It's all Fodder

When I was home on the weekend I played the tape from the radio show of me reading one of my short stories at the Read an Ebook week reading in Fredericton in March for my mom. Dad was in the kitchen eating, while this was happening in the living room. So, he couldn't really hear everything. Once Mom got over how much I DID NOT sound like myself, but like my cousin, Jacqueline (I swear had I known at the time I would have broke out into The Rose or something), Mom kept giving me these looks at certain parts of the story.

The part where the father says, "Well" but it sounds like "whale" . . . she raised her eyebrows . . . Thurman, I mouthed.

The part where the father has an ulcer but he can still have a drink . . . Bliss, I mouthed.

The part where the father is tapping the sides of his nose with his index fingers and hissing like a tire going flat . . . Thurman again.

The part she didn't ask about and I didn't need to explain was the part where the father wouldn't shut up . . . or in other words, the entire story. She recognised that character, exaggerated as he might be, and was kind of worried that he might recognise himself and freak out.

After the tape ended, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat. Dad looked at me and said, "I didn't get to hear it all, you'll have to play it again later." I said I could do that.

"What's that story about?" he asked. "You and me?"

I shrugged, I wasn't sure if he was going to light into me or what. "It's fiction," I said.

"Sounded to me like you got more applause than the lady before you," he continued.

I said I hadn't noticed but that the Miramichiers in the back row might have made a difference.

"Guess I'll have to be more careful what I say and do around you from now on, or everyone in the world will know about it when they read your books," he said.

And then he laughed.

He liked that he had played some role in the story. Was proud to have been part of it. Was proud of ME that I had been invited to this reading, that it had been broadcast on the radio.

It's all very bizarre, this thing with my father. I mean if I had known that all I had to do was leave again in order to get back into his good graces . . . I'm sure I could've figured out a way to do it a hell of a lot sooner than what I did. Years of daily fighting, disinherited at every available opportunity . . . and now he's the proud papa . . . the next person who tells me my family is "normal" and not at all dysfunctional like theirs is getting a big ole slap upside the head . . .

Anyway, switching gears . . . I've twice had to go outside and run off a cat. There is a bird or chipmunk or squirrel or something living or hiding in the plants at the back of the house and the cat is trying to kill whatever it is. So whenever I hear panicked squawking I go out and run the beasty off. I'm too chicken to look into the bushes and see what I'm protecting though . . . I think it's birds . . . snakes can't squawk can they?

Listening to some Gavin Degraw earlier this afternoon. Love him! He's got some of my favourite lyrics, like this from Belief:

Tonight, you arrested my mind
When you came to my defense
With a knife
In the shape of your mouth
In the form of your body
With the wrath of a god
Oh, you stood by me
Belief

I just love that! The knife in the shape of the mouth, in the form of the body is one of those very cool things I wish I had thought of first. Could've used it for sure.

Mood: restless
Drinking: cold coffee, black
Listening To: Lynard Skynard, Freebird
Hair: still long and shaggy