The following is an excerpt from part two:
Perhaps Cole and his sister are familiar with The Adventure of Helen. They share the same unfortunate mentality; we suffer losses because they are determined to get their way. We are raped of our reputation and our status in the community. We are deprived of our home and our jobs. We are stripped of our future and our freedom. We plead to the molestation charges as a matter of survival and have learned to embrace the outcome.
They have no idea of the ripple effect their stunt has produced, nor does the concept of care enter the equation. Considering the benefits I have acquired, I would not exchange a strand of it. As on the TV show with irrational complainants and with our dear “friend” Helen, nothing else matters. For her and our (x) kids, retaliation for imaginary unfairness becomes an insane obsession. I want my way.
Be it a conscious or unconscious choice, productive or destructive, I will get my way too. We all will.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
The Adventures of Helen
The following is an excerpt from part two:
The Four Agreements, (Reprinted with permission of John Wiley & Sons, Inc. © 1997 by Miguel Angel Ruiz, M.D.) advises: “Don’t take it personally.” This is Helen’s drama, her distorted dream. We are in this crazy situation to begin with because she has been trained to take everything personally. All that is left for us to do is allow her to dwell in misery. She is set in the way of hell. We do not need to accompany her on the tour just as we need not dwell on the injustice brought on by our children.
Jim Stovall tells a story of wisdom for the ages in The King’s Legacy.* Many of the townspeople provide the king with their version of wisdom. Finally the jester imparts, “There is nothing more vital than laughter...I wish you the ability to pause at the most difficult and trying times of life, and simply laugh.” We are not going to change Helen. We are not going to reverse the edict. We might as well seize the opportunity to have a good laugh.
As it turns out, The Adventures of Helen yields terrific opportunity. She provides me with material to compose an entire chapter. As if that is not enough, we end up finding a beautiful apartment for a terrific price. The neighborhood is serene. The property owners are firmly on their rockers. I can bask in peaceful tranquility with my laptop. We all got just what we wanted.
The Four Agreements, (Reprinted with permission of John Wiley & Sons, Inc. © 1997 by Miguel Angel Ruiz, M.D.) advises: “Don’t take it personally.” This is Helen’s drama, her distorted dream. We are in this crazy situation to begin with because she has been trained to take everything personally. All that is left for us to do is allow her to dwell in misery. She is set in the way of hell. We do not need to accompany her on the tour just as we need not dwell on the injustice brought on by our children.
Jim Stovall tells a story of wisdom for the ages in The King’s Legacy.* Many of the townspeople provide the king with their version of wisdom. Finally the jester imparts, “There is nothing more vital than laughter...I wish you the ability to pause at the most difficult and trying times of life, and simply laugh.” We are not going to change Helen. We are not going to reverse the edict. We might as well seize the opportunity to have a good laugh.
As it turns out, The Adventures of Helen yields terrific opportunity. She provides me with material to compose an entire chapter. As if that is not enough, we end up finding a beautiful apartment for a terrific price. The neighborhood is serene. The property owners are firmly on their rockers. I can bask in peaceful tranquility with my laptop. We all got just what we wanted.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The problem is “them”
The following is an excerpt from part two:
In response to the rent increase letter, we send a notice that we are moving, effective the day before the rate hike. It turns out to be an unsurpassed opportunity that spurs us into finding a decent place to live. The inordinate increase is a clear message that she wants us gone. It is the nose-cutting for- spite routine. Rationality is ignored. At least we need no longer be concerned that we will cause hurt feelings. Now she has both units empty. She will probably need another home equity loan to carry her through the next few months of gambling.
Helen is destined to a lifetime of misery and suffering; she is accustomed to perpetuating exactly that. We are the first tenants in fourteen years who lasted longer than a few months. No one can put up with her nonsense. She sees the problem as being “them.” They are all screwed up. Her paltry existence makes her happy. That is the important thing. She will take her happiness to her grave. Is it any wonder that countries go to war when “friends” cannot even get along?
I could get angry over the affair. I could even choose hatred. The only person to be affected would be me. I could live the life of debauchery and discontent that infects Helen’s joyous abode. It comes down to a choice. I could rekindle the despondency that loomed in our home up until the very second of Erin and Cole’s displacement; that’s another choice.
In response to the rent increase letter, we send a notice that we are moving, effective the day before the rate hike. It turns out to be an unsurpassed opportunity that spurs us into finding a decent place to live. The inordinate increase is a clear message that she wants us gone. It is the nose-cutting for- spite routine. Rationality is ignored. At least we need no longer be concerned that we will cause hurt feelings. Now she has both units empty. She will probably need another home equity loan to carry her through the next few months of gambling.
Helen is destined to a lifetime of misery and suffering; she is accustomed to perpetuating exactly that. We are the first tenants in fourteen years who lasted longer than a few months. No one can put up with her nonsense. She sees the problem as being “them.” They are all screwed up. Her paltry existence makes her happy. That is the important thing. She will take her happiness to her grave. Is it any wonder that countries go to war when “friends” cannot even get along?
I could get angry over the affair. I could even choose hatred. The only person to be affected would be me. I could live the life of debauchery and discontent that infects Helen’s joyous abode. It comes down to a choice. I could rekindle the despondency that loomed in our home up until the very second of Erin and Cole’s displacement; that’s another choice.
Friday, July 29, 2011
The screaming match begins
The following is an excerpt from part two:
Helen’s two sons have been groomed to the same way of thinking. They are no longer “only kids,” except in their immature behavior. The police officer son is furious when he hears that he needs to tend to his own pet while Mom is at work. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In a work of fiction it would be difficult to invent so preposterous a situation. We do not know whom to call when the domestic abuse complaint is provoked by the police.
The younger son, recently of legal age, moved out then returned with a girlfriend. They live rent-free for upwards of a year. Well, not entirely free. The girlfriend gives her $30 share of food stamps from the family who claim her as a dependent. She contributes that to buy snacks for herself and her sponge of a companion. When income tax time comes around, the sponge insists that his mother will not be claiming him as a dependent—he wants the $1,000 refund on his own return. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In the end, the blood-sucking couple has their tidy little nest egg. It serves as the deposit on an abuse-haven they can call their own.
Helen parks in handicapped-designated areas. She does not possess a disability placard. The first time she does it, when I am in the car, I mention that the fines have been increased. “Oh, I’m not worried. My son, the police officer, will take care of it.” She goes out drinking for the night and calls her son, the police officer, for an escort home. She swerves and sways down the road with the cruiser on her tail. It matters not whose rights are infringed upon. Endangering lives is a trivial affair. I want my way.
Helen’s two sons have been groomed to the same way of thinking. They are no longer “only kids,” except in their immature behavior. The police officer son is furious when he hears that he needs to tend to his own pet while Mom is at work. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In a work of fiction it would be difficult to invent so preposterous a situation. We do not know whom to call when the domestic abuse complaint is provoked by the police.
The younger son, recently of legal age, moved out then returned with a girlfriend. They live rent-free for upwards of a year. Well, not entirely free. The girlfriend gives her $30 share of food stamps from the family who claim her as a dependent. She contributes that to buy snacks for herself and her sponge of a companion. When income tax time comes around, the sponge insists that his mother will not be claiming him as a dependent—he wants the $1,000 refund on his own return. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In the end, the blood-sucking couple has their tidy little nest egg. It serves as the deposit on an abuse-haven they can call their own.
Helen parks in handicapped-designated areas. She does not possess a disability placard. The first time she does it, when I am in the car, I mention that the fines have been increased. “Oh, I’m not worried. My son, the police officer, will take care of it.” She goes out drinking for the night and calls her son, the police officer, for an escort home. She swerves and sways down the road with the cruiser on her tail. It matters not whose rights are infringed upon. Endangering lives is a trivial affair. I want my way.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
South Beached-Whale
The following is an excerpt from part two:
As I have always done, I send cookies down. She snarls, “I’m on a diet.” (Not, “No thank you, I’m on a diet.”) A couple of days later I knock and ask if she needs anything at the market. She has two whopping zits on her face, dripping with puss—it looks like she has an extra set of noses. I ask, “Whoa, what happened?” “I ate too many French fries.” She must be on that new South Beached-Whale Diet.
A few days later Helen informs Sid, “I’m hurt.” Sid asks her what happened, assuming that she was injured at work again. “I’m hurt that you refuse to take care of Puppy, after everything I’ve done for you.” Everything like what—rent us the shit box that has been vacant for over a year? We have always had a one-way relationship: we give, she takes. Sid explains that he is simply not willing to put himself at risk. “Ray is going for a hip restoration. Who’s gonna take care of him if that dog chews me up?”
“Well, I want you to know that you hurt my feelings. I was counting on you.” She walks off and slams the door. The following Monday, one week since Sid imparted the dreadful news about the dog, we get a notice in the mail from Helen. “Due to increased maintenance costs, the rent will be increased by 20% beginning July 1.” Not taken into account is that we have been the ones who have been providing free maintenance.
As I have always done, I send cookies down. She snarls, “I’m on a diet.” (Not, “No thank you, I’m on a diet.”) A couple of days later I knock and ask if she needs anything at the market. She has two whopping zits on her face, dripping with puss—it looks like she has an extra set of noses. I ask, “Whoa, what happened?” “I ate too many French fries.” She must be on that new South Beached-Whale Diet.
A few days later Helen informs Sid, “I’m hurt.” Sid asks her what happened, assuming that she was injured at work again. “I’m hurt that you refuse to take care of Puppy, after everything I’ve done for you.” Everything like what—rent us the shit box that has been vacant for over a year? We have always had a one-way relationship: we give, she takes. Sid explains that he is simply not willing to put himself at risk. “Ray is going for a hip restoration. Who’s gonna take care of him if that dog chews me up?”
“Well, I want you to know that you hurt my feelings. I was counting on you.” She walks off and slams the door. The following Monday, one week since Sid imparted the dreadful news about the dog, we get a notice in the mail from Helen. “Due to increased maintenance costs, the rent will be increased by 20% beginning July 1.” Not taken into account is that we have been the ones who have been providing free maintenance.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
“my son, the police officer”
The following is an excerpt from part two:
Helen goes on a trip. The poor dog is locked in the apartment for four days. As usual, Sid lets him out and takes him for walks. He feeds him and changes the water. The dog is angry to have been abandoned in the sweltering apartment. He messes all over and tears through the trash; Sid cleans it up. By the third day, the dog is irate. He growls ferociously when Sid goes down to get him. The dog pounces and Sid leaps behind the door, barely escaping attack.
The ten-year-old dog has a history of maiming people and pets. No action is taken because Helen proclaims, “He’s registered to my son, the police officer.” The insurance examiner tells her they cannot continue the homeowner policy because of the nature of the creature that is housed here.
“Oh, but he’s registered to my son, the police officer. The dog doesn’t stay here. The dog run in the back yard is for my parents when they come. They set up their chairs out there so they can be in the shade.” I want my way. When she returns from her Memorial Day long weekend, Sid informs her that he can no longer take care of the dog. She says, “I know how he is. He does that with me sometimes, too, but you’re a big man. You should be able to handle him.” Now she is furious. Now we must be punished.
When she goes to the store, she no longer checks to see if we need something. No more bringing in our mail if she gets there first. We get the ice-block shoulder when passing in the hall. This is a fifty-one-year-old “adult!”
Helen goes on a trip. The poor dog is locked in the apartment for four days. As usual, Sid lets him out and takes him for walks. He feeds him and changes the water. The dog is angry to have been abandoned in the sweltering apartment. He messes all over and tears through the trash; Sid cleans it up. By the third day, the dog is irate. He growls ferociously when Sid goes down to get him. The dog pounces and Sid leaps behind the door, barely escaping attack.
The ten-year-old dog has a history of maiming people and pets. No action is taken because Helen proclaims, “He’s registered to my son, the police officer.” The insurance examiner tells her they cannot continue the homeowner policy because of the nature of the creature that is housed here.
“Oh, but he’s registered to my son, the police officer. The dog doesn’t stay here. The dog run in the back yard is for my parents when they come. They set up their chairs out there so they can be in the shade.” I want my way. When she returns from her Memorial Day long weekend, Sid informs her that he can no longer take care of the dog. She says, “I know how he is. He does that with me sometimes, too, but you’re a big man. You should be able to handle him.” Now she is furious. Now we must be punished.
When she goes to the store, she no longer checks to see if we need something. No more bringing in our mail if she gets there first. We get the ice-block shoulder when passing in the hall. This is a fifty-one-year-old “adult!”
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I want my way
The following is an excerpt from part two:
We blend well as occupants of the same three-family building. We go down to play cards. She comes up to watch a movie. We both are forever cooking and sending samples up and down. For months, she broadcasts how pleased she is to have us as tenants. She has never had it so good. Sid clears the snow off her car after a storm. He brings out the trash and plows the driveway. He seals the windows and hangs her blinds. We repaint our four rooms and then proceed to do the stairway hall. We replace floor tiles and refinish cabinets. This is all at our own expense, and we are pleased to contribute.
When Helen is away, Sid attends to her dog. It is a monstrous Shar-pei-Pit Bull mix. Helen calls him “Puppy.” Helen has a strict no-pet policy. We are unable to have our Ring-necked Dove. When we went to prison, my sister took him in for us. Now we visit the bird on weekends. We have discussed having our bird but Helen will not budge. “If the other tenants find out, they’ll all want pets.” (We do not even associate with the guy who finally rented the first floor, other than to say hi in passing.) We have been warned, “Don’t even think about having a fish.” No pets means no pets. It has nothing to do with the rationale of it. It has to do with I want my way.
We blend well as occupants of the same three-family building. We go down to play cards. She comes up to watch a movie. We both are forever cooking and sending samples up and down. For months, she broadcasts how pleased she is to have us as tenants. She has never had it so good. Sid clears the snow off her car after a storm. He brings out the trash and plows the driveway. He seals the windows and hangs her blinds. We repaint our four rooms and then proceed to do the stairway hall. We replace floor tiles and refinish cabinets. This is all at our own expense, and we are pleased to contribute.
When Helen is away, Sid attends to her dog. It is a monstrous Shar-pei-Pit Bull mix. Helen calls him “Puppy.” Helen has a strict no-pet policy. We are unable to have our Ring-necked Dove. When we went to prison, my sister took him in for us. Now we visit the bird on weekends. We have discussed having our bird but Helen will not budge. “If the other tenants find out, they’ll all want pets.” (We do not even associate with the guy who finally rented the first floor, other than to say hi in passing.) We have been warned, “Don’t even think about having a fish.” No pets means no pets. It has nothing to do with the rationale of it. It has to do with I want my way.
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