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Deep Springs
Dec. 14th, 2004 08:36 amMax got the call last night – Deep Springs inviting him up for an interview. This is a Very Big Deal indeed as Deep Springs is the most interesting college in America.
The college administration is entirely run by students. They keep desert time. The student who called at 10 PM last night had just staggered back to the dorms after something to do with heifers. "After much deliberation, we have decided to invite you to the ranch. Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah," said Max. "One. Do you always say 'after much deliberation' or was I like a special case?"
Last night I dreamed about Deep Springs. In the dream, they had a facility in Berkeley – an old craftsman house tunneling into a cliffside with a hundred rooms. Robin and I were visiting. There was something to do with lost clothing, a cloak; I ended up wandering by myself through the rooms, and the artifacts kept getting weirder and weirder that farther I got from the front door, flowers in vases giving way to intricate sculptures of bone and mummified tissue. Finally I found my way to the back door. Outside was a meadow, supranaturally verdant, lined with palaces. The prototypical Jungian vision, I suppose.
In other news, I'm deep into my Xmas art projects. This year it's all about Photoshopped calendars and homemade raspberry chipotle chocolate truffles because, frankly, we don't have a pot to piss in. Annie called yesterday morning to follow up on her missing microphone that Max was supposed to pick up from Univision. The kid is smart but he doesn't have much common sense, thus is bad at simple tasks like getting receptionists to look under tables. "I'm sorry, Annie, he couldn't find it. I'll go myself tomorrow. Don't worry. We'll get it back to you. I promise."
"But how are you? Patty, I don't mind telling you, I've been very worried the last few times I've talked to you –"
"I'm not good, Annie. But I can't talk now. Good bye!" And the reason that I couldn't talk was because any time anyone asks the simple question, "How are you?" these days, I immediately start to cry. I have to physically restrain myself from crying in the store when potential customers do the rudimentary politeness thing. I'm very worried about finances. The store actually did not lose money last year – it broke even in Year 1, ahead of my projections. But the cash flow is always problematic, never more so than now when there is no Xmas rush. We're actually carrying a lot less debt than most new businesses. But there is no room for "Additional Information" on the credit card bills when you can't pony up the minimal payment.
Annie called back about fifteen minutes later. "Why are you torturing yourself? You have family. Let us help."
"No, Annie. No. Because – God forbid – but what if the store fails? I'd never be able to pay anyone back –"
"So you don't pay us back. So big deal. Patty, the important thing is that you don't have a tumor. You're healthy, right? Eating well, exercising."
"Oh, sure. I'm an exercise fanatic. But Annie, I feel like such a fucking failure –"
At this point other people would launch into the litany of all the ways I'm not a failure. But Annie knows me too well for that. "Oh, Patty. You had such a hideous childhood. Poor Lynnie tried but – isn't it odd that even now when she's dead the only epithet any of us ever use to describe us is 'Poor Lynnie?' David and Alicia escaped the horror, but you got double portions. You've been very noble and gallant. You broke the pattern. You did not pass it on. You've been a brilliant mother. Max is an extraordinary young man."
But that only made me cry harder. Why couldn't I have had someone in my corner who rooted for me as hard as I root for Max?
The college administration is entirely run by students. They keep desert time. The student who called at 10 PM last night had just staggered back to the dorms after something to do with heifers. "After much deliberation, we have decided to invite you to the ranch. Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah," said Max. "One. Do you always say 'after much deliberation' or was I like a special case?"
Last night I dreamed about Deep Springs. In the dream, they had a facility in Berkeley – an old craftsman house tunneling into a cliffside with a hundred rooms. Robin and I were visiting. There was something to do with lost clothing, a cloak; I ended up wandering by myself through the rooms, and the artifacts kept getting weirder and weirder that farther I got from the front door, flowers in vases giving way to intricate sculptures of bone and mummified tissue. Finally I found my way to the back door. Outside was a meadow, supranaturally verdant, lined with palaces. The prototypical Jungian vision, I suppose.
In other news, I'm deep into my Xmas art projects. This year it's all about Photoshopped calendars and homemade raspberry chipotle chocolate truffles because, frankly, we don't have a pot to piss in. Annie called yesterday morning to follow up on her missing microphone that Max was supposed to pick up from Univision. The kid is smart but he doesn't have much common sense, thus is bad at simple tasks like getting receptionists to look under tables. "I'm sorry, Annie, he couldn't find it. I'll go myself tomorrow. Don't worry. We'll get it back to you. I promise."
"But how are you? Patty, I don't mind telling you, I've been very worried the last few times I've talked to you –"
"I'm not good, Annie. But I can't talk now. Good bye!" And the reason that I couldn't talk was because any time anyone asks the simple question, "How are you?" these days, I immediately start to cry. I have to physically restrain myself from crying in the store when potential customers do the rudimentary politeness thing. I'm very worried about finances. The store actually did not lose money last year – it broke even in Year 1, ahead of my projections. But the cash flow is always problematic, never more so than now when there is no Xmas rush. We're actually carrying a lot less debt than most new businesses. But there is no room for "Additional Information" on the credit card bills when you can't pony up the minimal payment.
Annie called back about fifteen minutes later. "Why are you torturing yourself? You have family. Let us help."
"No, Annie. No. Because – God forbid – but what if the store fails? I'd never be able to pay anyone back –"
"So you don't pay us back. So big deal. Patty, the important thing is that you don't have a tumor. You're healthy, right? Eating well, exercising."
"Oh, sure. I'm an exercise fanatic. But Annie, I feel like such a fucking failure –"
At this point other people would launch into the litany of all the ways I'm not a failure. But Annie knows me too well for that. "Oh, Patty. You had such a hideous childhood. Poor Lynnie tried but – isn't it odd that even now when she's dead the only epithet any of us ever use to describe us is 'Poor Lynnie?' David and Alicia escaped the horror, but you got double portions. You've been very noble and gallant. You broke the pattern. You did not pass it on. You've been a brilliant mother. Max is an extraordinary young man."
But that only made me cry harder. Why couldn't I have had someone in my corner who rooted for me as hard as I root for Max?
