If You Belonged Here

Driving by Braille

Lately, and please don't tell Mr. Poppins, I find that I've been driving by Braille. You know what that is, right? It's when you ride over the little reflector bumps in the road and there's this pup-pup-pup-pup-pup noise and if you hear that noise long enough it means you're staying on the white line, which is not exactly where you're supposed to be, but hey, it will get you there.

Yeah, that.

Only, it's not completely braille. Sometimes it's rounding too close to the curb. Or, you know, driving up over it. Mr. Poppins hates that. Secret Lulu says, "Daddy says don't hit the car."

Good advice, Secret Lulu. Good advice.

Anyway, I'm starting to think my perception--not depth so much, just all of it--is going a little off. Pandora (that would be one of The Dol's cousins) gave me her playlist and I've been listening to this one song over and over again:

For a second there, I thought you disappeared.
It rains a lot this time of year.
And we both go together if one falls down.
I talk out loud like you're still around.

And I miss you. I'm going back home to the west coast.
I wish you were to put yourself in my suitcase.
I love you, standing all alone in a black coat.
...
And if you shake her heart enough, then she will appear.
Tonight I think I'll be staying here.
And you never didn't like this town.
I talk outloud like you're still around.

...

So pack up my bags and beat back the clock.

Do I let her sleep or should I wake her up?

This song makes a lot of sense to me, although I can hardly articulate why. Maybe because I feel like I'm on the road, driving by Braille but getting there, and I know that not everyone can be with me for every mile of the journey, but I wish you all could, and I pretend you will. Also, I've been missing my Nana. She's been gone almost two years now and I still talk outloud like she's still around. I've made so much progress on my book, a book I originally began for her, and the more I make her story my own, the more it becomes hers.

I miss you, Nana.

I've been happier lately than I've been in a long time. I've felt a greater sense of purpose. I feel like I fit my life again. I feel like my life is beginning to fit me. 

This is all very esoteric. I know. But there's this sense of coming home to myself, of moving on, of loving more, of becoming a for real and truly adult hobbit. I fell down on the job last year. I wasn't 33 the way I meant to be. I got off the road. But I'm back on now and, even if it means driving by Braille, I know I'm getting there. Or maybe even, I've already arrived.

And I'm definitely going to wake her up.

Oh No Way.

So Secret Lulu, bless her heart, decided she wanted a hot dog and not one of those ghetto cooked-in-the-frying pan hot dogs, either. Secret Lulu has standards. She wanted a hot dog on the grill. So she told me what to do. In detail. Starting with take the cover off the grill.

Of course I did exactly what she told me. We all know who wears the yoga pants in this family. When I am not busy being an adult hobbit, I moonlight as Secret Lulu's house elf.

Let me pause to shudder.

Lest you think I am shuddering at the shame of being Lulu's b*tch: No. That is really not it, people.  Seriously, you should know better by now. I am shuddering because I have finally found the line--you know, the one that marks what I will do for Lulu from what I will not do for Lulu. There is a rat patrolling that line, people.

He's a big'un.

When I lifted the grill lid, lighter in hand, ready to light that mother up and get to grilling, I was greeted, nay, menaced by a rat that was easily the size of my two fists put together. That's the body, people. I didn't stick around to size up the length of his tail. Besides, my view was obstructed. The rat was under the grates of the grill, almost behind bars if you will, but that did not stop me from running screaming like a little girl.

There was a witness. And I'm not just talking about Secret Lulu. I was on the phone with my very dignified grant writer friend who used to live in the great outdoors in National Parks with bears and stuff when she was younger. Seriously. She also lived on a boat for a while. She's not a screamer. She's kind of tough. At least tougher than me, which admittedly isn't all that hard to do.

Save-the-Whales Zsa-Zsa, anyone?

Anyway, there was a witness, and when I finally got done hooting and running, I settled down enough to let out a loud and healthy "OHMYGAWD" to which Secret Lulu rejoindered "Suh-WEET Jee-SUS."

That's a direct quote. I have no idea who taught her that.

Stop looking at me.

Anyway, I cooked that hot dog ghetto-style in a frying pan. I also served up some basmati rice--rinsed three times before being lovingly cooked in my tiny rice steamer--and mandarin oranges. Mr. Poppins and I had ravioli with jar sauce, french bread on the side.

Mr. Poppins claims that we eat like nomads. I have no idea what he's talking about.

Somewhere in the middle of all that slaving over a hot stove, I called Orkin and talked to my guy Dwight. He knows me. I'm always the best call of his day. I seriously doubt he says that to everyone. What are the odds?

At first Dwight may have thought I was exaggerating the rat, perhaps even aggrandizing a baby mouse, but as it was supper time, Mr. Poppins arrived home because I really hate when he is late for dinner and the gruel gets cold. Mr. Poppins saw the rat  walking patrolling the grill area and said the rat's body was easily 9 or 10 inches long. Still no report on the tail.

 

Anyway, Dwight is getting a guy out here as soon as possible, which is Monday. That's not particularly soon when you've got a double-fist-sized rat taking up space in the backyard, but it will have to do. Dwight said it might be a roof rat and asked me all kinds of discomfiting questions about how close the trees are to my house and whether or not I've heard anything in the attic.

I was not reassured.

Mr. Poppins, sensing my unease, manned up and went out there to take back the grill. There was a hose involved and maybe some other stuff that I didn't see because I was hiding in the house. Actually, Mr. Poppins was quite seriously not afraid of the rat. The hose was just for cleaning droppings out of the grill. This made me nervous because if the rat were to attack, I might be expected to implement an extraction--kind of like Blackhawk Down--and I'm in not all that confident in my Ninja skills.

Don't get me wrong, I have Ninja skills, people. They're just subtle.

Thankfully, we all survived. Of course, I can no longer let Secret Lulu play out in the yard because the rat might carry her off, but it's dark out now, people, and she wasn't going outside again tonight anyway.

Oh, and when Secret Lulu sat down to have her basmati rice, she noticed she didn't have a drink, so she looked me square in the eye, and I swear to Hank, people, said, "Mommy, I need a cold one."

Yeah, you and me both, Secret Lulu. You and me both.

Side Out! Rotate!

With full awareness of the fact that today is Valentine's Day, I give you the following:

So The Dol assures me that her brother doesn't read my blog. I doubt it's true. I mean, seriously: everybody reads my blog.

Ha.

But I've got a long history of taking The Dol at her word, so let's assume for the sake of argument that she hasn't turned into a big liar pants and her brother, let's call him Skipper, doesn't read my blog. If that's true, and we're assuming it is, I am free to talk smack about him all day long without fear of retribution.

Let's go.

When I first met Skipper he was not yet his full height. Skipper was still in high school. Skipper had a girlfriend. This went on, in my opinion, way too long. The whole idea of having dating turmoil in high school is just abhorrent to me. I mean, it's frikkin high school, dating isn't supposed to be about compromise and negotiation. Dating in high school is about making out, and maybe, if you're lucky, getting lucky.

Anyway.

So finally, after way too long, Skipper breaks up with this girlfriend, and his best friend, without a moment's hesitation, grabs a box and says, "Dude, do you want me to pack up all her stuff and drop it off at her house?" This question is clearly rhetorical, as stuff is already flying into the box and one can practically see the best friend's internal navigation system comparing alternate routes--sidewalk versus greenbelt, which will get me there faster?

Fast forward ten years later. It's more than that, but let's just keep the numbers nice and round. Ex-girlfriend #1 has been succeeded by exes 2, 3, 4, 5, and maybe 6 (Skipper can be a little dodgy about the numbers) but #1 is not gone. She is still there. Her relationship with the ensuing girlfriends varies; sometimes they go to the movies together, sometimes she dogsits their puppies. But she never actually goes away.

Because that's how it is with Skipper. He sucks at breaking up. As in, I'm seeing someone else now Girlfriend #2, and I have to leave for a date, but go ahead and hang out with my parents if you want to finish watching this television show.

What the heck is that? Make her go home.

But Skipper never does. He instead attempts what I like to call "the relationship fadeout." Skipper hates to hurt anyone's feelings. He really wants to be a good person. But I say, "nay, nay, Skipper. When it's over it's over. Stomp on her frilly little heart. Destroy her hopes and dreams. Just get it over with already!"

After years of ambushing Skipper by phone, just when he's most vulnerable--because, really, The Dol assures me that he needs to break up with this girl, he wants to break up with this girl, yet somehow she's clinging like a barnacle, or more accurately a booger he just can't flick away, and Skipper needs my help--Skipper still hasn't quite caught on. So The Dol calls me yet again, and I call Skipper yet again. I tell him (yet again)  about the bad guy hat, how it's metaphorical but if it helps I'll buy him an actual black Stetson, so he can keep it in his closet and for Hank's Sake put the frikkin thing on already.

Instead of talking Skipper off the ledge, I try to talk him on it. I explain that if breaking up in person is too difficult because the other person simply refuses to accept the fact that it's over, then sometimes breaking up by text, as a last resort, is justified. The important thing is to break up. I tell him that the most important thing is to exit with as much dignity as is available under the circumstances.

And just recently, he actually got away from a girl. Although I suspect after receiving a worried call from The Dol that I know why. Let's cue the transcript:

Dol: You have to talk to Skipper. He's already seeing someone else. He says it's not a girlfriend but he's all happy and she's been staying at his place.

Polly: It's okay. Don't panic. A rebound from a rebound cancels itself out.

Now, Skipper's last girlfriend was a rebound from a rather awful breakup with a girl who had no problem putting on the bad guy hat. I'm not the first to say it, but that girl is dead to me. Certainly, she did not leave with as much dignity as was available under the circumstances and that, as far as one Polly Poppins is concerned, is unforgivable.

I judge her, people. I judge her harshly.

Anyway, Skipper rebounded, and since it was Skipper the rebound lasted about three times as long as it had any right to. Only now, it seems little monkey boy Skipper has a new vine and nothing makes a monkey more likely to let go of the old vine than having the new vine well in hand. Forgive the metaphor. I'm just in love with monkey analogies. So I suspect a new vine is what I'm saying. It makes sense, given the no-nonsense way Skipper got through his last breakup. I was expecting it to linger for at least six more weeks, but like I said, he did it by text.

Which he admits is controversial and worries makes him a bad person. I reassured him that it was necessary, but even so he is now indeed a bad person, hence the bad guy hat, hence the joy, joy, joy of being single. Totally worth it.

Anyway, the point is, not all rebounds are created equal. Rebounds from rebounds often go on to evolve into long happy marriages. I point to my own with Mr. Poppins, and even The Dol's to Baby Doc. So if you find yourself regretting your last relationship because it was just too soon after what's-the-name, don't let that stop you from grabbing on with both hands to the next vine that comes along, my little cheeky monkey.

Rebounds from rebounds, like diet soda and chocolate, cancel each other out. And that can be a very good thing.