haves

As I walk away from the unit, I usually take the time to say goodbye to anyone who is paying attention, kiss Alene, hug Rosita and make some hysterically funny remark as I type in the secret code that gets me through the keypadded door and out of there for another day. Last week, I did what I always do, and upon leaving, turned to Bonny and said, "You're in charge."

It was a joke.
She has dementia, you see.

She can't remember that the clothes she is wearing are her own unless they are red, or that the fruit rotting in her little apartment isn't treasure (oh, poverty... thy shadow is long) but she remembered that she was in charge. And she's been complaining ever since.

Or is it every since? Ever. I think I say ever since.

At any rate, Bonny's been showing up at my desk each morning, exhausted from keeping an eye on things. She tells me how lazy the girls are when I'm not there. I know this already. Job security, I figure. For both of us. But then her daughter called and said Bonnie is distraught. Worried sick. Too much responsibility for her. So, tonight, I led her to the med room, introduced her to the med aide and told her that Jeanette is on duty and if she has any questions, Jeanette will be in charge until I get back in the morning. She was relieved. She didn't want to let me down.

I hope that when I stop working, I stop.

I went to my writing group, and will likely go back. It is of some value. It may work. I am not inspired. I have not written. I was criticized, which I love, and she had a point. One. Two women showed up, and were serious about writing, although neither write like me. They are more like real writers. Not just liars with pencils. And there was a point in the conversation when I knew I was not like them, a point at which the difference between us narrowed to one bright point. They were talking about retirement: how long have you been retired? Since 02. Oh, I've just been for two years. They turned to look at me. I looked back and forth between them, knowing a comment was required. I couldn't just smile and nod. This was get to know you day. Show and tell on the first day of school. "I'll work until I die," I finally said. And the clincher was this.... they said, in unison: "Why?" And I, other shoe ready to drop at any minute, think to myself: I could lie, say I love to work. I love my job. It gives my life meaning. Instead, I went with the facts. The fact. One.

Money.

I said it simply and with as little shame as I could muster. I will work until I die because I have to. Because you, you retired ladies, are looking at the working poor-- a fingersnap from under the bridge. I know the distance between me and the shopping cart women and I know that they are cold tonight. I was one. No. I wasn't. But I've lived in the back of a pickup truck and in a burned out cabin and on my brother's screened porch next to the train track and in Joe Estramada's logging yard. (I didn't tell them all that last stuff. I just said money.)

And that separated the haves from the have nots in one fell swoop. But I'll go back anyway.

I was listening to a woman this evening and she said when she writes, her soul opens-- or her core or some such shit-- and what I know is that it is very difficult to write a lie on paper. Not without an eraser nearby. I know this because I am a fiction writer, and the truth leaks out around even those lies. It can't be helped. It is especially difficult to commit untruths to paper if you are a criminal trained in the old school: where men were men and women were scared... (you thought I was going to say sheep... but you didn't go to my school.) where you don't cop to shit, baby. Not on paper. Not in your outloud voice you don't. So lying is best left to the wind, the unproveable singular voice. If a lie is told in the forest and nobody hears it, can it still be used against you???

The room is coming right along. One of the walls is done. What my husband doesn't understand (and doesn't really care about all that much except that my ways with paint are curious to him) is that each wall is a separate painting. It is as fun as it gets for me. The first wall is terra cotta paint with a mocha wash over it. Gorgeous --like my bathroom down south only richer color. I bought a turquoise vase made of papier mache and a small turquoise bird with its head tucked under its wing. I will bring in the entire monkey population of this house when I am done. We brought in two new monkeys over Christmas: a cowboy and a cowgirl. I really need to post some pictures to photobucket and load them so I can get to them from this computer. We have some shots of Sid actually in flight, catching the frisbee.

Nicole dyed her hair purple today and cut it in a pixie cut. I couldn't get away with it. She looks just right.