Sisyphus’s Rock

I haven’t changed one bit since the last time I posted. In fact, I am more like me than I ever was. All this in spite of the fact that things around me are are changing. I may or may not be trekking the path of most resistance.

I don’t think we own any of the planet, regardless of the pieces of paper that say we do. I have never owned a house or land. I’ve never had any desire to own things and become responsible for them. I have always been a tenant, coming and going as I please, without any hounding obligations. I am not a fan of responsibility for anything other than the boundaries within my reach, the stretch of real estate I call The Self. My husband is very different. He has owned commercial fishing boats and houses and stuff out the wazoo. He likes the challenge of acquisition because he is competitive. I am not competitive. I’ve never had to compete for anything because, generally speaking, I don’t want what I haven’t got. My husband, who is much maligned (on this blog) wanted this-
IMG_0263We talked about it and I voted for prudence. Too bad for me. My vote didn’t count. The next thing I knew, I was an innocent bystander at a realtor’s office witnessing a transaction. I never saw it coming. The man, who is much maligned (on this blog) and perhaps a little too foolhardy for his own good, answered a question with “Don’t call me; call elroy, this is in her lap now.” There’s a piece of paper somewhere stating the rock belongs to us. I know that isn’t even remotely true. The rock belongs to the people who collect taxes on it and even that’s not precise, it would take infinity + 1 to figure out who owns the rock or if it can be owned.

I caved. I couldn’t understand why we worked so hard or what we were working for. Belonging to the rock seemed as good a reason as any other. The rock reminds me of The Big Rock in my grandfather’s field. When we were little kids, we used to have picnic lunches on it-baked bean sandwiches and lemonade- and slide down it until we’d rip the bottoms out of our pants and get in trouble for ripping them. There are apple trees on the other side of the rock and there’s room for a garden for someone who has leisure time to tend it. My grandfather had apple trees and a huge garden. He would have loved my husband and my husband would have loved him. They are so similar. Gram deferred to Gramp in much the same way I defer to my husband.

We belong to the rock. It seems there is no point in belonging to a rock. It should be one with the universe. We’re going to put a building on the other side of the rock and we’re going to move the rock to the other side of the driveway. If the rock doesn’t stay, I won’t budge-see how that works? My husband has told the casts of thousands of people, who make their living off people who believe they own the rock instead of the other way around, “My wife is keeping the rock.” He is oddly proud of my affection for it. He dumped the whole thing in my lap, trusting me to make the dream real. There’s an awful lot of ego involved in having so much faith from just one man. Who would I be if I couldn’t do it for him?

His kids, the boys, have come to believe that their dad must be onto something in placing all his faith in me. The eldest will be married in a couple of weeks. It will be an extravaganza. You know, I don’t cotton to displays. I have a very hard time with most of the symbolism in the ceremony and the expense of the affair. It doesn’t sit well. Even though it would be safe to say that nobody there, but me, will find one bit of it objectionable.

I want the kids to have a joyous day. I’ve bought into the magic of the dream. Of course, (you’ve been reading this far to get to the of course because you love it when I’m awful) in making a display, certain opportunities have presented themselves. As you may recall, I have found myself in the position of the heavy on more than one occasion with the boys. I’m not their mother.

I was the person cruising the parking lot with my husband trying to make sure they didn’t get in more trouble than they could get out of. I was the person who tried valiantly to remain calm and objective, the person who donated her time to an endeavor (she never wanted for herself) because it was the right thing to do. I was the person who held the phone receiver and told them to call their mother to apologize for the ugly thing they said to her because what if something happened and those were the last words she ever heard them say.

She didn’t plan on having them, she didn’t plan on guiding them, she didn’t plan for their future. I did. Their mother was a mean-spirited, divisive faction between those boys and their dad. My husband and I will host the rehearsal dinner, we hosted the engagement dinner too. I don’t like pretentious displays but I am, after all, only human. I will utilize an opportunity if it arises.

The bride loves all things spectacular. She believes she is a local celebrity, I can tell. I ordered some lovely, thick, cream colored invitations requiring the real mother to RSVP to me for the dinner she should have been hosting for her son and his bride, the dinner she could have hosted jointly with his father if only she’d planned on it. In an effort to make sure that the evening is as amicable as possible, I ordered escort cards and I’ve assigned the seating with as many tables as possible between us and her. In a supreme gesture of charity, I seated her close by her son. She doesn’t see him very often now because she moved away to be with the man I think of as her “retirement plan“.

I am secretly terrible but well-behaved. That’s what you like about it, it’s a secret and you’re the only ones who know what the truth is behind the illusion of untainted generosity. You know I’m an impostor, with deceitful thoughts and ulterior motives, pushing Sisyphus’s rock up a hill.

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Real Estate Augusta ME

Sweet, classic, home situated on a corner lot, located in multi-generational neighborhood, two elementary schools within walking distance, just minutes away from shopping centers and government buildings. Many charming accents throughout, a home built for creating happy memories. Sprague and Curtis Real Estate listing with many photos here.

 

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Real Estate

The next post will be a real estate plug for a family member transferring elsewhere to begin a new job. Unless you are interested in a sweet, classic, house in Augusta, Maine, you may want to skip it.

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Letters to and from Camp

elroyjones:

A must read for a good laugh from onemillionexcuses.

Originally posted on One Million Excuses:

We dropped our girls off at overnight camp a week ago and have been (im)patiently waiting to hear from them ever since.  It’s the older daughter’s sixth summer at this camp, which is a 5 and a half hour drive from home, but it’s the 9 year old’s first summer away.  We do have “spies” at camp, so we knew they were alive and at least well-ish, but there’s nothing like an actual letter to ease – or awaken – a parents’ fears.  Well, we finally got snail mail from them yesterday and they really are fine.  Both are a bit homesick (they love us, they really love us!), but making friends and having fun.  The way it should be.  We didn’t get the letter we feared, the one that says “I hate it here.  If you don’t pick me up right now, I will run away, contact DCFS, and ask…

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Notice Love

You’ll be relieved to know that a stay of execution has been granted by HMNHQOTIR (Her Most Noble Highness, Queen of the Immediate Realm, that’s me!) so my husband will live a while longer. He mentioned this morning, like it was nothing at all, that I should get my hair cut “the way it was when you cut it yourself, do you have a picture?” I melted. I didn’t know he liked it, or that he even noticed it.

We are killing ourselves on a project that is larger than anything we’ve ever done. I can’t tell you about it yet because I don’t want to jinx it. I see you scratching your collective heads, wondering how a gawdless person like me can be superstitious. It doesn’t matter because I have a very long title, which means I get to make the rules as I go.

Back to my husband- I love him more than air and I just want to live a simple, happy life. Sometimes, I think the two are diametrically opposed. I spend a lot of time believing that I am nothing more than a business partner in this chaos that I did not create; furthermore, there is no one taking care of me and you know why? I don’t need anyone to take care of me, if I need something I can take care of it my own damn self! That’s what it’s like inside my head as we work 7 days a week.

One of the reasons we work so hard is to try to secure a future for my husband’s sons. I go along with it because I hope my husband will reach a point where he is satisfied that he has done all he could do. He is a good father. I know that because I have firsthand experience in what a bad father is. I know it too because the boys have become responsible young men all of a sudden. They do sweet things for their dad, things that say they love him and notice who he is and what he likes.

That’s what it’s all about, really, being noticed by the people we love. I have a picture of the haircut that I did myself last summer so when I make an appointment, I’ll take it with me. I’m going to try really hard to remember that he notices me even when I don’t feel like he does and that being noticed is being loved.

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Desperate Pleas

Please keep me from killing my husband today.
Please help me be nice to him even though he’s driving me crazy.
Please don’t allow my editorial thoughts to escape the filter and become indelible words.
Please remind me that I don’t like cinder block walls, bars, cement floors or hard beds and that orange has never been my color.

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Here Now

As I tell the kids, “I’m not very important but I’m damn busy.” These are the things that are trending in the World of Elroy-

  • The Wedding with the internet conspiracy involving Kate Unger, Saks, and unidentified undercover fashion operatives who are trying to drive me crazy in the search for an age appropriate dress. I spent 8 hours, alone, with the bride. I like her very much (again). She is beautiful in THE DRESS, more beautiful than any bride I’ve seen anywhere else in magazines or on film. I think you know how I feel about the excessive pageantry as well as the patriarchal symbolism of the entire affair but I’ve had my turn so I’ll do my part to make sure the kids have theirs.
  • A psychic who said quite a lot to the happy couple and revealed some things that he couldn’t have known about.
  • Intrigue and espionage in the business world, can’t say much now but would like you to know that good guys win. Appalled at the way the tax code is structured to encourage borrowing.

Unfortunately not all of the young people in my life are happy. I found it necessary to post this on my fb page-
Mum used to tell us girls when we were young and heartbroken, “For every man who goes astray, there’s another man another day.” She was right and now I offer the very same adage to the heartbroken girls in my life.
To borrow Martin Briley’s immortal words- “He ain’t worth the salt in your tears.”

Love is NOT drunken black-outs and recriminations.
Love is sacrifice and responsibility, sharing the load, growing together to reach combined dreams.
Love is kindness and consideration. It’s trust and admiration, it’s respect and loyalty. It’s comfort when people die, it’s joy in celebration.
Love is NOT a meal ticket. It’s hard work and devotion.
Love is accountability. It’s more than wanting to be a good person because the person you love brings out the best in you, it’s being your best possible self, day in and day out, even when you don’t feel like it. It’s taking one for the team over and over and over again because the team is bigger, better, and stronger when two people contribute to it.
If it makes you feel bad about who you are and what you’re doing, it isn’t love. Believe it.

Back to work, can’t wait until the dust settles late this fall and I can get back to reading and writing.  Miss you.

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