9:30 PM
Diane did the math and decided that Matt and Hil would be calling between 8 and 9 PM. She went upstairs earlier to wait under the covers and I just ran up to say something like, ìWell! Itís 9:30 and they havenít called. Arenít you worried?î And I would have, but sheís snoring too loudly to hear me.
11:30 AM
Fun facts we now know about Esteli, the town Matt and Hil will be spending most of their time. For the home stay families this can be their only income so they are quite grateful for having boarders. They donít have hot water – Matt will miss his lengthy showers – and the families do all the laundry on wash boards. Taxis in Esteli to any other part of Esteli costs thirty-five cents.

Earlier when I wrote about how we were going to the airport, I didnít mean me. Diane and Lou took the kids, stood in line, and waved an early security proscribed goodbye. Diane reports they both appeared happy and confident, and that their leg to Miami arrived an hour early. Matt has strict instructions to call from Esteli tonight, and tomorrow night and at least once a week after that. If he wants to check-in more often, fine, but those are my bare minimum demands.

This turned out to be much harder for both of us that I could have imagined. Diane didnít sleep and when she returned chose the couch in the living room rather than be reminded of her fitful night in our bed. The couch didnít help and now weíre both wondering when our next sound sleep will come. My guess is after his second call when he tells us heís okay, and his voice confirms it.

Outside Hil’s house before the ride to the airport.

Matt’s surprise going away/birthday party was a surprise and from the parent-in-a-corner’s view, a rollicking good time. Now, however, it is 4:30 AM and we’re off to the airport. What a fine, stomach in knots, sleepless night I had. I suspect Diane’s was not much better.

I was working at one of the condominiums when this hummingbird knocked himself silly flying into a glass sliding door. He sat dazed long enough for me to snap his pic from about three inches. When I finished he flew away. The nail heads gives good size perspective.

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Groggy
View from above

The sequel to Just a Phone Call.

My mother speaking:

I don’t know if I should bring this up, but did you know Alice Bates? I think maybe Joan does. She’s an old friend. Last year, she and her husband George decided to retire. They’re maybe sixty, married over twenty years. Second marriage for both. George was in the appraisal business and Alice sold Avon products on the side. She also did some waitressing on the weekends at that restaurant in St. Joe across from the Catholic church. She told me that was her social life, and so it might have been, when those children were all so young. I met her when she came to my Yoga class at USI; George told her yoga might help with her lupus.

He’s a good man. Didn’t read much but absorbed some NRA propaganda; hence the guns. His oldest daughter is not his but they brought her up as if she were. His youngest girl, Lisa, is married with two children and is probably the most attached to him. She even imitates his mannerisms. His middle daughter was killed in an auto accident last summer. He was inconsolable .

Alice had told me some time ago that she wanted them to take a vacation to Vegas to cheer him up. Gambling was something they both enjoyed–don’t know if they knew the odds…but they surely did. About two months ago they were returning from their cabin on Kentucky Lake when he got sick. He said his back hurt but his doctor at Deaconess here said it was lung cancer – Stage 4. They told him if chemo didn’t work, he had six months. The chemo made him pretty sick even with phenergan.

I called Alice two weeks ago to tell her about a Wall Street Journal article on cancer treatment. There was silence and then she said, “Too late, he took his life last night. I just thought kids were shooting off fireworks. There were about 15 cops in the house including detectives. They were very considerate–got to see all my dirt.”

I told her I had a robbery once and had left a mess–gone all day from early in the morning. The detective said, “They messed things up pretty good, didn’t they?” I had to laugh and admit that I was responsible for some of it.

I asked Alice how the youngest girl, Lisa, was doing.

“They had to medicate her”, Alice replied.

I called back two days later and Alice wanted to discuss the funeral. To see if it was okay to put it off until the 15th of July. The oldest girl who was not his, thought it should be sooner. I told her, “Do what feels right to you. It is not up to the children.”

Then Alice said, “I need to ask you something else. I’m scrubbing the rug. How do I get the blood out?”

I told her cold water first.

“I’m doing that but it isn’t getting it all out.”

“Hold on while I get an old cookbook with household hints. It says use a paste of starch.”

ëI don’t have any.’

“Do you have cornstarch? That will probably work.”

“Yes, “ now with voice breaking, “I’m going to miss him so.”

“Go ahead and cry, You must or you can’t heal at all.’”

“The floodgates open and we both hang up.”

Saturday morning the phone rang and it was my mother :

“You got your printer to work?”

“Dash did it, he talked to the Epson rep for a long time. Followed his instructions and now it prints.”

“Mack must be happy to get his stock portfolio. I could tell by your email that the storm clouds were overhead.”

“Epson said it was a conflict with OS X.”

“But why did it work before? And that means you didn’t have to send the other printer back?”

“I don’t know. They said it was fluky, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“I wonder what we’d do without the Ruthenburgs? Travis, now Dash. I couldn’t fly down there and fix it. Funny though, this computer that Mack so hates, yet if that portfolio of his is delayed, look out.”

“He wanted me to go into the basement and get the old printer.”

“The Stylewriter… . It still works but uses a different cable. You can’t plug it in to your new computer.”

“That’s what I thought.”

My mother often says, “That’s what I thought,” when I’m thinking, how does she know?. She knows so much about so many things but about computers? She shares that sense of mythical mastery with my sister.

“Dash and I went to Fahrenheit 9/11.”

“Did you like it?”

“Oh yeah, but Richard Cohen wrote a scathing review.”

“Who’s Cohen?”

“A syndicated Washington Post columnist in our paper.”

“Far more people loved that movie than did not.”

“Really?”

Peter sounded equally surprised, which confounded me, until I realized it’s the internet where I get most of my information.

“When does Matthew leave for Nicaragua? Will my check get there in time?

“Not till next Sunday (this was Saturday and my use of the word next drives some people nuts. Like Diane). You have plenty of time.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah, nervous and excited. The closer it gets. I can’t stop running into people who look at me as if I should be behind bars. Without them, I’d be fine.”

“Well, we have to let him go.” She said it in the greater letting go way, not the obvious, because, after all, we didn’t have to say yes.

“Dash loved Nicaragua. He thinks he’ll be fine if Matt stays out of Managua.’

“Many people say that, and Matt and Hil only pass through, unless they go back on weekends.” That was supposed to be funny but wasn’t, unlike what my sister wrote me, “Tear up his plane ticket and send him to live with us. We’ll treat him badly, but there will be hospitals nearby.”

“How much does he know about the politics of the country?”

“Too much. He and Hil saw a documentary at Harvard that featured our support of Somoza and our funding of the Contras. There were people in the audience whose families were killed by the Contras. I wish he didn’t know any of that. At sixteen his life should be carefree. But I think this trip could be transformative, like when Peter went to Japan. He found his country.”

“No, it’s more like when Peter marched with Father Groppi in Milwaukee at the same age. Do you remember what Brian said before Peter left?
ëDon’t smart off and keep your head down.’ “

“That is funny. That reminds me, how is Ben?”

“He’s better. His doctor upped his Tegretol.”

“About time.”

“I know. I thought I should do something but I can’t be responsible for everyone.”

“Yes you can, and you are, and you do and remember, you talked to Diane about his manic episodes. What you have to do is let go.”

To be continued….

I wander the aisles at Idylwilde looking for the tomatoiest tasting tomato. Is it the vine ripened one from Holland, or the hothouse tomato from nearby Bolton Farms or the hard as a marble, pink one from California? I know Iíll be fondling, smelling, bouncing those things for three more weeks before the first native grown tomato is on the market. In the meantime, shinydome, living two degrees further north, has again – how many years in a row is this, twenty? – produced a fully vine ripened one on the 4th of July.
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The beartooths of 2004 were even more beautiful than last year! Lots of snow in the high country, budding and blossoming flowers in the lower meadows, waterfalls like Yosemite, birds, bears, deer. And, all week, we were never out of earshot of guzzling, roaring streams cascading through bouldered chasms, and were always in sight of mighty cliff faces never trod by humans.
You’ll hear more about it when my compatriots, Captain Phil and Senor Cutter send me their digital shots.

Ed

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