family

i remember that feeling of comfort, of presumed acceptance, of no questions asked or answered. in Chicago, at the home of my cousin, who i barely knew but who let me stay over at her place during a spring break at my college. after dinner everyone was stuffed and tired. my aunt read the newspaper, the little kids played games on the floor in between moments of gaping at the television. there was no expectation of conversation, wit, or anything else. just unpretentious company of kin.

it happened again, a few years later, but there was a difference. it was among the same people, or at least the same side of the family, now in a rural Illinois town. after dinner, again, most everyone assumed a posture similar to the above mentioned scene. the difference was that this time my mother was there. i didn’t understand at the time, nor did i know how to address it, but her behaviour was quite strange. while the rest of us were relaxing, talking, not talking, doing nothing but basking in the afterglow of a fabulous suppertime feast — while we did that sort of thing my mother rereated to the kitchn, or she hid behind a wall, or she went into the bathroom for far too long. i saw her hiding behind a wall, her hands fidgeting in a way that i thought of years later while reading “Listening to Prozac.” the author described the feelings depressed people have that the stuff of life, the stuff of happiness is “slipping through their fingers like sand.” it’s a cliche in its usual usage but the phrase reaked of bitter sadness to me, the sadness of self-aware depression that trickles down the brain like slow, slow pain.

my mother couldn’t confront happiness, or tranquility. nothing was ever calm or at peace in her heart.

at this family gathering she clearly was the outsider, but for no reason of being left out or ignored. i think she simply couldn’t enjoy or allow for happiness of any stripe.

i found myself chasing my mother around the house, not confronting the oddity of her behaviour but simply trying to make conversation and, maybe, make her feel like she was welcome here. she seemed suspicious of my motives, as she had on other occasions.

i was thinking of this today, remembering how sje had the unique ability to say exactly the worst thing most any human being could think to say at a certain time. i won’t repeat or even suggest what any of those statements were. but it was like a finely-honed craft she had to stick the dagger right where it hurt the worst.

…..

i felt strange today. like a bratty little kid, stomping my feet and hurling my clenched fists toward the ground, unclenching them in disgust. i might just be tired but i might just be crazy, too.

i’ve had moments of panic the last few weeks. serious passages of anxiety and full evaporation of the reality around me.

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i went through the rigors of configuring a new PC today. yesterday and today. i discovered what i guess would be called a bug in the web program that lets you configure a custom PC. the PC has 3 slots for hard drives, but you’re only allowed to order 1. otherwise you get an unhelpful message that says there was a configuration error.

it turns out (i believe) that it’s more rationing of hard drives on account of the flooding in Thailand, where most of the world’s hard drives are made. i tried to order 2 hard drives for the RAID a few weeks ago, but Amazon only let me buy 1. the same is found at Costco, and probably anywhere else that sells those things.

so i guess it’s not so much a bug in the web site as a lack of clarity as to why there is a “configuration error” when trying to get a PC with 3 hard drives…

i did not actually order the new pachine yet. i have to decide how to pay for it. i keep reading that my credit score (which is already stellar) would get even better if i get approved for a store card or an installment plan. and, of course, if i successfully pay for the item on that installment plan. i think that’s lame, and a dumb way to pay for things, but i might play the game this one time just to see if i can get extra credit on my credit score.

i read a story in the USAA magazine about a woman who said she’d experienced identity theft 6 times. i don’t know if what she experienced was really classic identity theft in all 6 instances. simply having a credit card or bank account # stolen and used is not the same as someone assuming your identity.

whatever the case, the point of her story was simple: don’t use those gypsy ATM machines you find in convenience stores and on sidewalks. she said she stopped doing that and has had no problems since. she probably got paid $3000 for writing the few paragraphs it took to explain this.

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i read an interesting story today about Mozart. i dont’ know how factual it is, but it’s interesting if there is even a sliver of truth to it. according to the tale Mozart started writing the music to his Requiem Mass on a park bench. the park-watcher, a man named Geppert, discovered this act of vandalism and ordered the composer to stop defacing public property. Mozart just kept writing away, waving off Geppert and thus infuriating him ever more. the 2 come to blows whence it is revealed to Geppert that this is Mozart, composer of The Magic Flute, which was Geppert’s favorite. when he discovers this Geppert forgives all transgressions nad even supplies Mozart with another park banch so he can continue writing. Mozart promises Geppert that when this work is done it will be greater than The Magic Flute, and that he will be invited to be among the first to hear it performed. months pass and Geppert holds court at the Mozart table, that table on which the composer wrote his first draft of the Requiem. Just when Geppert begins to think he’d been had, and that this was not ozart but some ocmmon vandal, an Abbey appears and tells Geppert that Mozart sent him to invite the park-watcher to the first hearing of the Requiem Mass at his home the next day. Geppert would not let anything stop him from being there at the appointed time, and he was present. the audience comprised himself and Constanza, Mozart’s wife. there were several performers.

is Geppert real? according to this story he was among the very few present at Mozart’s funeral, and the only one present at the first hearing of the Requiem who was from outside Mozart’s circle of friends…

cool story if it’s true, or even slightly true. but i read it in The Etude, which has a fair amount of content that has since been proven to be inaccurate. i read last week that a certain Mr. Hanchett was the inventor of the Sostenuto pedal. that’s the middle pedal found on grands and certain types of upright pianos. Hanchett wrote and edited for The Etude, but I can find nothing whatsoever to support the magazine’s claim that he invented the middle pedal.

it all reminds me of the nonsense Paul Harvey used to get away with. total fabrications stated as fact time and time again, usually ending his radio segment under the “For What It’s Worth” category.

All harmless fun, as far as I can recall, but in today’s information-everywhere hyperventilationalism he might have a harder time getting away with it.