A Glutton For Punishment

What can I say?  Apparently I think that doing the same thing over and over, hoping for a different out come, will work.  Isn't that the definition of insanity.  Wait--let me Google that.

Yep--found it.


I asked Darlene to go with me to the Nutcracker Ballet performance Sunday.  She seemed excited and it wasn't too bad.  She talked continually all the way over--only a 20 minute drive and was fairly quiet and calm during the program.

We had wonderful seats!  3rd row, center stage.  In fact, we were so close that when the professional ballet dancers came out to dance The Sugar Plum Fairy, I could see the woman's panty liner sticking out just a teeny bit under her tutu!

Anyway, Karen was there and her son Marcus..my son-in-law was backstage working the fog and snow machine and changing the scenery and working the curtains.

Madeleine was one of the dolls this year.  The Spanish Dancer doll and when she did her solo dance, she was wonderful.  She has such personality and stage presence.  She didn't just dance the role, but she put in flirtatious little moves of her head, behind her black lace fan.  There was a report later that she was the best Spanish Dancer Doll they have ever had.

This makes the 10 year in a row I have seen the Nutcracker.  She started out as a little mouse and is now dancing with the more professional girls.  She started ballet when he was almost 4--so darling in her little white tights and shoes and pink tutu.

Dar was very impressed with Karen and the family, as she should have been, in my humble opinion.  We stopped on the way home and got Chinese for supper.  It wasn't too bad a time, but she does wear me out with her continually ramblings.

This morning, I was going up to The Farm again--my sister made a porch decoration out of our old sled and I got some vintage ice skates on e-bay for 20 bucks for her to hang on the sled.

Just as I was about to leave, Dar came in.  She was all in an emotional melt down AGAIN--you know how she gets.  It looked like it was going to be a long morning and I had to be up at The Farm by 10:00, so I said, "Dar, do you want to ride up with me?"

"Oh yes!  I would like to see where you were raised and meet your sister and it would help me relax."

Of course, before we got too far, we had to stop so she could her "Super, Decaf, Skinny, Hot, Mocha, With Whipped Cream" Bigby coffee.  I continued to drive as she sipped the coffee.

You've seen the movie "When Harry Met Sally"?  Well, for the next mile, she acted like Sally in the restaurant scene!  I KID YOU NOT!!

Then she started talking and, for the next 25 minutes, she told me all about her stay in the mental ward and her near suicide and how "All three of my psychiatrist's came to my house to talk me through it!"
<really>

I had a headache by the time I got near The Farm and I slowed down to show her the home where I raised my kids (where Pammie lives) and the farm up on the corner where I was born (where Mark) lives and then turned left to go to Susan's.  I explained it all to her and as we drove in Susan's driveway, I explained where the addition started on the old house and what was the original house.

My poor sister!  She gave Dar a tour of the house and Dar was busy blathering about her grandmother's house in Detroit.  Then she'd asked Susan a question and Susan would answer.  But, I could tell, Dar wasn't listening, she was too busy thinking in her head of what SHE wanted to say.

Twice she asked Susan, "Now, this is all the original house?"

Susan said, "No.  We added this part on."

"Now, you said this was your parent's home--where you and Judy grew up?"

"No.  That is the farm up on the corner."

"Oh yes, where Pam lives now."

"No.  Mark."

"Where do you work, Sue."
<my sister hates to be called Sue.>

"I'm retired.  When we lived in New York, I worked for the county agency for spousal, child and elder abuse."

Then of course, Dar had to tell Susan her sad tale of being abuse as a child AND a wife AND now, by her children.

I was getting very twitchy, so I got her out of there.  She still wanted to see our little town of Byron.  First, I made her stand for a moment by the car and I said, "Take a deep breathe and...just listen."

"Oh...gosh....all I hear is the breeze.  It's awfully quiet isn't it?"

"Yes.  Isn't it lovely."

and we got in the car.

"I'd be scared to live out here," she said.

"What?"

"I'd be scared to live way out here with no close neighbors.  What is someone broke in and robbed you?"

"And, who would do that?  You know everyone around for miles--your neighbor's.  They wouldn't break in."

"What if................."

"You would be safer out here than anywhere you've ever lived.  What do you think....some robber is going to drive an hour out from Flint or Lansing and just happen to pick your house to rob?"

"What if your husband beat you up.  There would be no one to hear your screams and help you."

"Dar...my second husband beat me up weekly and tried to kill me.  We lived in a town house with neighbors on each side.  That didn't stop him and oh...by the way...no one called 911 to help me!"
<oh, I was getting beyond irritated.>

So I drove over to the cemetery to show her where most of my family is buried and I told her to get out of the car and walk over to our family plot.  I walk along and show her the markers and my marker and then on the way back to the car, she stops and looks down and said, "This is one on your family plot?"

"Of course.  Why?"

"Well, who is Frederick?"
<oh my good Lord...I am just going to trip her and bash her head on the ground!>

"You don't know whose marker this is?"

"No.  It isn't the same last name as yours."

"You don't know anyone named Fredrick who died on new year's day in 2012?"

She looked at me, sort of confused....

"It's Fred!"

"I didn't know his name was Fredrick."

Back in the car...I no longer have any desire to show her my childhood hometown or anything other than get this idiot home!

I had no choice by to drive through Byron to get home and as I got into town she said, "Now I want to see your school and your church."

So I continued on down the block to show her.

She gave each a cursory glance and I also pointed out the Baptist church just up the street.  Then I drove half a block and as we started to pass by the Baptist church she said, "Oh my Gawd.  Is that some one's home?"

"No.  That's the Baptist church I pointed out three minutes ago."

"Oh."

Finally, back on the road headed south toward home and she started in telling me about when she was "held captive" (her words), by the black man she lived with for twenty years--all the way home!  I think I must have broken every speed limit in the county to get her home and rid of her!
================
I was exhausted!  I grabbed a snack, watched my soap, kicked back my recliner and woke up two hours later!!

She doesn't understand why I would want to live out in the country where it is "so quiet and spooky and probably really dark at night."  She doesn't understand why my friends that I met the first day of Kindergarten feel like family to me.  She doesn't understand why anyone who grew up "there" would want to get married and still live there the "entire rest of your life?"

Perhaps, if she was really interested and had paid a bit more attention today, she might have figured it out?

She's a city girl.  She can't possibly understand why I loved living "way out" in the country away from "all the activity" anymore than I would understand why she would want to live in a dirty, noisy, creepy, scary city.