(no subject)

[mallorys_camera]

Evolution hasn't caught up with the car. Meaning: if you drive 1400 miles in four days, even in a series of air-conditioned automobiles, on the other side your body will have aged just as much as if you'd spent the last 6 months crossing the Dakotas through Apache ambushes in a covered wagon.

The Hare ladies and I were driving Max – the Hare heir, born in the Year of Rabbit – to Deep Springs. This was not exactly my idea. Originally I'd wanted to make the trip with Bill, my ex-husband, Max's father, and had put the feelers out to MaryAnne, the current Mrs. Hare. Bill, it turned out, had to be in Vienna on business but once the invitation was out there, it could hardly be rescinded. And anyway there was something symbolically satisfying in having the four family females escort the fledgling Hero to the all male bastion where he will spend the next two years boning up on Heidegger and ranch hand skills.

Time out of time…

I was very teary. It had finally hit – Max was leaving home forever, and though of course I would see him again, our relationship had changed forever – I was still a parent, I would always be a parent, but I was no longer a guardian and that has been my primary definition of self for the past 18 and a half years.

I kept my tears behind my sunglasses. MaryAnne and I, while not exactly enemies, are not exactly friends – no warm fuzzies forthcoming from that direction. Over the years I have grown to appreciate her – her housekeeping skills are extraordinary – but I could never say I like her. I like her two daughters though, Max's half sisters, Madeleine and Isabella. I remember my deep despair when Madeleine was born – Bill had remarried first. In fact, Bill had taken up with MaryAnne exactly three days after the dinner date in which I told him in no uncertain terms that I would never go back to him. A practical man, Bill. He did not waste his time lining his pillow with regrets.

Anyway not only had Bill moved on, he'd begotten more offspring. I was still unattached. I remember sniveling on the phone with Annie: "They're a real family. And I'm just this wacko single mother."

"Oh, honey," said Annie. "You've got to look at it from an unselfish perspective. It's never a bad thing for a child to have more people to love and be loved by."

First I drove by myself from Monterey to Tustin. I'd gotten up at 4am to finish all the circus prep work – posters to go out to Bellis Fair, a powerpoint slide for Bellis Fair's rotating media display, press packets going out for Bellingham and Port Townsend, several phone back-and-forths with the indefatigable Byron – are we getting the miniature circus for Bellingham? are we not getting the miniature circus for Bellingham? Then I played wack-a-mole with the little store's bills. I need to update the store's website. I need to design a brochure –

I am doing waaay too much. I can't possibly be doing a good job with any of it –

Which sentiment was confirmed when my cell rang just as I was opening the door.

JDK. He has a deep twangy voice. Possibly there's something Pavlovian in my reaction to it: my shithead father sounded just like him. I loathed my father but there's no denying that of all the voices in the world, his – or ones that sound like his – is my favorite one to be sweet-talked in.

"You didn't like the poster!" I cried.

"I liked the poster just fine. But it has the wrong dates on it –"

Fuck.

Another 15 minutes spent rectifying the poster.

Out the door finally at noon. I cut over to I5, a horrendously ugly freeway, and listened to rightwing talk radio all the way into Orange County.

That was the first four hundred miles.

The next day we set off on the next three hundred.

We drove east through Riverside and San Bernardino, literally invisible through a thick mantle of brown smog. Cut north on Highway 395 winding through Victorville, possibly the ugliest small town in California, and the white salt scar that used to be Lake Owen. (Mental note to self: must reread CADILLAC DESERT…) It was a hundred and five degrees outside. MaryAnne and I made small talk about the vast Hare clan who used to be my relatives; the children watched a Drew Barrymore Cinderella remake on the DVD player.

No opportunity to deliver that last Polonius-like sermon to Max: "This above all: to thine own self, be true; always wear clean underwear and don't forget to floss –"

Deep Springs itself is an oasis in the high desert. Really a beautiful place. And I knew Max would have extraordinary adventures there, be molded in good ways and that this was a gift that I had given him: it was a good thing that he couldn't wait for us to leave.

But my heart was breaking.

The infant at my breast. The little solemn, fair-haired boy. The coltish kid in the school uniform he always hated. Where had he gone?

Heartbreak lasted all the way back to Monterey. Email from Max!

Hey Mom,
although I'm not quite over my lonliness phase, I'm
having a lot of fun. I'm alrady tremendously
underslept. I had to get up at 4:30 this morning to
weed for four hours. Tonight we have a hike into thed
mountains, and I've briefly been playing a little
chess and basketball. Every time I try to pick up a
book for more than ten minutes, my eye droop and my
consciousness begins to waver. I will continue writing
to you, and once I get in the groove of things, will
start taking pictures and sending them to you. I miss
you very very much, and I hope you will have/are
having/had a safe drive back to Monterey. Please write
me back

While I was reading, the phone rang. JDK. "Hello, beautiful. Listen, we have some problems here –"

"Something I did?"

"Oh God, no. Would you knock that off? You're perfect. I want to submit you to some Chinese biotech laboratory so they can clone you. But here's what I need you to do…"

Life goes on.

Comments

[gringo-in-tj.livejournal.com]

One day I recommend that you compile all of this, all of your entries, and make a book. It really is fantastic stuff, every entry seems to flow together.

And except for Baker, Victorville probably is the ugliest small town in California.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

I have a very high regard for your literary ability so a compliment from you is meaningful. Thank you.

[carolynturgeon.livejournal.com]

What a gorgeous photo!!!

[carolynturgeon.livejournal.com]

P.S. I showed my friend Joi and said ye looked like Lydia Lunch if Lydia Lunch were a model. And also that ye looked like someone Leonard Cohen would have sung about. =P

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

I love reading about yr adventures with Joi! And you are very sweet. Thanks!

[woobiewoobster.livejournal.com]

Thank God for email! How nice to know that he was thinking of you while you were thinking of him---just confirmation that no matter how old they think they are they still need their mom's!

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Yes, they do! It was a really nice email to receive!

[idylld.livejournal.com]

Wonderful entry. I hope we hear lots about Max and his Deep Springs doings.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Thank you. And very nice to see your userid -- I miss reading your entries, you write so wonderfully.

[errantpenny.livejournal.com]

Wow, what a stunning picture. The eyes, the cheekbones -- you're beautiful.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Thanks! That picture is 18 and a half years old. I don't look like that anymore. But hey! beauty is transient...