paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- going home A wonderful trip is over. A wonderful weekend is over. And I am not the same person I was on Tuesday. The only constants are my head cold and my love for dear Quinn. On Wednesday I drove 481 miles east and north to my aunt�s farm in Indiana. She and her husband, their two daughter, 4 dogs, 2 cats, 17 horses and a donkey live on 100 acres outside of Indianapolis. They farm about 40 acres of it and the rest is wild land and woods. Their house is large and built of stone and brick. Part of it is over 100 years old. Part of it is less than two years old. They were willing to build around the old, tiny farm house because of the way it was built of large red oak and poplar timbers. And although their new house completely subsumes the old structure from the outside, on the inside, the old floors and chimneys remain. The sturdiness of the post and beam structure remains. Yet it is integrated seamlessly so it would seem that they installed the old elements. My aunt did all of the contracting and designing to save money. She said �the contractor wanted 20K and had a rule that I could not interact with the subcontractors. And I thought, 20K for a bunch of phone calls?� And so she interacted with a talented bunch of guys from all walks of life to build her dream house. She showed me pictures of them and talked about all of their individual issues and strengths with a wonderful sense of pride. When I arrived, three giant dogs surrounded my car and I sat in it, nervous, uncertain whether I had the right place or not. And then my cousin walked out, a young woman, taller than me, but I recognized her, even though I had not seen her since she was 11. She helped me bring in my stuff, gave me a tour, and took me out to the barn where her mother was working. I did not get very far until I saw this small woman in Carhart coveralls and big leather boots running towards me. �Piper, its you. It�s really you.� She ran up to me and jumped on me. And I, a bit dizzy from the drive and my head cold promptly fell backwards. And laid there, looking up at my aunt who just turned 50 but had all of the energy of a four-year-old. And we laughed. She helped me up and gave me a big hug. Her daughter said �oh jeez el grande mama, could you be a bit more collected?� That whole evening, my aunt kept giving me hugs, telling me how glad she was to see me, that I came for Thanksgiving, that finally we can reconnect. No one made me feel weird for having checked out of my family for a time. Instead they were just glad. And we did not have any of the hard family conversations that I was afraid we might have. Just as Quinn promised, I was a major collector�s item. My aunt�s oldest daughter has had an extremely hard time the past five years, was not feeling well and stayed in her apartment for most of the weekend. Other than that, I saw my other aunt and my uncle on Thanksgiving. And saw pictures of my cousin and her new baby girl. It was as if nothing had really changed. The conversations were about the same as I remembered and as I imagined over the years when I thought about what I was missing. But after the second day I was there, I found myself crying a bit in the room where I was staying, because I realized what I had missed. Knowing my aunt, we will have to talk about it at some point, but I think it was best to just be happy together after being apart for so long. My aunt did want to talk about my father a bit. But she was extremely respectful of my feelings. She talked about how he changed after his experiences as perimeter guard in Vietnam and her theory about how he missed out on some of the major developmental years and has never been able to get it together. She talked about her pain in loving him so much as her brother and seeing him suffer from that still, and watching him smoke so much pot for so many years, move from relationship to relationship, and hurt his family (namely my mother and I). She said that although my father loves his current wife, my mother is still the love of his life. I told her that my mother regrets leaving him, but felt she had no choice. I appreciated how she made it clear to me that our relationship was not dependent upon my relationship with my father. I don�t know why I thought it did, because it never has been. I did not take any pictures. But if I had a movie camera, this is what I would have filmed. Scene: my uncle drives my aunt and I, in his new Beetle, to another town where there is a great Cajun restaurant. Diana Ross� song, �I�m Coming Out� is playing on the CD player. Uncle: (points to CD player) This was Cara�s favorite song when I first met her. We arrived at the restaurant and had a wonderful dinner. There is something about being with my aunt and uncle that evening that made me feel for a few minutes like I went home. I was taught that I could never go home again, but sometimes, in fleeting moments this notion of home sneaks up on a person. It is a feeling of being around people with a sense of history and shared experience, I guess. And even though it was just an insignificant car ride, I felt such happiness in just chatting with these two people. I could feel their sense of love for each other and happiness in their years together. And their love for me, the black sheep of the family. But they have always loved me, even when I was a messed up adolescent. When I was in counseling for being overly neurotic. When my mother wanted to put me in a mental program. Even when I did too many drugs. When I left home with just my suitcases and stormed off to Boston without money or a plan. When I moved in with my first real boyfriend. When I hated college. When I transferred three times. When no one else would deal with me. They always did. And always told me they loved me and believed in me. They always told me that I was great, brilliant, a terrific writer. And once my uncle said to me, �if my girls turn out just like you, I will be a happy man� one night when we were up extremely late talking. He had tears in his eyes when he said this; on several occasions, this one statement has made the difference in my ability to work on my situation. I am so sad that I lost touch with them. I just thought that since things were not going well with my father that they would not welcome me. That would not have been the case. The morning I left, they gave me presents to make up for eight years of birthdays and Christmases. Such wonderful presents � a candle, a candle holder and picture frame from my cousins, bought with their own money. Some lavender bath products from my aunt and uncle. They remembered how much I love the scent of lavender and love a long, hot bath. I hugged everyone goodbye. Cleaned off my car and heard my aunt�s voice. She was standing in the garage crying. I went over to her and hugged her again, several times. And I started crying too (again) because I really wanted to stay. Even though I also wanted to get home and tell Quinn all about it. When I returned, Quinn and the pip squeak pup greeted me and I immediately began to relax surrounded by the comforts of home. I am amazed by the prospects of driving eight hours and arriving in another world, spending three days there, and returning home. Even without jets and a dramatic time change, I still feel drained from the shock and the emotion of seeing family members I have not seen for eight years. But I am glad that I did because I have been sad about losing touch with them. 9:00 p.m. - 2002-12-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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