For many years before I took to notebooks and blogs, I composed fiction on a cumbersome array of loose leaf paper, so I kept in the habit of bringing only my diary on car trips. These entries are a bit of a treat, anthropologically, because we get to see real stream of consciousness writing in the form of play-by-play color commentary, as well as some genuine handwriting.
In which Elise remains oblivious to the futility of guileless psychological ploys and the possible existence of karmic retribution
Handwriting: As previous entry.She and Mom are driving from Ft. Collins to Loveland to pick up "Mrs. B," the wife of the pastor of our church. We're carpooling to a handbell workshop.
Mom, in perfect tradition, takes the opportunity of a captive audience to discuss serious issues. On the docket today is the continuing war of attrition, in particular the Battle of Rude Piano Practice Refusal. Mom is still waiting for an apology that Elise is certain will never come. However, there is a notation from at least 2 months later that the apology was finally made after Dad's intervention. Yeesh.
Mrs. B hops in shotgun, all atwitter. This is all hilarious, of course, because Mrs. B is a notorious type-A micromanager on top of being extremely annoying (at least according to my peer group).
Unfortunately, Mrs. B seems to be wearing some sort of unbearable perfume. Either Mom has a great poker face, or Elise is too busy trying to breathe out the cracked window to realize her discomfort. Either way, self-victimization ensues.
Glee returns when Mrs. B begins to micromanage Mom's driving to a ridiculous degree. The entry ends with an ellipsis.
My mother is still extremely fond of playing handbells and is constantly busy with practicing, arranging music, directing, or traveling locally to that end. I like my music in group settings, so I really did enjoy being in bell choir. It was one of the very few things we could do together and not fight for a while.
This brings be back to the one really burning question I have about my family dynamic: how and why did the adults allow this to happen? It's evident that I didn't know any better and was really doing everything I could to impress my ego on them under what I considered to be hostile conditions. Why the hell did this skirmish go on for two months? Regardless of whether or not I had any idea at the time, why did no one just ask me what I wanted out of all of it?
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I used to play handbells as well. That seems like a lifetime ago.
ReplyDeleteI think most people are not prepared for children to be people. They are too often occupied with how they relate to themselves, instead of trying to relate to them. Not sure if it's useful or relevant insight.