But S and G were knee deep in negotiations, with no extra earspace to hear all THAT noise:

 

“Fine” G finally relented, and continued on “….But, you must understand- the dishes will NOT be served harmoniously or succinctly because of the breaking up of presentations in this way..”

“I don’t care what it does, if it’s on the menu, she get’s to choose it” S replied, with his face turning red.

“Very well”, G replied with a sour look, and with a wave of his magic hand, the busboys vanished as soon as they arrived.

 

‘Holy shit, Gramps came through for me’ I thought, “Well, THAT was unexpected”.

 I mean, I honestly was just going to order something else if potatos was ‘off limits’ according to G’s world. But apparently it wasn’t, and for once grandpa S’s expected freak-a-thon was completely justified while he simultaneously manifested tasty results.

 ‘Hm..Yep- this is DEFINITELY feeling like the beginnings to a very different kind of family gathering” I thought to myself as I considered what to drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It Came In Colors

 

“I wonder if they have plain old soda” I asked myself, “God knows what sort of heart attack G might have if I requested a Sprite, and they don’t have it. I just don’t think I can take another round of the palate battles, especially with grandpa S on standby- and from the looks of that menu, they probably have weird shit instead, like orange blossom fizz, or vanilla bean bubbly, or something else just as equally gross that I would end up hating….

 

"....I wonder if they have any regular sodas at all?" I considered it moment, "  I wonder where the closest place IS to a regular soda? Maybe a vending machine in that laundromat down the street? Do I have any quarters on me, even I WANTED to go get ONE???" I asked myself, as I began to sound reel all the variables more pissed off that I didn't have a means for escape, or an orange crush if I wanted one.

 

I mean, I really wanted know; What kind of a strange ass place did these people take me to where I might have to go hunt a soda down the street? I started to look outside, and consider the area.

“You know, fuck it..” I thought, “ It’s a birthday, right? Where’s the list.”

I knew there was a wines list floating around the table somewhere, and decided it was time to just conform to the ‘serving suggestions’, and pick from the choices, as everyone was doing.

 

I soon saw a list for drinks I had never heard of, with names I couldn't pronounce.

"Of course..more crazy shit. I guess it's ice water for me then" I said to myself, when I noticed at the very end of the list, one word I understood- and just in time as G’s assistant made his way around to me:

 

“Miss, your drink?” a short, stout man with a puffy mustache asked me.

“Sure, I’ll have the champagne” I said.

“Thank you” he replied, as he scibbled something down on his hand, and vanished.

 

“So Li” Uncle L began “Have you been here before?

"Uh, no" I replied.

“You ended up getting the 8 course meal? Is that what happened?” he asked me, with an impish smile.

“I mean, yeah..that was the one I wanted, but anything would have been ok” I said.

"Are you excited to be here? We just got into town this afternoon" L stated.

"That’s right. Into O’hare?" I asked him.

"Yeah- it was really busy-" L began.

“-But we managed to find our hotel downtown easily” his wife S finished with a giddy laugh.

"Oh, okay..cool" I replied, with a smile.

 

Soon the short waiter came back with a platter full of slushing glass shapes, and I heard the drop of mine on the white table cloth.

A tall, fluted glass with ruby-colored fizzing bubbles, zig-zagging their way to the brim, just past a single white cube.

“Sweety, what did you order? Mom asked me.

“Well, I didn’t see sodas, so I just ordered what was from the list”

“A champagne?” she asked.

“Yeah” I replied.

“But you don’t like alcohol” she stated.

 

And it was true- I never liked the stuff. Not in any form, or any amount. Sure, I had consumed it here or there- like in a fruit salad when I was a toddler ( and that is a whole other story), or in a bananas foster on special occasion, but I normally winced when the kiddush cup got passed my way on Friday nights, and just hated cough syrups laced with it.

Even when Dad would add vermouth to his all-day-cook-a-thon spaghetti sauces, I just cringed at the smell:

“Now this is how ya do it, Li…” He would tell me as the liquid would go splashing in, “you start out with beef and onions…and olive oil. You let that cook for a bit, then you add THIS", and raised the bottle up high as it spooshed all around.

“Okay, but that seems like an aweful lot of it” I would tell him as the bottle poured forth furiously, spinning round and round the green glass neck, and spraying onto the bubbling meat.

“Oh no, that’s the thing- you can’t go wrong with more of this- it really makes the flavor" he would reassure me.

“Well, it smells gross” I would reply.

“All that cooks out” He  would reply with a wide grin.

I never believed him, but sure enough, the sauce never revealed a hint of nasty.

 

But here I was, now at this highly praised 5 star, and surely the entire adult population can’t be wrong about the stuff. I mean, there were bars in all the restaurants, not to mention the stand alones, Bluesfest or your standard prom punchbowl, and I had never thought about it, until this very moment, here, at the family dinner, eating fucked up shit with no-nonsense plastic sheers riding up my ass.

 

“It was the only thing I recognized on the menu” I explained.

“I see…Well, considering it’s your father's birthday, having one on the table is fine- but drink water with it”.

“Sure” I stated, and picked up the glass up, and brought it to my lips.

 

 

 

“Hm. Kinda fruity” I thought to myself as the cold, tart liquid hit the center of my tongue, and melted down my throat. I could feel the strong concoction pouring through my insides, and then hitting my stomach with a warmth, and  then a “>burp<".

 

"Excuse me” I said quietly.

 

I looked at the glass; a long stemmed flute, with soft flowy lines creeping up the base, and into the main chamber, where a dissolving sugar cube dissipated amongst the happy bubbles.

“I didn’t know they made red champagne, wow” I said.

“They don’t. They put colors in as a decorative touch” my mother said, and smiled.

“Oh” I replied, and grinned, and had another sip.

 I reflected on the drink as I watched the sugar cube glitter against the peach walls peering through the glass:

“I never thought about that- adding colors to what your drinking…that’s cool- it’s like strawberry crush, but not as dayglo” I began to consider,  “I wonder how they chose the color for this? Everything here seems meticulously catered, and planned out -I wonder what color they pick next?Will it be the same?” I said to myself, as I took another gulp, and continued to reflect:

 

“Actually, this is a lot like soda- just without the sugar” I concluded as I took another sip, then suddenly got hit with some of the dissolved sugar cube by surprise, as I looked around a pretty empty diningroom.  Everyone at my table was engaged in how-you-been chatter, when I noticed a brunette woman, and her date sitting in a corner tuck, right next to our table.

 

He was talking about something that had her fully engaged, but he didn’t seem to move a muscle, let alone speak. She, was almost as still as he, except for her slight passing smiles that would let you know she wasn’t ACTUALLY frozen, but receiving some sort of revelation.

 

“I wonder what is holding her attention so fully?” I thought to myself, “Like, what the fuck could this guy be talking about?”.

 I waited to see how she might respond after he was done rambling, but the moment never came.

Even after a solid 5 minutes:

 

“That’s odd” I thought to myself, “she’s not really responding at all”. Yet, there she was; as bright eyed, and enraptured as if sitting front row to color film for the first time.

 "Wait, are those two actually having a discussion?" I asked myself, as I looked at the man in his still plaid.

Yep, his mouth was moving, and she was glued to his, just watching him speak a special concentration of info that was as one-way, as her gaze managed to be.

 

"What was that guy going on about? Like, how can you talk that much without looking for some sort of feedback from the person listening?" I asked myself, and I took a swig, wishing he had sat in HER chair, as she was getting boring to look at entirely, and I would have preferred to mouth read his words instead of his dolly date's plasticine smiles.

"That's interesting..He's doing all the expressing, yet he's sitting where he's facing two walls, with only her to talk at....I wonder if he always talks like that when they go out?  I wonder if she did that on purpose- making him face her alone? I guess she didn't want him distracted from all that blabbering. Jesus Christ..." I said to myself, as I looked on.

 

Moments passed, and nothing had changed.

 

“Is she just gonna sit there, and listen to him ramble on, and on like that? Holy shit” I thought to myself and took another sip, with each one getting sweeter from the dissolving cube.

 

I started to feel a slight lift in my head as the room danced in sway. I looked at her face, really wondering if she was ever going to change expression, or move- or pick up a glass, or SOMEthing- fuucckk was this ever annoying to watch:

“Good God. Is this what ALL her dates are like? Or, are they married?” I asked myself, as I looked at her hands "Hm, no rings".I was beginning to find myself frustrated at her lack of tells, and I started to really think about what it must have been like to be this woman:

 

“I wonder what she really thinks of this guy..I mean, he's just fucking talking at her” I asked myself, and looked closely at her face for any show of impact, or honesty from this guy’s dissertation, but no; There she remained as lit as the chandelier, and as receptive as 6 minutes ago.

"6 minutes ago? Oh snap!  I’m fucking staring” I realized, as I turned my eyes away, and ingested the last bit of the drink.

But my mind continued on, buzzed on an empty stomach, hungry with curiosity and notions, so, I looked back:

“Dear lord… a matching hair ribbon and sweater set. I mean, I wore that shit when I was 10, but she’s like 24, at some downtown hotspot- I certainly didn’t expect to see a sorority mannequin, and her ken doll here” I laughed to myself, as I was perfectly content to ponder the soused thoughts, and wait for my potato quest to begin.

 

Soon G arrived, with a spray of waiters holding small platters of green following behind him:

“Here, we have select greens for a salad…” G began, and described the colorful ingredients that was laid before them as he spoke with flair, and reinforced the intent of the artwork that was being presented on everyone’s plate- Well, everyone who was A La Carte that is.

“Don’t worry Li, I’m sure your first course will be arriving soon” Mom said, as a new glass of bubbly landed in front of me with a gentle tap of the glass hitting the table.

This time it was orange.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A La Carte Start

 

I peered over at uncle L’s designer salad “Wow, that’s pretty” I commented.

“It really is-, You want a bite?” he asked me, already forking a lettuce leaf.

“L, it looks like there 5 bites in there total. Thanks, but nah….Besides, I opted for 8 courses” I remarked.

“Oh, that’s right” he laughed, as he returned his attention back to his mother and wife, who were chattering away.

I glanced back towards brunette woman, and noticed her picking up a wine glass, and having a gentle sip:

“Dang, I missed her response to that guy's endless spiel... I wonder if this is just a regular place she goes to for dates? With THAT short menu, she's probably tried everything here, INCLUDING the 'Study In Potato'.. Or wait, is this a marriage proposal? That would make sense, since she looks so invested…I mean, no one sits there like that without some sort of REASON, either that, or HE'S paying for dinner" I laughed to myself as I considered it further;

"... It doesn't even look like she's LIKES him..Or... oh shit- is this a break-up dinner? Do people do that? Why even stay- I mean, he's gotta pay if she walks out anyway, so why sit there like that?" I asked myself really wanting to understand what sort of meal would warrant relationless company, then it dawned on me:

"Wait a minute.... she’s not a call-girl is she??” I asked myself with surprise.

I started to really inspect her as much as possible, really considering if this was just some pretend costume and persona all bought and paid for, all neatly tied with a thin light blue bow tied in her hair. 

"There's no fucking way someone actually CHOOSES to be like that, and dress like that on their own volition..."Or did she?" I asked myself, out loud.

 

Then she looked at me.

“Oh shit” I thought and looked away quickly, as I took another swallow of orange.

 

I could feel her glance my way, and her judgement; I was just some kid with her family waiting to eat, and having been there for some ‘special event’ (as I was).

“…and I mean, she would know” I reasoned, “…especially if she was there often- and a high end call-girl WOULD be..”.

 

I looked back over, and saw her back in power gaze-mode, fixated on her man.

“Holy shit. I wonder if that’s it? No fuckin’ way..is she a hooker?” I asked myself as I stared deeply into her, actually considering the possibility, when she glanced my way again, and this time our eyes made contact.

 

I smiled, and she half-smiled back in a vacant way, with her gaze morphing into a finality of exchange, as she rolled her eyes back to her date, letting me know that we would never meet again.

 

“Hm. What a snotty bitch” I laughed to myself, “Well, she’s either real snotty, or she’s real nervous about the date she’s on” I speculated as I drank more orange fizz with a head buzz gleaming, and a wandering mind on and on.

“Or, she's working...Which does kinda prove to me more and more, that she’s probably a call girl” I began to laugh.

“How’s the drink there Li?” my uncle asked me.

“Oh, it’s really good” I said with a jovial smile.

“I bet. What is that there..an orange champagne? That’s your second one, or what?”

“Yep. They put it down in front of me when I finished that last glass.”

“Oh, I see- you didn’t go ahead, and order it?” he asked me.

“Nope” I replied, with a shrug.

“Ah, okay” L replied, and continued “How is it?” he asked, actually looking for some sort of report back, like I was some well- seasoned sommelier, with a whole opinion up my sleeve.

“It’s good” I said, with a giggle.

He just smiled, and asked “Did they bring out your first course yet? What was it?”.

“No, it hasn’t arrived yet” I replied.

“That’s so strange, you have more courses than we do, why wouldn’t your first one not be out already? That’s so odd..” He remarked as he trailed off, and began to look around the dining room.

 

“So. What did we think?” G asked confidently as his long stride brought his lanky limbs back before us, out of nowhere, in a matter of seconds.

“It tasted like a salad” Grandpa S said with a frown. He was never someone who answered many questions, and wasn’t about to answer this one.

“Dad..” my dad said to him as he turned to G, ”..It was excellent, thank- you”

“Well, what does he want us to say? It tasted like a goddamn salad- it has lettuce in it…” Grandpa S trailed under Dads compliment, as Gs smile dropped, and his eye began to twitch.

“Your meals will be here in just a brief interlude..and mademoiselle- YOU’RE first course will be here shortly” G announced, as he turned to me.

“Sir, she has 8 courses- why is her first not served already? Uncle L asked.

Everyone stopped chattering to listen to G’s reponse.

“These orders are FRESHLY prepared Sir” G began, “..this is why the 8 course is recommended to do as a group, so that the flow of the presentation is optimal. Her meal is being prepared as we speak, as yours is, and has its own rhythm for the evenings journey”.

“Okay, it just seems that hers would logically be served EARLIER because there are more courses-“ uncle L began

“Actually Sir, the 8 course is considered a longer adventure of the palate than the A La Carte” G started, cutting him off with more explanation, “ And will be here shortly for you”

“Thanks” I smiled as I dashed off the rest of the bubbly flute, and handed the empty glass to G.

He looked down over the rim of his glasses at the empty flute, as his hands held the long stem with immaculate white gloves.

“Yes, very well” he said with a start as he turned away, and disappeared once more.

“Oh, hee hee hee!” The brunette woman suddenly giggled loudly, as I turned my sights back to her and the floaty peach walls, and I waited for my lessons in tubers.

 

“Holy shit, a response” I thought to myself.

>Plunk<

I heard a drop in front of me, and it was another bubbly tower.

“Is that your second glass?” My mom turned, and asked me.

“I think so” I said, rather glibly.

“Okay, but no more after that” she said firmly.

‘No more will be needed” I said to myself as I started to realize that the liquid fizz had begun to hit me hard on my empty stomach, and my head was beginning to spin.

 

I looked down at the glistening glass.

This time it was yellow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or I’da Eaten Earlier

 

“Hm. No added colors anymore- I guess they don’t plan past 2 glasses, or is that a thinly- dyed message for me?” I asked myself as the ceiling started to make circular motions all around me, and I swayed my head back and forth, enjoying how the room looked when I did so.

 

“What the fuck am I doing here?” I asked myself. I was clearly drunk, with no real outlet to channel my intoxication, and getting hungrier by the minute, “Where is this food? I mean, 8 courses- I’de be fine with just the ONE at this point. Well, if I’m the last one eating, we can just wrap it up to go- I’de rather get the fuck outta here” I said to myself, as I was beginning to get antsy in my no-nonsense seat, ready to simply go hit the 7-11 down the block, run towards the lake, and perhaps just WALK home.

 

That was one real benefit of living next to a large lake like Lake Michigan; time to stroll along the lakefront went on for MILES, and made it easy to get a solid hike in with a decent pair of kicks. I knew I’de reach my street eventually...waaay up north of the city, near its limits, and stumble into my house. It would take about 3 and half hours to get home, but it was still better than sitting another minute amongst the fancy.

 

And on bubbles dabbed in a dollop of sugar, I was ready to walk until dawn:

“You know, I could stick around for a couple of these plates, and just opt to take the El home..They would be cool with that..” I rationalized, thinking I could walk part-way instead, “I wonder if they’de go for it? I mean, everyone’s taking cabs back anyway....and it's early”.

 

 I should add here, it's not that the place wasn’t perfect, or the fact that the brunette woman was annoyingly boring, and unbelievable to observe (from whatever planet they made her).

I didn’t mind G’s tinselly ways, or have a problem with my family, who, was making pretty much the standard ‘long-time-no-see’ conversations, as most families do when meeting up at semi-annual gatherings.

 

I was actually happy to be there, but it was so very different from where I had just come from:

 A summer of travelling east, hitchhiking my way to NY to attend the Woodstock festival in Bethel, and camping mainly in state parks and forests with my belongings on my back.

 

I was happy in the woods, and enjoyed the simplicity of how I spent my time there; beads in the sunlight, stars at night, and with a single meal most days- I was always hoping it was heavy.

 

 Yet sitting in a french, aprico-fuzz daydream was quite the contrast- especially with all its magic potions, and pretentious waiters.

 “Well, whatever..I’m open to everything the universe throws my way…I’m not gonna prejudge the finer things in life, just because I’m in a woods state of mind” I said to myself.

 

Just then G arrived with a silver platter, while other staff appeared with plates piping hot, and serving them all around.

“Oh wow” my dad said, as he eyed his birthday feast of pheasant.

>clink< went the plate before grandma M. “Oh my” she marvelled, “ this is lovely”.

“Voila…” G began proudly, “For you Mademoiselle”he said gallantly, and with the slightest effort, laid down a hub cap sized platter, perfectly centered, before me.

“Thank-you” I smiled, and turned to see the long-awaited display:

 

And there it was...

...a lone, half-inch fried tater-tot….. only this was one was round.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Around

 

In absolute stun, I came to my senses “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” I burst out laughing. I seriously didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. I waited over 40 minutes for a fucking hash brown the size of a peewee marble? Are you fucking kidding me?

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA” I continued. I mean, where the nonsensical response ended, the champagne took over, and my body wasn’t having a single moment of silence forthwith.

“HAHAhmmmmmpppffhhaha” I tried to keep it in.

“Shhhh” my mom laughed.

Everyone in the restaurant looked over. Brunette even took a moment out of her busy statuesque pose to glance over in horror, as G did his best to describe everyone’s hearty platter over my insolence:

“..And here we have the prawns which were soaked in an East Asian seaweed brine, then hand-seasoned for 6 days..” He sang out the descriptions so sweetly, as I cackled away.

 

G finally got to MY dish, as I was crying with break-up:

“If the madam would stop LAUGHING..” G said brusquely.

“Sure” I snickered, but couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as he went on:

“This is a journey into the various ways the potato has become a fundamental staple in the universal diet across the planet. There is not a single continent without the potato having an impact on humanitys cuisine….”

“Oh, my” said grandma M, who was listening intently to G’s words in wonder, as I could barely double up my stitches.

“This potato was imported from the Andes, and has been freshly grated, then designed into a perfect circular form…” G continued.

At this point, my laughter was turning into resentment as I listened to the man drag on about a grated spud that was deep-fried in fat:

“Jesus, all this talk, I could have already eaten it and been done with it, but now I gotta listen to this shit?” I thought to myself, “How much does this guy make? Does he make more than those other waiters over there?" I asked myself as I looked at a line of waiters on standby holding platters, and listening to G's speech.

"G doesn’t carry anything really…How long did he have to study these lines, if the menu keeps changing all the time? I wonder how many other waiters want his job?.......Welp, he’s really working hard for that gratuity, I must admit” I concluded, as he went on about the miniature hash- because yes, there was indeed THAT much time passing in order for me to contemplate it all.

 

“….and enjoy” G concluded, and disappeared.

 

I looked over at everyones dishes as they dug into roasted limbs and tails, then turned to my mom in confusion:

“Are you going to eat it, Li?” my mother asked me.

“Yeah, but I have a question about it” I began to ask in a rather serious tone, because I really WAS confused about an incredibly trivial matter, and was suddenly realizing that I was not eating dinner anymore, but having a dance in foolishness.

“Okay, so normally when I get finger food like this, I simply pick it up, and eat it” I said as I began to giggle, “..but NOW, we’re at THIS place, and it seems like a fork, and knife should be used. But why would I do that--I mean, it’s already smaller than silver dollar-“

“- I know, I know” my mother consoled, “…just cut it anyway”.

“Okaaaayyy” I replied, and picked up the cold handled knife alongside the long silvery fork, and proceeded to cut it in half.

I put the crispy browns in my mouth with a crunch.

“Hm, not bad. Tastes like a tater tot” I thought as I speared the other crescent fry, and popped it into my mouth to crunch up.

Soon the moment was over, and my big round ceramic dish was as empty as my stomach began. So, I picked up the yellow champagne, and washed my throat down as I looked over at my brunette fixture.

The couple had just received their meals, and she was finally using words, but it was more of a morphed whisper than a reveal, much to my dissapointment.

The waiter took my plate away as she took a bite, and then glanced up at me. I just stared at her with a blank expression, still wondering about her occupational hazards, as a wiry thin waiter put another plate, fork, and knife on the table, in front of me.

This time the plate was the same size as everyone else’s, and was presented with another center dollop, looking to be potato salad.

“This is the classic salad style we know, with potato as the main ingredient….” G began, as I considered how much I really never liked potato salad.

“..And enjoy.” G trilled, as he pranced away.

“Thaaanks” I trailed off with a smile, and took a bite.

“Yep. That’s potato salad alright” I said to myself, as I flashed my attentions back over towards brunette to see if she was ever going to let her hair down, and actually become animated.

 

I really didn’t want to stare, but she had my attention fully; I had never before ran across someone so cryptic and glossy, all wrapped up in a light blue sweater set. I wondered if she was for real, or if this was an incredibly smooth operator who just happened to have the perfect wardrobe to look like a preppy cupcake.

Either way would be a sad reality, that much I knew- but it was becoming a truth I was absolutely determined to know,one way or another as the potato salad eventually made way to french fries:

“And of course, we have our classic long wedged potatoes, lightly frizzled in truffle oil…” G continued to explain, “..And enjoy” He said triumphantly, as he turned away.

 

I was starting to feel better as the food hit my bloodstream, and still with no reveal from my mystery mannequin, I began to look at the handful of fries, all curled in round noodle shapes, and spun on itself.

“How are those potatoes, Li” asked my uncle “That looks like fries”.

“That’s ‘cuz it is” I said.

“They gave you french fries?” he asked, and then laughed, “We could have just stopped by McDonalds on the way, haha”.

 

I wasn’t really listening to him however, as I had my eye on that woman, when suddenly she glanced over.

“Oh jeez” I said to myself as I looked away, and stabbed a spindle of fry onto my fork, while doing my best to pay attention elsewhere, but she wasn’t looking away.

I looked back up from the plate, and our eyes locked as she glared at me with despise, as if to say “Stop looking over here” and “I hate you” simultaneously.

“Uh oh” I thought to myself as I smiled and looked away, still knee deep in a gossamer headbuzz, “Prom queen's mad".

"I wonder what’s wrong" I asked myself "Did he NOT pop the question? Or, am I putting her off her game, and queering her pitch somehow?"I laughed, as my next plate arrived:

 

"And for you Miss..." G announced.

It was a single boiled potato in the center of a large plate, with zig zag lines of yellow and cream intermingling around it.

 

"...Although...'lucky me', I mean, that was certainly more expression than I thought she was capable of, " I giggled as I cut the vegetable, "Either way, she's clearly a snotty bitch", I decided, and left it at that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time to Roll

 

 

Plates were cleared, and coffee was served by the time I received my next lesson; a center splat of mashed potato.

 

"And for dessert…Come-" G motioned to another waiter, who hurried over.

The second waiter took out a long necked lighter, as a third waiter burst out the kitchen doors with a small cake.

"We have something special for your celebration" G announced, as the other two men set the cake down, and lit a small sparkler.

"Oh, woooow" said dad as his face lit up with pure amaze.

"That's very nice" said Grandpa S, in an approving tone.

Mom gave a small clap, as aunt S smiled, and sipped brew from her dainty cup.

 

A small blonde cake was cut into pieces and passed around, as I ate the last bite of mash.  

 

I looked back over at the brunettes table, to see if they had taken notice of the event, but instead was paying their bill. The plaid man lifted the pen as she stared blankly at him just the same as she had the entire time.

"I bet she says 'thank-you' after he signs the bill" I mused to myself, but nothing ever changed, and I wondered how she felt in that moment; having this one-dimension demeanor the entire night through, and it probably having been related entirely to this one single moment of truth, to which, she managed to gloss over just like every other moment splendidly.

 

I grabbed my fork, and took a bite of the cake. It was a basic vanilla cake with buttercream frosting, very sweet and typical, which reminded me of every birthday before, which was sort of the point, as G had pointed out early on.

 

I was happy to see my dad enjoying his celebration, and felt completed in my need for more steps down the potato trail, being pleasantly surprised to have found a slice of familiar near the end of the road, and so I got the rest of my courses wrapped, to-go.

 

"Here is your tally" G said, in a polished tone, as he presented the bill.

"Thank-you" Dad said, and raised his hand to collect the small leather sleeve.

"No, no, no! NONsense! WE flew in for YOUR celebration, and WE pay like we always do- ESPECIALLY on your birthday" Grandpa S said, in an insistent tone.

"Very well" G said as he began to hand to bill to Grandpa S.

"No Dad, this is quite a bit of money for such a large crowd, and I PICKED the place" he reasoned.

"Of course" G chirped, and began to hand the leather folder back to pops.

"Nothing’s changed here" Grandpa S snorted, and slammed his hand on the table.

"Okay, Dad, if you want to-" my dad relented.

"And this is yours, Sir" G said, turning to Grandpa with smile, while he handed him the sum.

Grandpa S grabbed the small leather jacket casually as he opened it up, and with a single look, freeze-framed into a million head explosions of 'holy shits', as grandma M looked over at the total.

"I mean, I just, well… I didn't know" grandpa S, said in shock.

"Oh my" said grandma M with a frown, " That's quite a bit of money. Is that correct?".

"Don't worry!" my mom rang out as she lifted her plastic square card to place inside the leather file, "Here".

"Oh, well, I don't know" Grandpa S sounded flummoxed, as Grandma M frowned in confusion.

Mom slapped the card down as G took the folder from Grandpa S, making it easy for her to do so…and with a flick of his wrist, and smirk across his face, G spun around, and vanished to process the payment.

 

I still hadn't gotten any closer to my answers on the blue-bowed woman, and seeing her plaid date helping her get a camel hair coat on, meant I probably wasn't ever going to.

But, getting up to leave did give me a chance to eyeball her date- as I had been seated just parallel to this chatterbox the entire time, and then blocked from clear view because of my lanky uncle next to me, I was never really able to fully absorb this guys vibe OR his words, and now was my big chance:

 

"Finally" I thought to myself as I watched him, staunchly helping her with the coat.

A wallpaper-esque aura of a man, with blonde hair, light eyes, and a pasty complexion, that made his youthful pimple rash stand out amongst his newly shaven jawline, while his red plaid shirt matched his ruddy cheeks.

“She wants to marry THAT? There’s no way she’s not a paid escort” I resolved, when they began to  leave, and she turned looking past him, and remarked  “Let’s not sit in THAT corner, if we come here again, Okay?”.

“Sure” he replied unwittingly, as they scuttled away.

"Hm. I guess that means she was for real" I resolved, as I reflected on a life of matching sweater sets, and vacant smiles. " Although not necessarily. I wonder how long it will last?" I asked myself, as I listened to my aunt S talk about California life, and enjoyed the rest of the cake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Digesting Truth                                                                                                        8.23

 

I was always a real slow eater.

It took me longer than anyone I broke bread with, thoroughly making me the designated pace setter at most mealtimes. Even at the preschool table, where time was on a schedule, I was always the last one finish, usually missing out on the dessert tray, which naturally made me the last to join onto the next part of the day’s activities.

It was probably due to the fact, that I preferred to use my front teeth, instead of my back molars like most humans; I enjoyed tasting the ingredients, and with the front of the tongue being quite receptive to all flavors, I could taste a montage of ingredients while getting a full nose of the experience.

Even if it was solid foods like hot dogs or apples, or whatever, those front caps went a gnawin' on it ALL as an equal opportunist: Part connoisseur, part rabbit. For whatever the reason, I simply did not use my back molars, much to my mother’s dismay.

After her long day of work, we would finally get home, and sit down to dinner. I would have a plethora of thought to share as I normally did, and this dinner, as all dinners before it, would be no ordinary event. Nope, it was going to be a full production exchange, not unlike a special occasion meal someone might have when going out to a restaurant for a celebration.

 

You know what I mean, the whole ritualized experience of fine dining; The menu arrives, then drinks & appetizers, a salad perhaps, then the main course, dessert afterwards, and naturally, after dinner drinks with coffee- except I was just mac'n'cheesing it with my front teeth, chomping at the bit with whatever topic I had on my mind at the moment, and my minds moments were always a lavish banquet of say.

 It’s true- there wasn't a meal or snack that didn't readily provide nourishment to my line of reasoning; always making mealtime THAT much slower- since I was speaking throughout most of it.

 

 I mean, it would start out o.k. The meal would be presented, I was happy to dig in, and begin the ceremony which was tasty, and energy provident. But once the vitamins hit my bloodstream, all bets were off, and my mind would soar right alongside my chatterbox mouth. Big or small, no thought was overlooked as valid for presentation, no emotion too intense to overwhelm the activity at hand, even if dinner came to a standstill and food got cold, it got finished eventually, but alongside a whirlwind of expression as added seasoning.

 

My mother, who, was a single mom working in a 1970s Chicago reality did not have the energy or determination to hinder my rip-roaring ways every evening. Instead, she would do her best to sit there listening, eyes sort of half-glazed over from the long work day, and would patiently listen to everything I had to say- even if the thoughts were irrelevant to adult ears, she fully accepted them around the table as good and well-intentioned, as the 1-hour mealtime could easily turn into 2.

 

While the dinners were long, it was never a real issue with the just the two of us there; I would finish up as she tidied up the kitchenette, and would float around the one-bedroom apartment, usually getting ready for work the next day.

 

This system was just snappy, as far as I was concerned; I was able to set my own pace when it came to feasting. Instead of a rushed bite with hurried entertainment of a game, or TV, or something that families like to do after dinner, we had sort of skipped that step, and went straight into the early evening news before bath and bedtime.

Most of the time, I found the news boring, and would usually go to my closet converted playroom while the bathtub filled across the hallway.

 

The playroom had loooong ass shelving alongside all its walls, and on them, a lengthy line of dolls, with found objects that I would score at the local parks; An interesting rock, or a broken plastic piece of colors- I had all SORTS of things, and for all SORTS of made-up reasons, and felt it very important to do my daily check-ins on the loot, as the reporter would blab on the black-and-white TV screen.

 

This all changed when the two became three, and my mother’s new squeeze arrived on the scene. Right away, I didn't like the guy, and could tell we would have problems. He seemed more interested in occupying my mother’s attention than listening to what I EVER had to say. My magic mealtimes were slowly disappearing like a vanishing act, and would magically become just the beginning.

 

I really liked most potentials she brought home; the one that lasted a year, the one that lasted a date or two - even the guy I saw once, and never saw again- they all seemed to engage me in SOME way, in SOME fashion and so, I never really minded sharing conversations when dinnertime came around; I was still able to speak my peace, eat my pace, and go play with my dolls afterwards. 

 

But NOW, this schedule was starting to ERODE, AND, since this new guy was looking to be 'the one', it was only a matter of time before adjustments had to be made- and made they were:

 

He never moved in or anything like that, but had his own place just north of us. It made visits convenient, and flipped my end of day festivities like a flapjack chucked into the waste bin.

 

It wasn’t all bad though- what was once my mother’s time to clean up dinner, and prepare for work was now EASIER- since TWO sets of adult hands could wash dishes, and give her a break after her long days. As a matter of fact, it got SO efficient that what was once TWO sets of hands in the small kitchenette became just ONE set- just his, making it easier for mom to go get ready for work, and flitter around the place with whatever tasks she had to do for the evening, before bedtime.

 

The mealtime windup got a lot colder though; What once was my mother passing a lending ear on the mealtime closure, now became some guy in my kitchen doing moms chores, while she was nowhere to be found…and since there was no real engagement from the man, supper became more like a prison sentence while I finished whatever it was that I was eating.

 

Fortunately, check-in on the dolls & bath time stayed the same, and while I didn't like the new system so much, it wasn't really THAT different…. until it was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sure Enough

 

It started on a regular work day, around a regular dinnertime when my mother went off to get ready somewhere else in the apartment after finishing her meal, and I looked up at this not-so-new fellow who was already at the sink placing dishes on the drying rack.

"SO, I was drawing at school today.." I began.

He blinked, and continued washing, as he remarked "Oh", sounding genuinely surprised that I was speaking to him.
"Yeah- I made this one picture with the purple crayon that I shared with my friend. I was using it, and-" I began, ready to explain just exactly how the whole Crayola matter unfolded, when he interrupted with response "-Oh, Purple? Wow, that's nice--Hey R!" he called out to mom, as he turned off the splashy faucet handles, and dried his hand on the yellow dish rag.

“Yes, well she needed it” I started to explain.

“Mhmm…” he replied as floated off to find my mom.

 

The dishes were all washed now, except for the plate in front of me, which sat like a lone heap of wasted effort.

 I looked at the mountain of freshly cleaned ceramics and metals on the wooden drying rack, that were now dripping dry into a gazey shine. Like a delicate balance of Jenga, he had managed to fit every last piece, without the need for my mom’s regular ‘stop-dry-and-put-away-before-washing-more’ approach.

 

Just then, my mom trailed in from the back room, and came to find me:

"Are you all finished with dinner?" she asked.
"Yep!" I instantly replied. I could see that what once took a long, chatterful hour and a half with mom was now only gonna take 45 with the new assistant on board, and full or not, I didn’t want to sit there anymore.

"Ok" she smiled and took the rest to be cleaned, as I stood nearby.

“I was drawing at school today, and I gave I the purple crayon to my friend I” I said.

“Well, that was very nice of you. What were you two creating?” she asked me, as she sudded up the wet sponge.

“We were working on letter pictures, and the letter G is purple....like grapes” I stated matter-of-factly.

“Of course” mom replied as she began to dry the plate with the rag, “Do you want to play with your dolls before a bath? There is plenty of time, and I need to mend my skirt tonight on the sewing machine”.

“Oh. Okay” I replied.

“We will be in the back, and I will be sewing if you need me, sweetheart” she sang out, as she walked towards the back bedroom, which held the small brown and yellow flowered Singer sewing machine which she would use quite regularly for mending and tailoring clothes.

She was very skilled with a needle, which made the machine convenient to own, and although the apartment was small, it made economical sense to house it since saved both time and money for city dwellers without wheels. Faster than a T.V. dinner, her machine would be threaded, and the bobbin ready to spin, as I would hear it beginning to whirr and hum in no time.

 

Over the next few weeks, small little micro-efficiencies started popping up with this third wheel in the new evening groove- like an iron pressing out the small creases on a button down for the next day, the routine was getting more efficient. What was once “Do you like mushrooms?” naturally morphed into “We didn’t make mushrooms this time, so stop talking, and eat the damn carrots”, and “Ooops, I didn’t know she didn’t like onions” turned into “Voila, we scraped the onions off of yours, you’re welcome”.

 

I knew it was BOUND to happen to us too; making memories in the moment, as most families do around this hour- repeating this ritual we call ‘dinnertime’ night after night… Yet still, I couldn't help but feel I was getting ripped off somehow. I mean, I might have been young and unsure of how that was happening, but my spidey senses were a tinglin' with ‘you-just-got-swindled’ vibes, and I soon found out why:

 

This new dishwasher wasn’t EVER interested in crayon stories, OR what letter we learned at school- in fact, he started cleaning those dishes so fast, that these new ‘charity Jengas’ began taking less than 10 minutes to build, making it easy for their night to continue on as I was left at the table, wafting, and having a new game of 'lets-see-how-long-it-takes-you-to-realize-I’m-sitting-alone-in-another-room’ to begin.

 

Sure enough.

She would come out from the back with paperwork or sewing needle in hand, and hurry over.
"Are you all finished?" she would ask.
"Yep" I replied.

 

Tra La La…

This was the way it went, on and on. Mom and I still had a block of time together during bath and story time, although not as lengthy as it once was, yet the extra set of hands made the nightly chores easier for mom, and I could see she was happy, and I was cool with this system, until one evening, I wasn't:

 

It began with a lengthy discussion at dinner about some trouble at work. They started at the dinner table, but then conversed about it more after dinner while he cleaned, then it moved to the backroom. On and on.

 

I sat at the table, wondering when she might come out, with her thoughts stacked nicely like the Jenga towers he was so good at making, but the regular time for that had passed, and I was still planted in the dining room like the mashed potatoes, and green beans that sat before me.

 

She had been upset about something that had happened earlier in the day at the office, and he had been consoling her for most of the evening. Whatever the matter was, must have gotten better as time passed, because I heard her voice turn from a sharp, blunt tone, into a light-hearted sonnet, with short dashes of solitary laughter muffled through the walls, and echoing down the short hallway.

 

Soon, I heard the turn of the bedroom doorknob and she came out with a hurried step.

“Are you finished?” she asked me, with a smile.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing sweety,” she said calmly, and cooly as if the matter never existed, “Let’s see..it’s getting late, ” she stated as she took my plate into the kitchenette, and continued speaking “Why don’t you play with your dolls for a few minutes before bathtime. That will be soon”.

“Okay, but how was your day?” I asked with inquisitiveness as I was not satisfied with the first response.  I mean, maybe the matter was ‘no big deal’ to her at THIS point in time, but it certainly wasn’t ‘nothing’ earlier that evening, and wasn’t for me now.

“There is nothing for you to worry about Li. Everything is fine. Let’s go see how your dolls are doing- I bet they miss you” she said reassuringly, as she escorted me to my playroom, and then walked back to rejoin her new friend with the indispensable ear.

 

Of course, that wasn’t the end of the change ups. Soon, this new work day drama appeared on the horizon as a regular beat, and even longer after-dinner discussions held my mom attention more often than not, as this new guy now became the regular guy.

 

‘I hate this’ I thought to myself, ‘Where’s the daily art picture reports? Where’s the everyday friend fill-in about I and T? This new remove-me-from-the-evening-dialogue garbage has gotta go…and maybe this guy TOO. He’s starting to make me mad’.

 

Because, so far, outside of my MOM seeming relatively happy with the guy, I sure as shit wasn't. He was nothing but annoying, and cut my mom time in half, while not listening to any of MY daily run downs to boot. Nope. Things had to change, and I was just the mastermind who knew how to do it.

 

I hatched my plan while I thought about it at school all the next day, and eventually drew up the scheme at the art table late in the afternoon. It was an image of our family at dinnertime, on a yellow sheet of construction paper, which held an intricate system of waxy crayon lines, and numbers:

"Thats pretty" said my preschool teacher.
"O.k." I replied. Little did she know those were SERIOUS blueprints being created. I mean, that shit might have been in crayon squiggles, but the symphony of strategy was profound- and by the time mom came to pick me up (which was always closer to the 6pm mark), I had a plan:

 

I was simply gonna PAUSE my dinner when mom got done with hers, and join her in back while sir speedy began the nightly sud. I mean, I knew I wasn't going to be able to ERASE this person from my life, but I’de be able to get SOME dinner conversation again.

 

It was a perfect plan (Or so I thought) as the night began.

Dinner had been served, and I was knee deep in buttered peas, talking about the math butterflies we made at school, while I kept a close eye on mom’s plate, in anticipation of getting the timing right.

Soon, mom got up with her dish and walked over to old soapy; his hands were goin' strong in the ceramic tub square full of bubbles.

“Thanks so much for doing these..It makes the night so much easier” she stated with a smile, as she floated into the back room.

‘Time to make my move’ I thought to myself as I got up from the table, and ran back to join her. I was just in time to see mom organizing clothes for the next day.

"Hello!!" I said with gloating grin.

"Oh Li, Hi!” she replied with a surprised smile.

”Whatcha' Doin? Did you see my picture today?” I asked her, as I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“What did you draw today?” she asked, as she got a needle and thread out to mend her pantyhose.

“A picture of our apartment” I smiled, as I felt a satisfied warmth of win, and rolled on the bed happy as a clam.

 I knew the food was getting cold in the other room, but I didn’t care. It was usually cold by the time I got around to finishing plates on any average day anyway, and this change up was well worth it.

 

Mom listened intently as she fumbled with the needle and thread in the somewhat dark room, using the bright closet light to help her, as I watched, and began to describe the important events that had unfolded throughout my day:

“Yes, I really enjoyed the crayons today..” I stated.

“Oh? I know you really like working at the art tabl--” she began to say, when suddenly the kitchen crew interrupted.

>knock knock<

"HI” he announced, as he cut in with a smile.

‘Well, that was TOO quick’ I thought to myself with suspicion. I mean, I might have been a 3 year old kid with a real fucked up, abstract sense of time, but she hadn't even finished her first ask of the evening.

Sure enough:
"Um, R...am I supposed to wash her plate NOW, or.?.." he asked her with a doe-eyed look of wonder, and a voice as soft as feathers falling on rainbows.

"Oh!" mom perked up, and turned to me to ask "Li sweety, are you finished with dinner?"

 

’Damn’ I thought, ‘ I did NOT see THIS in my master crayon set of clever planning”, but I wasn’t ready to abandon ship just yet, and chirped "Sure AM" stridently, as I puffed up my chest, proud of my spilt decision of choosing mom over a cold plate solo. I had made a solid choice, and was ready to stand firm to defend my time, no matter the losses.

 

But it was never enough time, and I swear to god, that guy must have loaded up on coffee or something, because from my 3 year old point of view, the dishes started getting done faster than instant mac’n’cheese- even with my own plate tossed in mix.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take Away-Got Took

 

 

But then a new ritual ingredient got thrown into the mix; He would BRING dinner…Like take-away from local restaurants.
He could see my mother was just exhausted at the end of her days working as a single mom in a mid70’s Chicago reality, and he was considerate of her world. He knew she didn’t have a lot of dispensable cash for extras, and so take-away was a real treat, an act of kindness, and most importantly, PLATE FREE for his dish-pan hands.

I saw right through it, and knew his real fondness was for more time with my mom, all in the name of sharing his culinary tastes and likes.

 And boy, did this guy have his food preferences (more on that later). A foodie? Or just a fool- You decide, guys. I mean, he had ALL SORTS of ideas of what he liked- and what mom really needed to try.

You can forget kiddo favorites like mac'n'cheese, or tater tots, or whatever- Instead it was local exotics, with more spice, the BETTER.
..and why wouldn't she play along? I mean, culture folks, culture; Greasy sausages with carmelized onions, fresh catch of the day with horseradish sauce, or sweet and sour chicken with sticky orange sauce drizzled amongst the hottest shit peppers I had have witnessed:

"I can't eat it" I said.

Mom looked up, and frowned "Oh no", she said.

"Here" He would say, loading me up with extra rice, and randomly picking out small bits of vegetables from random spots amongst the trays.

“What is it?” I asked Him.

“It’s corn” he replied.

“No it’s not-I’ve never seen corn like that” I replied, as a looked at a small, yellow bumpy vegetable, about 2 inches long, kind of resembling a miniature ear of corn.

“Yes, it is..it’s a baby corn” he assured me.

But I didn’t believe him, and seeing it there, speared with my wooden stick, dripping in the deep amber drip glaze, was hard to accept.  Even the green of the broccoli tree heads looked doused in some globular shit that would make an alien worry.

 

‘Take-away’ nights were definitely becoming that:
...aaannnnd,

SLAMMMO!!!

Into the garbage the whole mess went- cartons, chops sticks, napkins and all.
He brushed his hands on his shirt, as if he had done a great dish job, as I watched him walk out of the room with a side eye, and I asked myself 'Ok, so how is the evening supposed to work NOW?' with wonder.

 I mean, it's not like my mom and I ever played endless board games or threw confetti dance parties BEFORE this man arrived on the scene, but this was OUR time, and it was limited on a regular school-work night. Where was I supposed to get scheduled in?

 

Yet just like that, we got to it:

 I would go into my playroom, while they went to the back for a bit, as she got ready for work- usually deep in conversation, with adult words, completely foreign to my 3-year-old ears, before moving into the living room to then watch the news like she always had.

But mom surprised me with her ability to relate so easily to someone else, who was so foreign to me- it was so different from how the two of US related. It was like watching a completely new person I had never seen before, holding discussions in a foreign language, completely removed from my sph-ears of understanding with some weird, fluffy-haired tall guy.

 

Of course, I tried joining them in back or watch the news, but that was short lived since listening to either was utterly boring, as it always had been.

Yep. Days away from this 3 person dynamic was getting more coveted by the moment- and like a greedy golem was not willing to share. I had to fill as much time as I could with my mothers attention on those night when HE wasn't around, which was happening less often since ‘regular guy’ was now well on the way to becoming ‘serious guy’. Things like doll check-in could wait on those ‘just us’ nights- which would always go just as they HAD gone, once upon a time.

 

  And although the fairy tale moments were coming to a close, I was determined to have as much of it as possible, and so I stayed stuck to her side, rattling her ear off with as much content as our time allowed on those dueted evenings.  I didn’t care if the news was boring, or if the sewing was monotonous, OR if cleaning the kitchenette became dull- we were exchanging worlds, painting ideas, and laughing our way through the chores. It made me wish upon a star, that our time together would last forever, all the while knowing it wouldn’t, and t made moment all the more savory.

 

 

By now, serious guy had managed to stay on the scene for a solid 6 months, and with take-away launched into our lives on a regular basis, it was always an escapade in ‘WTF is this’ cuisine exploration, a few times a week.

 

But no sooner had one change soured me, than another surprise hit with a twist. Those ‘he-free’ nights were gonna get a bite too; mom decided it was time to try sleepovers at HIS pad, and I would be sent to my moms neighbor friend, B, who I liked a lot, but whose pet cat would attack me on the regular which put a whole new spin on the idea of sleepovers as ‘fun’.

 

 

My new table was almost entirely set now; An unprocessed one where I not only held a disdain for the daily menu of leftover attention, but was beginning a real adventure in solid cuts of time. In just under a year, a complete stranger had managed to carve himself into my mother’s side, and slice me right the fuck on out, while simultaneously turning my play-room into a deep freeze. I simply joined the long row of dolls on my shelf, and waited, until a heart-warming hand took me outta there to be dethawed in a bath, before bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just Eat It

 

Eventually, the weekend would begin, and like most families we would go OUT to dinner. I loved going out on the weekends, because NOW, I had time with my mom throughout the day (although often shared), and after dinner, AND I got to pick OUT what I wanted to eat, instead of picking through what I HAD to eat- and whoever invented the concept of a 'Menu' is a goddamn genius, to be sure- at least I thought so at the time.

 

Going out didn’t happen every weekend however, and was a really new experience for me every time we went-especially since I got to pick out what I wanted. It was a ritual HE had with HIS family: that each member pick a dish of choice, as opposed to parents picking it out FOR you,( because you might be too young to know wtf you are picking).

 

 Because of it, eating out was a hit or miss, but I sure did love spinning that wheel.

Sometimes a hit! But at new places, usually a miss. I didn’t mind though, as I was already well on my way in the nimble arts of foraging a plate on those take-away nights back home- luck HAD to be on my side ONCE in a while. Plus, going to the same restaurant allowed me to have a preset selection of preferred options walking in, even if I wasn’t particularly hungry, it was no matter, I still ordered something.

 

No one minded that either, because nothing got wasted; anything I didn't eat, he would help finish. Yup. That human efficiency was chugging along nicely, until one time, I ordered something that NO ONE could eat. I mean it was seriously gross people, and while I might have been a slow eater, or a fussy chooser, or whatever, even Mr. Mouth cringed after first bite.

So instead, we ordered a second option, just as the main dishes were being eaten. But what seemed like a good idea, was turning into a really long wait; this simple dish was taking longer than ever to get to the table as it was a busier Friday night, and the place was poppin' with hungry patrons. It made sense why it took longer, but that didn't help the tight schedule we were on, seeing as how he had pre-purchased movie tickets to surprise afterwards.

 

 My order was something I had tried before, and knew I liked, and I was looking forward to it arriving no matter WHEN it was ready, I was hungry this night.
On and on I waited patiently, watching everyone enjoy the feast, yet soon the feasting was over, bellies were full, and my dish suddenly arrived.
It looked so good, although 2000 degrees coming out of that kitchen- God, was it ever hot. I waited patiently as the food cooled, with him looking at me, mildly annoyed as we waited.

 

Soon the bill arrived, and other feeders were just now arriving too, waiting with prying eyes for an available table.
My front incisors went to town! Tasty! Just as I remembered it! Just as I liked it!
Except something was a bit different this time around- I was the only one eating, as these two grown ass adult are looking at me pensively.

"Is it good?" he asked inquisitively.
"Yes- I like this very much" I replied "This reminds me of my one dolly, Ms.Broccolli- she's all green and has the flower dress like this broccolli here..I wish I had Ms. Brocco-"
"That’s nice, but you should eat more now" he replied "..we are going to see the movie soon".

Mom started gathering coats, and was soon with all items in hand, and it was just me now, gnawing as fast as my teeth could go!  I knew we were short on time, and I was using those front chompers faster than I had ever used them before it became noticeable; my mouth moving faster than superman could fly, but very LITTLE actually getting moved off the plate.
"You're chewing really fast" he began.

The conversation had stopped by this point, and all eyes were on me.
I nodded and continued, as I grabbed a big hunk of chicken from the pile, and started to shave at it as best I could.
"Maybe you need a bigger bite" he suggested.

I looked up at him, and considered it.

I hadn't thought of that… It might actually work!

 I could just put the whole thing in there, and chew OFF of it in my MOUTH, rather than pick away at it with the fork.
In it went, and sat on the side of my cheek like a little squirrels save-for-later treasure.

He soon checked his watch, then looked at my mother "We gotta go".
She looked down at HER watch "Oh my god! You're right" she replied.
He turned his attention back to me "Are you finished? he asked in a slow voice.
"Nope" I answered.
"Are you STILL eating that first piece of CHICKEN?" he asked
"Yes!" I answered. I was really proud with how fast I could move when I concentrated on it; It was not too hard to do: just take the chunk, bring it to the FRONT of your mouth, and use your tongue to center it just right, while taking small bite, then the hunk could be popped back into cheek for the next round.

 

"Why don't you try chewing it then" he said dryly.

And like a lightening rod going through me, all at once- the impatient crowds at the door, my mom looking both bored and ready to go, his authority to the whole moment, I pressed down firmly on the whole chunk, using all my teeth for a change, and pulverized the matter up in no time at all.

 No time to taste it, no time to look at what was going in, just chew chew chew- it was time to get to work, because life was pressing, and I was certainly in no position to press back.

 

After that, dinnertime wasn't an issue anymore; I ate with my full set of pearlies just fine now, and with most meals an unmemorable event, it became a simple chore, just like finding my niche in the doll closet. But mom could see I was growing bigger on the shelf, and a small play closet with a potential hubby in a small one bedroom wasn't gonna slice it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Whole Room, and a Whole Lot More

 

I could not believe the amount of space in the new the three bedroom apartment. We had just moved to Evanston, Illinois, at a time when apartments along the north shore were readily available, with the rentables outnumbering condos, and so it wasn't difficult to find something almost overnight.

 

A whole room to myself! Wow!!

What was this going to be like? Normally mom and I shared the queen bed in our small apartment, but with ‘serious guy’ now turning into ‘family guy’, me turning 5, and starting kindergarten at a new school in a couple of weeks, it just made logical sense.

 

This new place had a railroad style layout, with long hallways filled with hardwood floors, old rattling windows, and bubbly radiators which would make the oddest of sounds as some of them were leaky, and would sing a strange sonnet of steamy high notes with clankity metal baselines, all winter long.

 

It would begin slowly, with a light random tapping sound, letting us know the heat giants were waking from their sleep, ready to get to work. I always imagined them in the basement somewhere, getting the magic machinery started as a few raps here and there eventually gave way to what sounded like someone deciding to hit with the radiator with a wrench instead.

 

Eventually, all the noise would stop, and give way to a small squeaky trickle of sound as the mysterious opera began, and would radiate a subtle heat into the dark brown brick building, that was nestled into the shady side of Forest street.

 

 As we arrived in his VW rabbit late August, I wondered what the glassy wood panel door might reveal inside.

“What is this?” I asked mom.

“This is our new apartment” she replied with a smile, “We will live here instead of where we live now”

“Oh” I remarked all wide-eyed, absorbing the realization that I would be leaving my familiar doll closet.

 

 Now I was really paying attention to this new area, as we walked up the stairs, and found our door on the first floor. It was an umber wooded front with three green glass panels embedded in it, which sat in a row along the top of it, and would reveal glassy swirls of banded patterns as we walked into the foyer, and beamed a gentle green light as it closed behind us.

 

The rooms were large and empty as I looked in one direction, which lead to the living room and sunroom made of windows, holding strong sun rays which were crashing into the wooden flooring, and reflecting a chestnut glow on the white walls all around.

 

I looked in amazement, as I wondered how the rooms might get filled an walked the other direction, along a loooong hallway which revealed another hallway halfway through, and eventually lead us into the dining room area with a kitchen and a small bedroom in back (which were typically designed as maids quarters in older style apartments).

 

That was MY room, and I was SO amazed. There was so much space.

I was surely to have all my dolls fit into this new place nicely… And fit they did- EVERYTHING fit, and there was room, for even MORE dolls! The potential was limitless.

I had hardly begun to unpack when, a new SECOND school would be landing on the scene as well: Something called 'Hebrew school', and I would be starting it in the upcoming weeks. New place, new schools...it just kept going on and on, and I wondered if it might envelop me, swallowing me whole in newness, and I would somehow be reinvented too.

 

I mean, a whole room? How would this change my world?

 What was this gonna BE like?

I soon found out; it was not unlike my LAST life: Get ready for school, get out the door, mom to work with family guy already gone for the day, go to school: It was pretty standard, and while my home was new, and the friends were new, and the schools were new, I mean, even the hot lunches were new, it was all pretty much still straightforwardly the same. The new things like Hebrew school were not so difficult at this point in my life- it wasn't really hard-nosed face-in-a-scroll teachings at age 5, and so, the new additions hardly felt like a change at all.

 

This was also during a small window of time where I, and my two step-brothers M and A, got a chance to meet and engage. I thought they were fun and wanted to hang out with them more, but both were a lot older than me, and didn’t have much interest in my dolls or plastic bits of park findings. To them I was more of an annoying younger kid who managed to score a spot in their dads life, where they saw him for weekend visitations now.

 

Eventually, a steady routine developed where I would see them once a week for dinner at our place, with a sleepover that ended our time together, as the three of them were usually whisked off into some Saturday adventure, giving my mother and I time together for weekend chores, or sometimes she would try her hand at baking.

 

 I didn’t mind the weekend share, and although there wasn't really a bedroom for M and A (other than a pull-out couch in his study), they seemed to make it over to our place once week, until they didn’t.

 

Yet those dinnertimes were some of the best times I ever HAD. He would roll out the red carpet I tell you-with these elaborate try outs: Deep fried chimichangas, or hand pressed falafels, 8 hour+ spaghetti sauce was a real contender, while the beef brisket was a savory surprise.

 

He made all sorts of things for those special nights, and my mother would help along too. She was never really the cook at the house, but had an oddball hand in baking, creating all sorts of euro style baked goodies, on those rain filled Sunday afternoons.

 

Between the two of them, there was a full tear down feast to behold on those visitation days, and I was fully present for every moment of it. Enjoying time with others, being around the table was truly a rewarding experience to my body as well as my mind, because my brothers would oftentimes lend an ear to whatever I might have been rattling off- and rattle it really WAS.

 

I mean, both M and A were quite a few years OLDER than me, and most definitely more mature in interests so nothing I brought forward was new and novel, but they listened just the same, making jokes along the way, being light-hearted in spirit.

  

Unfortunately, those times were but a brief moment as M and A got older in no time, and after awhile it boiled down to just us three on the weekends again, with those special mealtimes simply evaporating up into the kitchen corners. They had decided that the logistics were getting too complicated with everyone’s schedules, with the results being that of taking M and A out to eat instead, extending their exclusive dad time all weekend through.

 

I couldn’t help but feel a bit left out, but understood, as the family dynamics were happening organically- just like mom’s diet. It was the whole food conscious movement of the early 80’s, and people were simply not eating deep fried-whatever-the-fuck anymore. I mean, sure, maybe as a special OCCASION food, but certainly not on the regular.

 

Society put saturated fats on the hard ‘No’s’ list, replacing it with crystally sweet alternatives, where you could hardly believe the butter, OR the amount of chemicals shoved in, but there it was; a new, healthy fridge, full of new revelations, while the baloney managed to still maintain residence .

 

The familiar favorites took a deep cut, and the fried shrimps, buttered popcorn, and extra oily stir fry all exited, alongside sugary snacks in general. My folks weren’t ones to fuss over foody favorites, and joining the dieting nation fork in hand, had no problems following suit.

 

Most of the meals would now center around steamed vegetables and roasted meats, yet some classics  still remained; The Spaghetti stayed around for an occasional autumn appearance, while the falafels took a twirl in the summertime. Chimichangas didn’t make it, and French fries were a goner.

 

I couldn’t believe it, my favorites were slashed and burned, leaving me disheartened with a bad taste in my mouth, thinking it couldn’t get any worse, until an entirely new creature emerged.

‘Roasted Chicken’ was its name….

…and just like the Jane Fonda Workout, it was here to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

STATEMENTS                                                                                                   12.22-

 

Oftentimes, I like to write up little statements that reflect my in-the-moment headspace.

I tend to write it down on little bits of handy paper (rather than type or text), but tend to have scattered words all over the place,  because of it :-)

I have decided start compiling written works here, rather than LOSE more of them...

..I like to look back and reread what it was I was considering, and see if I could perhaps add something more to that statement..or simply remember something I have long forgotten about:

 

 

Ra                                                                                   8.24

 

RavennevaR                                                   

More

to the sea

and Seymour

 

 

 

 

 

Making Cents                                                               7.24

 

I use words the way I want to use words-

because fuck being corrected.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have What You Like                                                      4.24

 

And as you like it,

Built up or destroyed,

Created or unmanifest,

All of it to make it none,

Time, caress and doting.

 

Have it your way,

and anyway,

you say.

 

Sayings green, then mean.

Sayings short, or a snappy retort.

A reply with a lie, 

Only a half try,

With the truer parts left to there die.

 

The only thing ever left unknown,

was never shown, 

and being unheard,

never made a word,

Effect, impact or closing.

 

 

Have what you like,

and unrealize what you don't desire,

No fire to unfeel,

or thirsts to quench.

Just drenched,

having it the way you liked it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holiday Haiku                                                               12.23

 

Absolutely,

Best not knowing,

We die alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Know It ALL                                                                   9.23

 

How do you know it

know it all

how do you throw it

know it all

snow it all

 

how does it goes it

know it all

show it all

 

you make it go on on on

and its all.

 

How do you stowe it

know it all

how does he shove it

does it all

 

How does he blows it

know it all

he makes it on on on

and on and on and on.

 

Know it all

Know it all

its all and all and all and all and

all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mistletoe                                                                              9.23

 

 

Just days and days,

Stretching the ever-haze,

From where it SPRANG- it does grow;

The Mistletoe.

 

Then HER rustling,

Doe-eyed doe,

Having at it- toe-to-toe,

With antlers marked as dew..

 

..because it is now forever new,

and then kept endlessly black-and-blue.

An infinite grow,

right here, next to your Mistletoe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which Came First?                                                              8.23

 

When I was just a peawee,

A still sprout in the cozy womb,

Mom was expected to harvest laboriuosly,

Which gave way to a moments tomb.

 

She fell down,

Bruising her crown,

and in return-

-born me,

a roaring sea,

...and also born with a bruise on my knee.

 

You see,

Art is said to be a response in vain,

To that of suffereing 

Who knows ONLY pain.

 

 

AND seeing that this honest truth,

Is to be told, 

Amongst my Youth,

 

In seeing eyes from the farthest

Pray tell ask, which came first;

The pain, or the artist?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doing Something Differently                                               8.23

 

 

         DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT

SURPRISE YOURSELF

          FIND YOURSELF

BY not BEING YOURSELF FOR A CHANGE---

 

      DIVORCE YOURSELF

FROM not FEELING

   TRYING FEELING unyou FOR A CHANGe

                  SEE WHAT YOU COULDn't BE INSTEAD.

 

FIND YOU

       FROM WHAT isn't THERE-

STARTING FROM THE UNSIDE of you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Healing Green                                                                      8.23

 

Something to be seen-

after cuts, 

in the green.

 

That feeling where it's always been,

left in between,

left in the unseen.

 

And WHEN those cuts do disappear,

to be cleaned, 

to be preened,

 

Just in sensation ,

- fuckin everclear,

worth every cut you gave to me-

a healing green inititiation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken                                                 8.23

 

You want to break my heart?

Here, let me show you how,

Let me show you where to begin-

That you might shake my crown.

 

Let's take a little adventure,

To Sea and Lyrne and Dew,

Woven all together,

From my blessed heart to you.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE                                                     8.23

 

 

I hope I have woven a tapestry,

Worthy of your love,

Worthy of your light.

So that I may present it TO you,

At the end of this existence...

....and into the next

ONE.

 

 

 

Coercion Corners                                7.23

 

If you paint me into a corner,

If you bead me into line,

You will see very quickly,

What is yours is not mine.

 

If asked to stand and deliver,

and choose one side of the shelf,

You'de feel nothing but my quiver,

As I always choose my Self.

 

 

 

 

 

 

7.23

Here's the thing about Standards;

We ALL should have them.

 

 

 

 

6.23

 

While we are made of both good and bad, there is still the source, which is LIGHT..

If it was NOT truly source, then you would never recognize darkness as such; You wouldn't recognize darkness at all...only LIGHT casts a shadow..a shadow doesn't exist without it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

6.23

My work is not about the glorification of what I can MAKE-

It's about the glorification of what others can SEE <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Would Happen    5.23

 

What would happen?

If the end was known,

If the end was shown,

If the end was grown.?

 

What would happen?

If I had you near,

If 'I Hold You' dear,

If I made it clear.?

If I really HAD you, I swear.

 

Like kisses everyday-

and champagne in everyway..

 

..and when you'de say "What happens here?"

I could say "THIS happens dear"
Then you would KNOW what would happen-

 

In the end..

As if it had always been here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Day You Became Average     3.23

 

I did not cry,

Or was shocked,

I sorta expected it-

(Having been around the block)

 

Didn't need to see you,

Didn't need to beg,

The day you became just the average,

Just the reg.

 

..and in those moments,

I pondered,

Well, what was all the fuss?

For fake'n'average head games-

where 'Under Duress We Must".

 

Really more than any one 'thing'...

that could have been an issue,

Was the fact that what was once strong as gold,

..was really REALLY as strong as tissue.

 

..and when my tears DID stop falling for all the deluded reasons,

I went outside,

to an average day,

and gave meaning to its seasons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CClean and PPristine    3.23

 

Everyones got their 'trinity', and I am no exception.

Whether a father-son-holyGhost, a maiden-mother-crone, or even an equilateral-isosceles-hypotenuse! every magic 3 has a pearl of wisdom to share. 

so, here's mine:

 

You never fuck your friends

You never fuck your family

and you never fuck work colleagues..

 

of course, mine can be strung together like pearls of deeper thought:

 

You never fuck your FAMILYS friends,

or your friends family or family of work colleagues..

you also dont fuck work colleagues friends, or friends you work with.,

 

Remember these 3keys to a clean karma and a shitton of avoided headaches. lol

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

>>>>>this tangent slice:

 

My favorite analogy on reincarnation has always been that of pie: Each life as a slice..with one very special slice that understands it's a slice of pie..it's THAT slices job to unite the pie as a PIE, rather than individual slices as "wholes" ...this is probably the first slice- and we ALL know how that slice usually goes: Imperfect, hard to get around, and hot out the oven :-D

 

 

 

 

 

 

2.23

I'm Married, with Goals;

it's like kids- only better :-D

 

 

 

In the Dark Room   2.23

 

In the Dark Room,

All alone, 

Was that me-

           on the phone..?

 

On that one record,

With the hand..

...sitting in a grandiose style,

A mile a minute

by that fly-by-night hat cap stand.

 

A place to meditate,

-a place to mourn,

A place to go

   and be with_drawn..

 

Beneath the covers,

Beneath the sheets,

Looking silly-

-giving a fuck about hearts and tweets.

 

The word potential holds no meaning

(as the word itself holds no rhyme),

 ...and so, here I can slip into unexistence-

-without a quandry, or a dime-

   -or time- especially withOUT THAT chime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BoneYard      1.23

 

I Only Came for two things;

Love and Art,

Love died,

So Dont be surprised,

When you see me at the boneyard.

 

Love is Infinite- sure,

There really is no ONE to cling to

 -that satiates that open truth.

 

But I did the math,

and a cold body,

is better than no body at all.

 

It's all a corpse embrace,

So when you see me there,

Know that I am dancing with my love

and our beautiful son, 

who eventually embraces us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Taste like Buttered Toast         12.22

 

Castle life as a castle wife,

Takes your time like a butter knife-

it covers you here...

and spreads you thin there,

But can never really take your life.

 

Castle life as a castle wife,

You'de think sometimes it'de be easier to tear it in two -

Using both hands- 

Letting me undo 

Any need

For such triviality

As a butter knife 

On my manna of life.

 

But butter knives serve it better

than a finger 

Or a spoon..

and a castle wife in a castle life,

hums to the toasty tune.

 

 

 

12.22

You can't delve into something great without finding something great inside of yourself to delve into....it doesn't have to center around the trauma- no need for a constant reenactment.

it can center around the strength that comes from that trauma...a subtle difference in focus, but tremedously distinct difference- like a hot blade on butter.

 

 

 

 

I Met Twin            12.22

 

I met him on the ocean-

between the air and sea...

 

I went a'projecting along my wave-heart,

and my completion I did see...

 

It wasn't something I understood,

or something I did feel...

 

It was more like seeing what I knew,

To be my search for something real.

 

&Upon awakening- my eyes forever changed,

A knowing within my entirety,

Distant yet close in range..

 

Searching through lands I thought I could,

Until I finally gave up,

Then he came to me in the strangest of ways,

To share a sacred cup.

 

Like air in surround,

and drinking in the water,

Gaiety then became the sun,

Bringing bliss like no other.

 

To meet us is to know one thing, 

To know us is another,

To be apart of this very thing,

Is beloved to the Lover. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12.22

What an unforgiving bitch.

Demading complete and whole harvest-

will I survive it? Of COURSE- to torture me longer..

Will I give EVERYthing to her? Of COURSE- who wouldn't set up shop with eternity.

 

 

 11.22

Forever In Time

 

I wonder, where my millionth bead went,

Did it get stuck into the cracks of the floor?

Was I in idle thought as the time was spent?

 

I wonder, what WAS my millionth bead,

Was it shining like some unnoticed notoriety?

Or was I snoozing (indeed)?

 

Wherever it went, Whereever it goes,

It was time well spent,

Like all my creations- they froze,

Into that one single event,

and this millinionth bead prose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11.22

Who ever had time for true love?

I am sure many broken hearts would feel that they need mending, 

As my needle picks up scattered beads off a floor.

 

It's not that we didn't have eternity within our grasp,

It's that we didn't grasp the situation, 

Or the Hand holding our hearts in place.

 

Who ever had time for true love?

No one was ever going to save us from our own creations.

 

 

 

 

 

2.11

What we think we value in art, is really what we value in ourselves..

My work is made soley for my gaze- and in this way,

I make love to myself.

 

 

I make UNart.

UNart is what is not important to anyone else.

 

 

I choose to relate to the society through color and sound..

I am not anti-social-

I am creating lines LOUD AND CLEAR!!!

 

 

 

12.10

The Thinking Mind is constantly using deductive reasoning- even if commanded to accept input through a different means ( to trust the emotional reasoning, for instance).

The Thinking Mind cannot help but to eventually deduct itself out logically, and will seek that out as a solution to X..

It will willingly allow emotions to take control of actions, but like the emotional body, only as an organic part of its process, where it logically should...it is EASY to create logic to a willing Thinking Mind, already adjusted to emotional guidance..just comes down to the ego allowing itself to be slayed, and fear a normal trust.

 

 

11.10

If the work is okay, it will last momentarily..

but, 

if the work is good it will last a lifetime over.

 

 

 

If I can create, I can hold eternity at my fingertips.

 

 

 

 

Does art have to be exhibitionist in nature?

 

 

 

 

 

 

The subtle art of still receptivity one finds in art is lost;

Why wait on a flower to bloom when FTD delivers.