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I was reading Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar while we traveled through Portugal and much in the same vein was amused to have our own little interlude on our train from Lisbon to Porto. In the midst of an extremely confusing oversight, we turned out to have tickets but not reservations, so I went into my mad dash panic to secure us seats, running back and forth through the terminal like a nutball, while Tatjana held our seats on the train. When at the very last minute we got the go ahead to take our seats, I flew back and collapsed into my chair.

So I didn’t notice the couple who had meanwhile come in and taken the seats behind us.

They were engaged in a conversation with a man sitting in the single seat across the aisle – a man wearing yellow shorts and all sorts of preppy and very gay clothing and I mean gay. The woman was doing most of the talking, which we were soon to find out, was to be the dominant theme. I could tell by the voice, by what she was saying, that she was Jewish, from New York, and I pictured a small sinewy creature who maybe worked at Saks or something – there was a lot of pretension in the air being tossed around.

They were speaking about David, poor soul, who was in the midst of a break up with his partner. And they were all three headed to someone’s soiree or concert, it was hard to understand. I passed a note to Tatjana that said is she traveling with her husband and is it Todd? Raul was the solo traveler and he barely got a word in edgewise, but Todd – who we learned to be her taciturn husband did know Russian and Chinese, so we were only trying to imagine his work.

David remained the subject but interspersed were thoughts on Nietzsche, Portugal, the host of the party and his rigidness in time keeping, as well as other characters we were trying to sort out. Tatjana passed me a note that said, David is an important character.

It turns out the woman, who got up to go to the restroom was a tall big-boned woman with a dramatic grey streak in her hair and a certain cosmopolitan flare to her wardrobe. Todd was sort of droopy looking but younger than her in appearance. When she returned, Raul announced he was learning the harpsichord and of course, she knew the harpsichord inside and out – well there was not a lot she didn’t know. I wrote a note and passed it to Tatjana – this is what adults do who don’t have children, they take harpsichord lessons and go to international parties.

They turned out to be all of them fairly learned people and the conversation was interesting at spots although she dominated 99% of it. At one point Todd spoke and I nearly fainted and passed another note to Tatjana saying he speaks! but that was quickly remedied by her changing the subject entirely.

The last straw was when she said to Raul that she had been telling Todd about his favorite soap being made in Porto and he was doing “the husband thing” and nodded as if he was listening, but the very next morning, he was dancing around and so excited because he had discovered that his favorite soap was made in Porto after learning it on the internet. She said, I had just told him this the night before and he acted like he heard me, he acknowledged me, but he wasn’t listening.

Todd said, “Well, you know why that is.”

And she ferociously said, “Yes, I do, it’s because your mother talked all the time and you just learned to tune her out.”

Todd said, “And?”

She replied indignantly, “And what?”

Todd said, “And?”

Raul was silent.

She said, “Well I don’t know what you are implying.” Then she turned to Raul and said, “But his mother talks nonstop and he just learned to tune her out. It has nothing to do with gender Todd, just because I’m talking and you learned to tune your mother out.”

This went on and on for quite a few bitter moments and Todd never opened his mouth again. But I was soon bored with the rant and wanted to read my Theroux book where he describes conversations with people on trains traveling through India and I couldn’t because of the constant talking.

I passed Tatjana a note that said, Like Todd, I suffer in silence.

I dedicate this poem to Tatjana, my Valentine, because I first read Duffy’s book of poems called Rapture while sitting in Luis’ orange chair in Madrid – Luis, Tatjana’s friend, who also is a poet and has an apartment full of books, mostly by poets, and this book Rapture, which began with love grabbed me from the getgo and the poems throughout grew so intense and fiery but alas, the last poem ended with sorrow and aloneness and made me put the book down almost in horror and I said to myself, that is not our book of love.

But I did remain haunted by her intense love poems all the same.

So I found another one of her poems:

Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

I try to imagine what it must be like to be my sister – to be so hurt, you want to hurt – but I simply can’t. I was speaking to a friend today about his business and he said he gave up focusing on his bad customers and decided to spend most of his time with his good customers. I said I have the same theory for life in general. I want to surround myself with people who love and support me, and I just really don’t want to give time to someone who seeks to hurt me much less give time to sibling rivalry, anyone with arrested development, and those whose agenda never changes.

It’s sad because Michelle’s back – woo hoo – and in yoga we were talking about the whole, how everything is a part of the whole. So her sadness and her isolation is a part of my happiness and my circle of love, but I can stand here and witness it and know it is sad without being dragged down into the quagmire. I call this closing in on nirvana.

My hairdresser has a great stimulus plan – he says we should have let the banks fail, then all of our mortgages and credit cards and car notes would be poof, gone, and hey now, we’d have all this extra money and we’d be spending fools. I like his plan. Vote for Scott and get a great haircut while you’re at it.

With the cool weather and Tatjana starting school and the school buses on Orleans with flashing yellow lights – summer must be ending – I love fall, it’s a wonderful time of year that makes me feel very cozy and homebody-ish – but summer, where did it go? So much stuff whirling around – here, there – enormous changes at the last minute. Another summer that has slipped through my hands.

I’m going to try to hold off calling it quits till September 1.

I sat on the porch this evening, it’s beautiful outside. I had a glass of rose and my neighbor came over to join me. I had just come back from a lovely bike ride, T was teaching, and the sun was about to set. A friend rode by  and we beckoned her over. We sat there and talked about things – this summer and the woe it has produced – we talked about the episode with my sister and  we talked about anything and everything on the tip of our tongue.

When Arlene was about to go, the nun said afterwards – oh you put that dog down, I could tell when I looked at her she needed to be put down. Something about the Irish accent let the coldness of that statement go by me. But when she learned of my mom’s plight recently and said “i remember envying the other nuns whose parents were already dead when I went through what you are going through” I cringed, a little.

Today I got a note from a friend who is dealing with her aged father and his cancer. She said, it’s a privilege to care for your dying parent. That’s an interesting way to think of it. Our parents changed our diapers and gave up a lot in their lives to make our lives. It is a debt we owe, no doubt.

Sitting on the bayou and listening to my friends tell me about what they have learned about themselves in the past years through their travails tells me that life is a continual study lab – every day seems to bring with it a depth we haven’t plumbed, a height we haven’t scaled, a dream we haven’t dreamed.

And so it is. But I must say learning these lessons on the bayou adds a dimension to my life that makes my life seem that much more worth telling about. T told me not to give up the blog. She forbid it in Caminho when I brought it up.

I write because here in this spot, in this microdot, I am living and breathing and I’m telling you what it feels like in the only way I know how.

My neighbor thinks a lesbian whore is the best woman he can think of. Go figure.

I’ve been thinking about T’s safety – I’m going out of town this week and I was worried about evacuation, but later in the day after my sister threw the rocking chair down the porch I worried about nutballs and thought about a restraining order. My horoscope:

August 24, 2009

1. Taurus (4/20-5/20)

   You’re ordinarily quite respectful of family members — especially your elders — and of friends, too. But no matter who it is, if you see them trying to interfere with your relationship, whether they be friend, foe, family or stranger, you just won’t stand for it — and you’ll make it your business to stop them. Immediately. Just be sure they’re worth it.

My sister arrived while I was gone and decided she was the Queen of Sheba and proceeded to tell everyone at the hospital she is – no one is listening. I get back and have numerous phone calls that basically go like this – Where is mom’s diamond ring? Where is the wicker table that was in the living room that I gave her? Where is the key to her safety deposit box?

I have chosen the early mornings to go see my mom in peace and not run into the Queen. But she called me today and I was looking through my jewelry box for that key to the safety deposit box and I mentioned I had it. Lickety split she arrived at my front door within hours of this conversation. She waltzed in and sat down and acted as if she was there to have a casual chit chat with me. And then at one point, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes and said, now where is that key you have for mom’s safety deposit box?

I said, “Well I have it but I am not giving it to you – I will go with you. But since mom’s not dead yet, then there is nothing to really go look at it for now is there?”

She went on to explain to me how it was so important to see what was in there and to find out where mom’s jewelry is. I said again, “Look I don’t care what is in there. My thoughts are with my mom – to support her and be there for her for however long she has to live now.”

She said you don’t understand mom and I have a special relationship, very special, like friends. We are very close. No one can understand how close.

I said, “I feel really uncomfortable that mom has been in the hospital but yet every conversation with you has been about jewelry or furniture or what not. And that you might recall eight years ago when mom was in the hospital and I flew in from California and you wouldn’t let me stay at mom’s apartment – instead I had to rent a hotel room for ten days while mom was in ICU, all because you so feared I was going to remove something of value that you hope to get. And while I do understand that people place an enormous emotional value on objects particularly at times like this, I am not going to use mom’s belongings for emotional currency right now.”

I added, “And the whole issue about me forcing mom to sign a blank will is the biggest load of hogwash I’ve ever heard in my life.”

She said, “Mom told me you took her out and plowed her with drinks and then made her sign a blank will.”

I said, “She never said that. I know for a fact she never said such an atrocious lie.”

She said, “Well she also says she is hugely disappointed in you and that when you became a lesbian she was so embarrassed and disgusted with you.” Then she called me a whore. I guess whore is generic in this case.

“Wow,” I said, stunned by how any of this could possibly come out of her mouth. “Now, I’m afraid you have to leave my house and never come back.”

I went and opened the door for her, but as she fussily got her stuff and made her way through the door I let slip a little fact that the Queen just didn’t know.

“Mom had a girlfriend at one point – did you know that?”

Then I slammed the door and she tossed the rocking chair off my front porch and screamed “Whore! You’ve always been a lesbian!”

Yes, we can! – I thought as I collected myself; we are all capable of acting like Southern Gothic nutballs from hell. And why in all my attempts to zen my way through any dealings with my sister did I let myself get right down in the dirt with her?

Well, I just had to. That’s why.

While we were gone they called us about a birthmother who is due in a month and the father is Puerto Rican – did we mind? DO WE MIND – give me that Puerto Rican baby right now we said. Meanwhile, in the world of freaky things and coincidences we got an email from a friend and Tatjana responded while we were in Porto – the friend said that’s weird I’m making a cake that is from Porto. Then I responded to my emails yesterday and one was from this friend and she said, it’s weird, I was just thinking of you. Then today, she sent me an email and the subject line said “la bebe en el swamp” – my heart stopped – I was just thinking to myself that again I find myself wishing for that baby to come floating down the bayou. I told her this and she said:

My mom has this saying when things like this happen, I mean when people are having the same thoughts etc, it’s

“Yo soy la madre y vos la comadre”

Comadre is like “godmother” or “madrina” for a baby.

So a baby will arrive soon!!!!