21 February 2011
 
Heart of Winter

They got hammered down south, but thank God Sunny and I beat it out of town before the snow started to fall.
 
We left Ann Arbor in the rear-view on I-94, the big concrete slab that leads to Chicago and points west. I out-sourced my brain to the navigation function on the smart phone and asked for vectors to Cadillac, the west Michigan town closest to the farming community where Sunny’s family were pioneers, and where the old family home still stands, now bereft of residents.
 
I remarked that was the same deal for us, and that I loved the little compound on the bluff above the Bay, but had no idea how to take care of it. The brown soil and the dirty gray of old snow rolled by.
 
We talked and we were silent, by turns, listening to the disgraceful excuse for rock and roll that pop music has become .
 
on the radio in the Camry, and the miles clicked away. The smartphone took us to US-27 North, through Mason and Lansing and Mount Pleasant, and eventually to Michigan Route 115, through Cadillac and on to Mesick.
 
We talked about Sunny’s brother, whose untimely death still has the capability to wound, and of those who stayed in the little town and those who left it behind.
 
We are a scattered lot, these days, and when we rolled past the general store and onto the crushed stone of his Aunt’s neat little one-story home, it occurred to me that it was good to be connected to the land that we will one day be beneath.
 
We embraced, and I roared out. Another hundred miles to go, through Traverse City and the first glimpse of the Big Lake, rimmed with ice, and the shuttered tourist traps waiting the coming of warmth again.
 
Indian River and Charlevoix and finally into the little town by the Bay. It was five and a half hours, almost on the nose, and I was exhausted and not ready to deal with Raven and Magpie.
 
But like they say, “It is what it is,” and I had to march up to the big double doors to the lobby of Potemkin Village and just do it.
 
I poured a drink from the bottle in the freezer and noted that a sandwich from the Christmas era was still in the fridge, and so were the veggies I had purchase on the last visit. Time for a trip to the store, I thought, and wondered why the milk had stopped coming.
 
Sitting with them on one of the wooden chairs from the dining table (I won’t sit on the couch or the armchair, since god knows what has soaked in there) I managed to get the television turned on. Magpie has not had it on in a few weeks, and has been watching sports on the flat screen TV Anook bought them last summer.
 
She hates Sports, but can’t figure out how to change the channels.
 
Raven stinks of urine and Magpie won't let the little girls who provide care change his Depends-brand absorptive underwear- she doesn't view it as appropriate. Jesus.

We went down to dinner and I ate my bland food quietly. Raven picked at his, liking his soup, and moving the scoops of tuna and ham salad around in his bowl. When we were done, we went back up to the apartment and I turned on the news, which pleased Magpie no end.
 
I said “Mom, you can’t allow him to sit in wet pants. It may be that Dad needs more care than he is getting here.” The words hung in the air as I took a trial run at the notion that we will have to get him to a nursing home in the near term, and leaving unsaid the statement that she is the problem.
 
She seemed to consider the concept rationally, but then said that she doesn't want to stay in Potemkin Village if he goes to a nursing facility. She went on to opine that she believes that we all lived somewhere together, not quite sure where.
 
She seems to think there is a place she can go and live by herself. She is great and fun as always, but pretty delusional.
 
We need to get Raven someplace else, though he is actually responsive, to a small degree. Very strange. Very eerie.
 
When I finally was able to disengage, I got down to the house, hoping that nothing had gone seriously wrong in my absence.
 
On the kitchen island was the pile of correspondence from Raven’s brother. I have no idea of the significance of it in time or chronology. It all needs to be collated and organized, another task that I have no time for this trip.
 
Then there is the Doctor's appointment tuesday, when I will broach the nursing home option and see if there is a nuclear detonation with Magpie.
 
The phone blinked at me accusingly. Got the latest voice messages- one "friendly" voicemail from Walmart credit people- I have been going back and forth with them via snail-mail- and one from the Garden Club, indicating the word is out that Magpie has been taking care of Raven and hasn't been working in the garden as much as usual, and perhaps she would like to transition to "Associate" status from being an Officer of the Club.
 
I made a note to contact Walmart and the Garden Club in the morning, and then I went to bed and crashed hard.
 
Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
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