Weed

Mother John! You’re using weed? All right, that’s it. You’re grounded. And no phone for a week.

John Aw, mom!

Voice Over Keep your kids safe. Be an Enforcer. Parents. The anti-drug.

The Enforcer? Are you kidding me? Okay, here’s how it would go at my house.

Mother John! You’re using weed? Go pack your things.

John But -

Mother No, go pack your things. You may bring your clothes and one book.

John What do you mean? Where are we going?

Mother We’re moving to Uncle Carl’s cabin in the mountains.

John That’s a hundred miles from everything! And there’s no plumbing or electricity!

Mother, taking her suitcase down from the closet shelf Mmm-hmm.

John What am I going to do all day?

Mother Well, you’re going to be busy fetching water from the spring at the bottom of the hill for cold baths and washing -

John Mom, you can’t do this! Who will I talk to?

Mother I anticipate being too angry to speak to you for at least a month, so I encourage you to make friends with the woodland creatures. Mice, and such.

[Tight shot of the car jauntily making its way up a steep dirt road. The camera pans back, and back, and back, until the car is just a black speck. There are no other houses. Just trees.]

Voice Over Keep your kids safe. Be an Enforcer. Parents. The anti-drug.

Chase

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Sage The cats are not fond of is not fond of Ozzy Osbourne.

Todd You’re listening to Ozzy?? What song?

Sage “Crazy Train”

Todd He’s eeeevil.

Sage This sounds like Starship.

Todd Be scared of him.

Todd The song “Bark at the Moon” is a little more eeeeevil. But in a Sir Simon Mulligan sort of way.

Sage Ozzy built this city, he built this city on rock and rooo-ooo–oooooolllll…

Todd Actually “Crazy Train” came out first. Ozzy created the Starship sound.

So when it came time to buy a laptop, I campaigned against Dell and for Sony for the sole reason that a Dell would be mail-order, and a Sony VAIO would be an instant gratification go to the store and get one righthisminute. And boy, am I sorry. It’s had an overheating problem since I bought it. I sent it away to be repaired once, twice, and then a third time. After a week, Sony emailed me with the FedEx Overnight tracking number, and on the day it was set to arrive, I bookmarked the tracking information and checked it obsessively.

When we lived at the yurt, the term “FedEx Overnight” meant, “We may get it to you. If we can make it up the mile long driveway, and we brave the dogs, and by ‘overnight’ really what we mean is ‘within the week’.” Sometimes it meant, “Your package has made it to Memphis, Tennessee! Isn’t that great? It’s…well, to be honest, it seems to want to stay here. Forever. And ever.”

So when the tracking site announced that my laptop was being “Held At The Memphis Facility”, I held off until around two p.m., when I finally called them and said, “Okay, people, the laptop is meant to arrive here in two hours. Unless you’re planning to rent a helicopter, I don’t see how you’re going to meet your deadline.”

And they said, “Um, your package has made it to Memphis, Tennessee! And…you know what? We’re going to call you back as soon as we find it.”

But to my surprise, they did find it. “We found your package!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news, thank you.”

“It turns out that your laptop didn’t make the flight out of Memphis this morning. But we’ll have it to you tomorrow.”

Poor laptop. Running down the concourse as fast as possible, shouting, “Hold the plane!” but no one would listen to it.

When it did arrive the next day I gleefully plugged everything in and started up Photoshop, Rhapsody, my web browser, and my email client at the same time, just because I could.

Then, abruptly, the screen went black. “Entering Hibernation Mode,” it announced.

I turned it back on. It went into hibernation mode. We fought for awhile, until I lost, and pressing the power button did nothing at all.

I called Todd. “It’s not fixed! It goes into hibernation mode! Now it won’t even turn on! Those fucking BASTARDS!“

Todd said calmly, “Maybe you should check the power cord.”

Huffily, I made sure that the cord was plugged into the back of the laptop, then followed it all the way to the…well, it wasn’t actually plugged into the wall, is what. I’d been running off the battery the entire time. I’m really glad I didn’t go with my first instinct and call the Sony repair people so I could scream at them about their slipshod repair.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Sage I’ll be right back. Doorbell.

Todd Okay.

Sage, after a few minutes Ooo. Scary scary religiousladies.

Todd Who?

Sage EAT EAT EAT, religiousladies! Good lord.

Todd WHO WHO WHO?

Sage Religiousladies. At the door.

Todd Did you invite them to our solstice celebration?

Sage I should have gotten their photo for Freaky Friday.

Todd Chase ‘em down!

Sage They were very easy to put off. I think the crewcut scared them. I wish I’d had heavy metal blasting out of the stereo instead of a Broadway musical, though.

Todd Or Melissa Etheridge -

Sage They wouldn’t have gotten it.

Todd - and winked at the cuter of the three.

Sage Okay, Todd, there WAS no cuter of the three.

Todd Oh.

Sage 3 ladies, 192 lbs total.

Todd Scary.

Sage You know, what are religiousladies doing going around knocking on doors in this town anyway? I’m probably the only person within a ten mile radius who doesn’t go to church.

Todd Hee.

Sage Maybe it’s a church rivalry thing. “No, OUR Baptist church is the good one.”

And Beth Ellen, you were there, and Sport, and Janie…

Mom? Are we there yet?

I want to be Harriet the Spy.

I mean, I’ve wanted to be Harriet since 1980, but this time I want to be Harriet living in a highrise apartment in Canada. I want to wake up in the morning and run shivering over to the heater and turn it up. Then, before anyone else wakes up, I want to go out onto the balcony with a cup of coffee (no, it’s a fantasy, I can drink whatever I want to) and watch the dawn break over the city.

After Todd cooks breakfast, I want to get Paul bundled up and throw on a coat, and walk Todd out to his car. Then I want to hold Paul’s hand as we make our way through the light snow to the humid warmth of the subway. I want to buy two tokens and head off to a homeschool playgroup. When we walk in, the coolest mom there - the one with the shaved head - will wave happily to us and pat the seat next to her. Paul will play with the other kids, and when he comes to the table to eat a peanut butter sandwich, he will say, “I learned all aboot that little brown-haired boy! He’s really nice.”

(That’s the real reason we’re moving. To hear a five year old say “aboot” and “surry”.)

After the homeschool playgroup, I want to take the subway home. Paul will push the elevator button and we will ride up, up, up, watching the numbers on the screen change faster and faster. When the elevator dings, we will walk down the hall and unlock our door. Paul and I will do our French homework together, and by the time we’re finished I’ll be able to say, “Ce n’était pas un rêve. C’était un endroit, et vous et vous et vous et vous étaient là. Mais vous ne pourriez pas avoir été, pourriez you?… aucune tante Em, ceci est un vrai, véritablement de phase endroit.”

Later, after Todd makes dinner, I’ll read on the couch while Todd and Paul play chess, and the snow will come down, silently.

We join the backgammon match already in progress…

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Todd Hey, I won a five point match in one backgammon game!

Sage How?!

Todd I doubled part way through and then I had two to be borne off, another 3-4 from home and he had four scattered throughout my home and one on the bar. So he resigned.

Sage Whoo!

Todd It was AMAZING - he was really not meant to win. He kept getting me up on the bar and leaving one open and EVERY TIME (no less than six times) I got him.

Sage HA!

Todd Hmm…Maybe I can understand a little how people can talk sports.

Sage Yeah, I doubt anyone else would find the above fascinating. You know, sometimes when I have the radio on scan trying to find a decent song (which can last all the way home from the Big City) I hear these men talking sports. And they are so invested. Yesterday two men were screaming at each other: “How dare you suggest that John Whoever was playing for money?” and I’m like, “Um, how dare you suggest he WASN’T?”

Every once in awhile, Paul and I join Kite and two other women in their volunteer childcare venture. The kids tend to be around Paul’s age, so it’s a good playtime opportunity for him and I like to help out when I can.

Last night we walked in, and Paul was immediately entranced by a five month old baby. I’ve never seen that happen before. We don’t come in contact with babies very often, but even that couldn’t account for his enthralled stare. It wasn’t until half an hour later when he took me aside and whispered, “Mama, why did someone take a pretend baby to volunteer childcare?” that I realized he thought it was a cunningly produced doll.

And indeed, when I looked at the baby (ha, just wrote “doll” there) again I saw that it bore a startling resemblance to a Cabbage Patch Doll. The baby was exceedingly good natured, smiling and babbling and waving its arms and legs around. I was amused to note that the baby’s eight year old relative was far more willing to let the childless 50something woman hold it than me. I was tempted to wave Paul around, saying, “But look! I’ve done this before, I swear! See?”

Paul dragged a chair over to the table where the baby was sitting and sat down. And stared. I’ve seen him watch a long-awaited movie with less attention and enthusiasm. I don’t think he moved for twenty minutes straight.

Todd keeps mistakenly saying things like, “I think the four of us will fit in the car just fine,” and “We have to find an apartment big enough for the four of us.”

No. Shut up. These are not omens.

No-boil lasagne is VILE.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon. Todd is in a hotel, halfway between the Ozarks and the Southwest.

Todd I’m choking down my second cup of Cup O’ Flavor coffee. I can’t get them for false advertising, since there is a distinctive flavor.

Sage Think of it as the coffee version of grape flavoring.

Todd If it resembled coffee at all I could. I think of it as chewing Nodoz, and about as pleasant.

Sage Ew. Try iced tea at the Quickie Mart. You know, like Lipton iced tea.

Todd Really, I’m doing okay. It’s partly the social addiction - a hot cup of “coffee” in the morning is what I do.

Sage You sound like an ad for Cup O’ Flavor coffee. “I have to drink it…it’s what I DO.”

I’ve read one biography of Queen Victoria, and I’m halfway through a second, because I had the impression that she was an uptight, cold, unfeeling woman who nonetheless ruled the country brilliantly and I was curious about the details.

Victoria is portrayed as a stupid and unpleasant, dependant on her husband and idolizing him to the point of absurdity - to the point where you start to wonder if she’s being sarcastic. However, even if both biographers bought into the ideals of their day (late 60s, early 70s), believing that women are inferior to men, that a woman could not possibly rule alone, that women are flighty and silly, you can’t ignore Victoria’s own words, which are sprinkled liberally throughout both books. From age ten on, she wrote in her journal every single day of her life. Uptight? Cold? Unfeeling? Not so much. (Okay, she kind of hated her kids, but otherwise…) In fact, were I to write about the events of the past day using Victoria’s voice, you would see something like the following:

Woke up before the sun had risen above the horizon. After drinking a cup of apple juice to help with my ongoing malady, I sat reading the letters I’d received as I slept. Soon, dear T. alighted from his bed and we discussed his upcoming journey to the Southwest. He assured me that he would be back within a fortnight, but I dissolved in floods of tears at the thought of being away from my darling for such a long time! He promised to write a letter as soon as he arrived at the halfway point between the palace and his destination.

The Boy woke, demanding food and attention. I gave dear, dear T. a wistful smile and promised with my eyes to continue our conversation in a letter. T. made breakfast for The Boy while I cleaned the cat’s box and sighed sadly for the journey my love would soon take. How can I be happy alone? I can only console myself with the thought that we will all soon live together again, in the great country of Canada.

After eating a hearty breakfast himself, T. packed up the rest of his dear belongings and gave The Boy a hug, then held me for a too-short time and set off. I spent the morning teaching The Boy arithmetic, then we both sank into a sad malaise and were unable to gather the strength to do more than sit and frown unhappily.

Mother, who is much better after the terrible influenza virus, came for a short visit. I spent my time reading voraciously while she and The Boy played in the nursery. After she had gone, I took The Boy to the local market where we looked in vain for fake beef. It was too vexing! Afterwards, we walked to the moving picture show and found to my great glee that a moving picture suitable for children was just beginning. On the spur of the moment we decided to go inside and watch it from beginning to end.

When we arrived home, we found that my beautiful Prince Consort had arrived at a hotel and he helped The Boy practice his typing skills by speaking to him via basic text. He is such an amazing father. All other fathers should construct an alter to him and pray upon it before they interact with their children.

Soon The Boy and I were too tired to continue, and after I read to him, we both fell asleep, exhausted.

Only seventeen days until my sweetest love is here again!

See? I mean, the woman ran a whole fucking country, and she never did stop sounding like a starstruck seventh grader in her journal. I feel completely disillusioned. I’m going to have to go read about Elizabeth I to get the bad taste out of my mouth.

Also in 2003: Mary Poppins is diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

When the song “I Love to Laugh” from the Mary Poppins soundtrack begins, Paul hurriedly forwards on to the next song. Sage applauds.

Todd, to Sage My mom loved that song. I don’t know why you and Paul can’t stand it.

Sage It’s creepy!

Todd How can it be creepy? It’s about laughing and happiness.

Sage No, it’s about a nanny who takes the children to see her ex-boyfriend in the bad part of town, where they all proceed to get high.

Usually when I sit down to write an entry, I open my palm to see a long list of entry notes I’ve made over the course of the past few days (though they aren’t always helpful; I’m still trying to puzzle out “trees or bushes”). This time the notes are all pre-flu, and because I don’t think you want to know the specifics of what it was like while I had the flu, I’m at a bit of a loss.

Or maybe shell-shocked would be a better way to describe my state. After spending the duration of Paul’s bout with the flu barely sleeping and constantly on the edge of tears, telling myself I was being overanxious and neurotic, I found out that children in Colorado have died after contracting this particular strain.

When the nurse practitioner diagnosed Paul with a staff infection, he said it was probably contracted after Paul got something on his hands, then put his hands in his mouth. So we’ve all become obsessive compulsive hand washers (which probably would have made a significant difference at the yurt, where we were all constantly sick). Kite, who grew up in a time where washing hands seven, eight times a day was de rigeur, said that she thinks a generation that was brought up with antibiotics and antibacterial soap is under the impression that basic hygeine has been rendered obselete. That anything can be cured, so why bother with general prevention meausres?

Before Todd arrived in the Ozarks, Sage and Todd were playing online backgammon.

Sage When Kite was growing up there were no antibiotics, and they sweated out their fevers.

Todd In winter, on the way to school, uphill, five miles each way?

Sage No, I”m being serious. It’s making me grateful for what I do have, even if I hate using antibiotics and Tylenol for Paul.

Todd Absolutely.

Sage Anyway, I’m reading a Queen Victoria biography. When she was a baby her dad got a cold, and the next line is “A struggle erupted between the Duke’s iron constitution and the medical treatments of the time.” I mean, basically the man would have been fine if he hadn’t been rich enough to afford doctors, but as it was he died.

And here are these parents in Colorado who think, oh well, John’s got the flu. Let’s give him some Dimetapp and call up Peter Falk to read him a story or two. Then three days later…John’s gone.

I don’t think I’m alone in saying that I didn’t know otherwise healthy young people could die from the flu. Not in the Western world. Not in 2003.

Quote - Queen Victoria

Queen Victoria’s passion for going about incognito was indulged by a moonlit walk with the Prince behind the college, a veil over her tiara and a mackintosh over his uniform being considered sufficient to preserve their anonymity. - Queen Victoria, Born to Succeed; Elizabeth Longford

No, no, Victoria. Always remove your crown before mingling with your subjects.

Don’t Forget Your Rubbers

Todd drives to the Ozarks for a long awaited visit. When he arrives, Sage, Paul and Kite are lying around on the floor.

Sage Cough. Cough cough cough cough cough cough cough cough.

Paul COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH!

Kite Uggggghhhhhhh.

Todd (laughing)

Sage What?

Todd It’s like Journal of the Plague Years around here.

So this all started in the wee hours of Saturday morning, when I was woken up by a horrific stench emanating from the litterbox. Because the sun wasn’t even considering rising for another six hours, I just picked up the bag of cat litter and dumped the entire thing over the offending bits instead of cleaning it. When the dust from the litter rose up and I inhaled it, I had a small coughing fit.

It never occurred to me that I was sick; after we left the yurt (where we were more likely to be sick than not) my health returned to its pre-yurt status, which is to say couldn’t - get - sick - if - I - tried - and - since - I - only - got - to - miss - school - when - I - was - sick - believe - me - I - tried. By Saturday morning, however, it was obvious that litter dust inhalation was not the culprit. Settling in for what I stupidly hoped would be a two, maybe three-day bout of the flu, I stocked up on DVDs and rather gleefully celebrated the absence of responsibility while I ate pretzels and limes and watched what may in fact be the only romantic comedy worse than You’ve Got Mail: the movie that actually made me sympathise with the evil corporate CEO because the hippie liberal was so fucking obnoxious - Two Weeks Notice.

On Monday morning, I was feeling much better. So much better that I was a little peeved. What happened to my three days of pampered bliss? Wah.

Kite had been taking care of Paul while I was recuperating, so I picked him up and we played for a few hours. By then I was starting to feel awful again, and by the time Kite showed up, Paul and I were both wiped out. She cleaned the entire kitchen, made both of us some lunch and we agreed that she should stay here until I was feeling better. By Tuesday, she’d caught it too, Paul had an ear infection and I made an appointment with the local clinic.

I’d already taken him to an out of town clinic that Mia recommended, where I met with Robert the Nurse Practitioner, who I absolutely loved (”I don’t prescribe antibiotics lightly,” he said, “If I thought there was some kind of alternative remedy that would work for Paul’s staph infection I would let you know, believe me.”) and he actually had me thinking about vaccinating Paul for tetanus (”Listen, I think you need to look at vaccines individually - I would never give my kids the chicken pox vaccine, for example, but tetanus…”) until I heard later that an acquaintance had fallen for it, gotten their child the tetanus vaccine and then waited anxiously for six months for her health to come back to what it had previously been.

Anyway, so Paul had just finished a course of antibiotics, which in my opinion has a lot to do with how severely the flu hit him, and I hated to bring him back for more. But I didn’t want to take any chances - and as someone who suffered from chronic ear infections as a kid, I know how terrible they can be - so I took him in, with Kite as the resident not - too - sick - to - help - yet chaperone.

After a long wait in the crowded waiting room (the entire town has come down with this flu) we were called in. The nurse took his temperature. I must have sounded like the babysitter as I asked, “Is 102.5 serious?”

“Yes,” said the nurse, solemnly. “Yes. Do you have any children’s Tylenol with you right now? No? Then give it to him the moment you arrive home.”

So with those words, I turned into the obsessive compulsive temperature checker. It’s just never been an issue before. He has a fever, we give him Tylenol if we think he needs it, if not, we don’t, he gets over it and everything’s okay. We didn’t even own a thermometer. My own childhood history was less than helpful, as I was never sick. But the nurse freaked me out so completely that I bought a thermometer at Wal-Mart when we went to fill his (yes, good guess) antibiotic prescription and stuck it into his mouth as often as possible. Finally at three o’clock in the morning, after I’d given him children’s Tylenol and it didn’t seem to be bringing down the fever at all, while Kite lay on the couch and tried to get some respite from her own fever, I called Todd.

“Everybody’s okay,” I said, when he picked up the phone. “I just need a little reassurance.”

He looked up fevers on Ask Dr. Sears (an attachment parenting pediatrician) and read that the important thing was not so much the reading on the thermometer as the child’s demeanor. I looked over at Paul, who was dancing in his chair, calling over to me that he’d figured out how to win a game on the pbs show Cyberchase website (geared towards eight year olds) and said, “Well, he’s definitely perky and alert.”

We talked a little longer, I asked Todd to re-read a paragraph or two and listened to recounts of his own childhood fevers. As we were about to hang up, he laughed and said, “You know, the reminds me of when I was in college and my friend Jane called me in this total panic because she’d just realized she was hanging out in a gay man’s dorm room and was terrified that she had contracted AIDS. I rolled my eyes and read her every word of this poster I had on my dorm room wall, ‘Don’t Forget Your Rubbers’ (no, shut up, I was seventeen) and she had me re-read the bits over and over until she felt better. Not that I’m comparing your fears to Jane’s, just that I’m Reassurance Man. Call me with your fears! Even if it’s two o’clock in the morning! I, Reassurance Man, will help you!”

After that I was able to calm down quite a bit, though I still had my anxious moments.

Kite, meanwhile, in the throes of her own aches and endless coughing, managed to keep Paul and I fed, clean and happy while keeping the kitchen spotless and making a Lego tower for Paul’s wizard doll. That woman is made of steel.

We all waited, literally counting the hours, until Todd came walking down the sidewalk (looking, I must say, excessively fabulous with a new haircut, jeans, a black tshirt and a wool sports coat over it. Normally I couldn’t describe what I’m wearing without looking, but…mmm. Priddy. Of course, I have the flu and my period so sex is just a sad fever dream for now). Kite headed home, I collapsed and Todd capably took over the Care and Feeding of the Sicky Tyrtles.

Paul’s fevers finally stopped, so now Paul and I spend a lot of time lounging around in bed coughing and whimpering. (Okay, that’s not true. I lie in bed and whimper - Paul runs around the house playing hide and go seek with the cats.)

Meanwhile, it’s just two more months at the most before we’re all in (cue Hallelujah chorus) Canada.

Sage is lying in the armchair, maudlin and tired.

Sage You know how when we were sick at the yurt -

Todd Sorry, you have to be clearer. That’s redundant.

Sage You know that time we were all sick at the yurt and Kite was snowed in across town and Paul was a baby, and there was no one to take care of us and we just sat and wished and wished Kite would come?

Todd Yeah…

Sage That’s how I feel now. I feel like I wished and wished for you to come take care of us, and you did.

Depeche Mode is his generation’s Everly Brothers.

Sage and Paul have just finished eating breakfast. Depeche Mode is playing quietly on the stereo.

Paul Can we change the music?

Sage Sure. What would you rather listen to?

Ten minutes later: Sage and Paul are rocking out to Igor Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring at ear-splitting volume.

The other day Paul and I were sitting with two five year old drama queens who I personally found highly irritating. Any tiny excuse to have an emotional meltdown - including the loss of an animal that died when one kid was under a year old - and they took it. Another adult was reading to all three kids, and the drama queens were excitedly shouting out the two recurring words they could read. Paul sat quietly and put together a puzzle, glancing over once in awhile to see the pictures in the book.

Sage Mother hissed in my head, “C’mon, Paul, show the drama queens how well you read! Look at them, all smugly staring at you as they shout the words! In fact, go get down that Junie B. Jones book and read a page to them. While you’re at it, how about a chapter or two of Anne of Green Gables? Then you can define the word ‘histrionic’ for them.”

But Paul never said a word, just methodically put every piece into the puzzle until it was done and then smiled happily to himself.

This is probably why Paul is friends with every kid he knows, while I couldn’t have bribed a kid with a quarter to hang out with me for a whole day in 1977.

Quote: Church of the Universe

“The Hamilton Conservation Authority may have to abandon a plan to dynamite a picturesque quarry to stop illegal swimming because it can’t afford it. That could be good news to members of the pot-smoking Church of the Universe, who claim the swimming hole as a spiritual home for their controversial religion and have been fighting the demolition - albeit unsuccessfully - in the courts.” - Toronto Star