Monthly Archives: June 2017

The Little Boat That Could

 

I have lived in Portland, Maine, for most of my adult life, and on occasion my father would take my son Tom and I out to eat.

DiMillo’s was one place we went now and then. It is an actual boat on the water that has become a main attraction of the city: a floating restaurant! Great food! A little more money than the average restaurant, but totally worth it just for the experience; and did I mention? Great food!

Well, my father always liked to “treat” whenever we went out. Even when I had a good job, he would insist on paying the bill. I would offer to pay now and then but he would not allow it. Literally.

But I wanted to be able to express my affection and gratitude for all he had done for us over the years, and I realized that the only way I could do so was to be a bit sneaky. So one night he invited then-10-year-old Tom, and I and a few others, to DiMillo’s, and the plot was hatched. I was going to pay the bill, whether he liked it or not!

So, soon after we’d arrived and been seated, I excused myself “to go to the rest room,” and sought out our waitress. “No matter what he says or does, I am paying for the check,” I told her, and I gave her my debit card number in advance.

Well, come time to order, my father leans back and says, “get whatever you want.” My son Tom, who’d come to love lobster, decided to order not one, but TWO lazy lobsters. Lazy lobsters are one whole lobster taken out of the shell and served with a generous amount of butter and who knows what-all; it’s delicious, and at the time it was $25. a pop. “Tom,” I nearly hissed, thinking of my poor debit card, “I think ONE lazy lobster is sufficient.”

“Oh, no,” said Dad, patting his stomach and throwing an arm across Tom’s shoulders. “Let him get what he wants.” He smiled. I smiled. Tom got his two lazy lobsters.

Afterward, there was a full round of dessert. Coffee. Dad finished his last sip of water and looked around for the waitress. Took another sip of what was now cold coffee and grimaced. But not because of the coffee. Tom, full of lobster and ready to go run around on the wharf, was oblivious. My wallet was crying. Dad continued to crane his neck looking for the waitress.

Finally my father, visibly upset, got the waitress’s attention. “We’re WAITING on our CHECK.”

Beaming, and winking over at me, the waitress says, “The check’s taken care of, Sir.”

“WHAT?”

Her smile faltered a little. “It’s been paid. Your .. your daughter …”

He turned flashing eyes on me. “You did not.”

“I did.” I was smiling, but having a hard time holding it in place. He REALLY was not happy. I could tell by the look in his eyes.

Tom, oblivious, hopped down off his chair. “We ready to go?”

“We sure are, honey,” I said.

I’m still not sure that I did the right thing. I was proud to be able to “provide,” for once. But my dad really never liked that I’d done that. It was HIS job to take care of his baby girl, not the other way around.

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The Sound of Silence

Silence like a cancer grows …” Paul Simon

Well, I suppose that is true. I don’t speak (= don’t write), therefore it leads to not speaking, and then it is harder to speak again. The silence grows and the cancer is the self- talk that goes on – “No one wants to hear what you have to say.” Or, “You don’t want them to know what you are thinking.” I don’t know which cancer is worse, and I really didn’t think of it as a cancer until those lyrics occurred to me …

The impetus for this blog post is one by a blogging friend, who says that her silence comes from a need to recover. I suppose that is partly true in my case (Recover from what, though? But I feel broken).

But unlike her, the recovery comes when I do write. When I am silent, i.e., not writing, but I suppose this includes not confiding verbally, I am withdrawing into myself, more depressed.

I did ask my NP (Nurse Practitioner) to help me deal with the increase in depression, which I am experiencing “a little bit,” and she upped my Abilify (which I have to be very gentle with – it can be very touchy!)

The other song that came to mind in reflecting about the quiet is a hymn we often sing during the altar invitation time at church:

Silently now I wait for Thee,
Ready, my God, Thy will to see;
Open my eyes, illumine me,
Spirit Divine!

So, silence is not so great, haha, if it means that the Holy Spirit will tell me what to do next (“Write, Kathleen!“). I don’t want to hear. La la la la … (index fingers firmly planted in both ears…). I am living a spiritual life, praying, reading my Bible, spending time with other Christian friends, but I am guarded somehow, lately.

Eh, and I thought my not blogging was just a laziness thing, but maybe not. And I do know you don’t mind hearing from me, at least, a number of you have said so. Somehow, that thought makes me feel tearful.

I had no idea, really, that I was feeling this melancholy. I’m really not! But apparently, it’s in there! (“Ragu: It’s In There!”)

So, I suppose I should keep writing.

I am toying with the idea of participating in July’s Nano Camp (see link if you are unfamiliar). Since we are allowed to set our own goals for it, I think I will work on my old work- in- progress one day, and alternate the next with a new work (featuring Vernon and Maggie Burke, an older couple who have an illustrious past …).

So, I guess I’ll see ya.

 

The Sound of Silence,” Written by Paul Simon.

Open My Eyes That I May See,” Words and Music by Clara H. Scott

(Okay, the song really does touch my heart, sigh …)