Mom & Me Journals Histories: 1999 - 2001

    Many years ago, when we lived in Sunnyvale, CA, (I was in the first grade), my parents bought a freezer, placed it in our garage and stocked it. We hadn't had it very long before someone broke into our garage and emptied the freezer. My parents' united reaction was, "They must have needed it more than we did." Looking back, I realize that I took that lesson, regardless of it's wisdom (and, I think it's pretty wise, although I also see how others would think it was stupid and, of course, they'd be right, too) to heart. It's not a new behavior for me to "let him have [my] cloak, as well;" (Matthew 5:40, Revised Standard Version). As a young adult, when I was puzzling over the wisdom of giving the thief more that s/he takes, turning the other cheek and loving one's enemies, I realized that the way this advice 'works' is that it changes the power relationship. The thief is no longer a victor and the thieved is no longer a victim. The act is no longer a robbery, it is an acknowledgment of us being one in the same. Furthering another's survival on demand and adding more than is demanded allows one's own attitude to stand down so one can move on. Whether that means that the thief gets more than s/he deserves and the thieved is more vulnerable and, thus, less likely to survive in the classic sense is beside the point. The point of this advice is: If you move with the current, you'll make it downstream. We also have the choice to move against the current. Upstream is a legitimate direction with a whole other set of consequences and is based on the belief that we are not all one in the same, which is also true. I suspect I'm getting close to realizing that 'survival' isn't the ultimate directive. I wonder how I'll figure that out and how I'll explain it.
    I am still feeling the need to make sure that whatever my mother's life demands or deserves (as, for example, a fair settlement from the insurance company per their contract with her over damage to her propery property), I honor my pledge to direct the current toward her, to defend her from thieves. Despite the innocent wisdom of hers and my father's long ago stance on theft, she believes that when a dispute arises over what is 'mine' and what is 'yours', one is obligated to defend 'mine'. I am, as well, realizing that in some cases, two so far and, luckily, very minor ones, it is impossible for me to hand over my cloak without also loosening her defenses. This disturbs me. I'm not sure how to 'work' the situation and still strip myself to my skin, although I am continuing to disrobe on a daily basis. I figure, so far, the one thing I can do is let my sisters, who are concerned for her survival, know where I stand on the issue of defense. So, that's what I've done. Those who believe in defense, I think, are the ones in a position to erect sturdy defenses. Defense is a reality, as is offense. It's just that defense is becoming less and less my reality. Not that informing them has yet made a difference. I don't think any of them understands my position enough to even consider it dangerous, especially since, in the most visible areas of my mother's income, outgo and health, I still appear to be clothed. They probably point to those areas instead of the pile of clothes at my feet and simply refuse to believe I'm getting naked.
    Perhaps, too, my method is not dangerous. I no longer, for instance, consider Mr. Insurance Adjuster evil for being a fucker, nor is the IRS. They're just fuckers. What I am considering is that "fuck" rhymes with "duck", which I find delightful, rather than ironic. I've always known that delight is my profession, irony is someone else's (even though it is also my profession to taste irony in order to discern the level of delight in it). If I stick with my profession, I sense, I won't need the cloaks or the coats to protect my mother. I have no idea how this will work, nor can I point to any evidence that this is true, nor is it a matter of faith. It has to do with noticing that there are other gold studs glittering in the distance, and setting out toward their location so I can better spot the source of the light they're reflecting. In the meantime, others will notice the light from mine, which I am not in a position to see and in traveling toward me we'll eventually meet and spot the light source. One rule of protection against others of our species, I know, is to extinguish all light in order to prevent revealing one's location. Punching reflective studs into my ears is pretty much the same as disrobing. Now, all I have to do is prepare to replace the gold studs with something at least equally as reflective when my ears are healed and I return the studs.
    By the way, I did, indeed, notice, finally, on Thursday, when I was packing files into boxes in Prescott and my mother was napping on the couch like a lioness in the sun, that the corners of her mouth are upturned in sleep. You know, LTF, I think I am falling in love all over again with my mother in a much different way than I did as a newborn infant. Too bad this isn't a common occurrence anymore in this culture. Distance or the overwhelming nature of survival in a rapidly and increasingly complex society disallows many of us the intense loving of a close relative of advanced age. I lucked out, again. How very bizarre.

    Needless to say, yesterday was not a good day and neither was this morning. I was not pleasant company, although I wasn't a total asshole. I spent this morning pacing the house 'doing things' and speaking to my mother in one word sentences. She was very quiet, which is hard for her. She likes mutual humor in the morning.
    I know this man who was one of MDL's friends from grade school on. I don't really know what all he's done to make a living besides leasing out and managing his properties and occasionally selling property. Wherever he lives he has several work areas including a carpentry area, a study area, a projects area, all of which could have anything in them. In this hous, he's knocked down several walls and has these areas scattered through an open space. He's not disorganized or a slob but you're liable to find anything in his houses. I'm telling you all this to put his (upcoming) comment in perspective.
    Anyway, he called me around noon. We usually contact each other and/or get together anywhere from once a month to once every six months when I'm in town. When he's in Prescott for various fairs or festivals he occasionally calls to get together. I always let him know when I'm here and a couple of times he has let me know when he isn't going to be here for awhile. He called today to catch up, knowing that I will be relocating to Prescott. Everything was fine with him and I was pleased to hear from him but was having this horrible time even saying anything to him because of all the other stuff I was thinking about, so he invited me over. He asked me to tell him my story, which I vomited out, without crying this time. He listened sympathetically and affectionately, he's very good at that, didn't say anything really, just listened. Then, when I got to a place where it seemed to both of us that I was done, he said, "Let's put a few more holes in your ears."
    Out came a piercing gun. I've never seen it before although I'm not surprised he has one. He has a few piercings himself (all visible in normal clothing). He "only" had four studs of piercing quality to offer me. We set to work deciding where to put them, discussing whether or not to do the cartilage. He thought we should put one in my nose and one at the top of one of my ears; I like both types of piercings but I'm a sissy about cartilage piercings. I've seen too many people have problems with site infections. He busied himself sterilizing the gun and the earrings, marking my ears. We decided on three in one and one in the other, so I've got four holes in one ear and 6 in the other, now. We didn't talk about the IRS or anything else like that for the rest of the afternoon.
    The amazing thing is, it worked. Maybe it was just a distraction but I felt like I was wearing badges of my trials as I was driving home. I thought about the various reasons for ritual piercings, a subject on which I know almost nothing, and played around with phrases like "piercing power".
    When I arrived home I was feeling as though, whatever happened, I could slog through it and maybe even control it a little, probably very little (although, with the IRS involved, I have my doubts about even the "very little"), but at least I wasn't feeling as though my mother and I would be buried alive because I couldn't stop it.
    Of course, tomorrow I'll be in Prescott keeping an eye on my mother and discovering how much paperwork we don't have. But in the back of my mind will be those four zig-zag spaced gold studs, glittering in my earlobes like hazard lights, signaling that I might be capable of creating a volatile situation if pushed far enough. That should make a difference. Maybe only to me, but that should be enough.

     Tax day is over and it was to the power of 10 worse than I ever could have imagined. I performed well. I was able to recover every single piece of paperwork that appeared to be necessary and had it all waiting in a neat little pile when MA showed up except one piece that hadn't yet arrived but will be here probably today. No big deal.
     It seems, though, that the last of my father's investments matured last year, was sold and the profits plowed back into the ground my mother dances on. This investment required that a particular dance be performed every year. I'm sure my father performed the dance. The dances that people require of one another discouraged him but he did them because he thought that was the only way and the problem was his attitude...maybe he was right. MA has pictures of my mother performing the dance but only since 1992. MA says my mother used H&R Block between 1985 (when my dad died) and 1992 and they don't keep pictures. There's a good chance that she also didn't know that she was supposed to keep the pictures of Dad doing the dance from the time he started, which was some years before his death. So now the Feds require that my mother produce pictures of her and my father doing the dance so they can compare my parents' pictures with their own. If she doesn't produce the pictures of the dance or a close approximation (which is going to be difficult since the company has gone through at least 4 different restructurings since my father invested in it, all of which were lucrative) my mother will have to pay the Feds "at least once again as much in taxes than she would normally owe". It doesn't matter that she's already paid this over the years. It doesn't matter that the Feds supposedly have pictures of my parents performing the dance and chits of the cover charges they paid to get into the hall. What matters is that we probably don't have the chits or copies of the pictures. If we don't produce our copies the rules say that the Feds get to release something much worse than ducks. They get to send out their earth movers and shove chunks of earth right out from underneath my dancing mother long before a grave is actually required. Hey, it's the rules. We all agreed on these dances somewhere back there when we got the bright ideas of "money" and "owning things". The Feds R Us. What can one do?
     I am disgusted. I will, of course, do the work. MFA is trying to help but so far he's discovered that the history of the investment is probably hopelessly buried under "street names" from before the time he took on the role of my mother's investment counselor in 1989. As well, the company behind any "street name" is not required to keep records before their own "street name" took over. MA will help me fashion whatever I find in Prescott tomorrow (where our records are) into some sort of approximation of the dance. He admitted that if we aren't able to make the pictures look pretty much like the Feds' pictures not only will we have to pay the band once again, we'll probably get audited, but that's what he's there for. He considers audits "an opportunity to learn from our mistakes". He's another guy who likes what he does and thinks it's an exciting way to thrive. MFA says, "You'll be surprised what good CPAs can do. MA is one of the best. Everything will be fine. Don't worry."
     At least my mother is surrounded by people who really like fooling with money and know how important the dances are.