Resistance is not Futile

There was a T shirt I saw once that said "No one is reading your blog." True that. But to quote an Exeter alumnus, and all around ray of Sunshine, Gore Vidal: "Write something. Even if it's a suicide note."

I want a record of this time.. Maybe for F, maybe for no one.

So here is the takeaway: F is happy, definitely being pushed to his limits, glad to see us- embarrassed by our adoration and laughter, but ok. The bigger story was the full circle moment of MMB and Phillips Exeter Academy- a place that took her kids away and then spat them out. After all, this was my father's demon- this Herculean regret that he wanted his kids to extinguish for him. And that pissed her off.

But the other night we took a walk around in the moonlight, and she saw it for the first time in 40 years. We looked up at dorm windows and the lives within... And she turned to me and said 

"Your father used to say: great schools hum.."  "Can you hear the hum..?" 

And I could hear it-the buzz generated by that effort.  Granted, it's not all sweetness and light: brick walls that have been around for 250 years have a lot of blood and tears on them. But the poignancy of the quest gets me: the unrelenting, brazen, idealistic, mono-focused attempt to perfect education, and thereby improve the human condition.

 I know, I know it sounds like bullshit.. But it is a constant refrain here. You can't help feel a little jazzed.

MMB was as amusing as you would expect-whether she is visiting Mars or Exeter, she acts as if the world is not her oyster, but her private zoo.  It's like she thinks she and I are surrounded by a sound proof bubble and no one can hear what she is saying in our top secret language. So bubbly preps walk by and she says, "there go the femme fatales!" or...."That guy is out of central casting!!! so smart obviously!"....or "WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY ARE FIGHTING ABOUT????!!!!" I repeatedly pointed out that they were inches from us, and most likely facile with the English language, even if they were "Chinese".

But she and I really did have fun....and she was (mostly) well behaved.
Somehow we managed to get out without a major bill for damages at the Bed and Breakfast run by gay men where we stayed- MMB is nothing if not a bull in a china shop.  In case you didn't know this already: in the pantheon of women who are revered by gay men, my

mother is a respectable third behind Barbra Streisand and Cher.  They absolutely looooooovvvve her. And a bed and breakfast-a business model that is creepy to most normal people (who wants to eat breakfast and sleep next to strangers?) is nirvana for her. All that adoring audience at any time of day. Privacy is for sissys.

I hate to end this entry on a sour note, but I feel on the verge of tears that this election is so close.!? I turned to Thomas this morning and said...I need a financial hedge against him winning. So I suggested buying some puts (options) so if she wins, I happily lose a little money. But if he wins, I will make some to donate to the resistance army that we will need to live the next four years.....He is now on the phone in loud discussions in German about how exactly to execute this plan. I am telling you this shit is serious.

The only bright spot is there are pockets of staunch resistance to ignorance and bigotry. I just spent three days at one.

More photos tomorrow!! They are on my mother's camera.

GO  HILLARY!!!!! GOOOOOO

Below, proof of life:

MMB wanted me to post...

Her name tag has swag. If they only knew....

(Wife of class of 52...parent 80/82 etc) 

The return of MMB

Tucked in at the new Inn run by gay men; and may I say Bravo..! Lots of nice little touches that would make Javier proud...

It has been a long, lovely and amusing day, and I will share all in the morning. MMB has not been here since 1976 (!) and it is clearly a full circle moment- a healing of some kind. 

But for now, my four poster bed awaits X 

The Road Less Traveled ...

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers."

M. Scott Peck 

God bless Scott Peck: PEA alumnus who, it should be noted, had an unhappy experience at Exeter, with its "Spartan atmosphere and almost vicious adolescent culture". 

Oh well. 

So we completed the hand off- F was nervous until he saw his friends, and then he seemed really happy. It helps that his room is twice the size as last year with a nice view over a tree lined path. We set up his bed and put away his clothes and he set up his printer; which was causing him problems. Then in walks this adorable kid, a friend I had never met, who says modestly that he might be able to perhaps, maybe, help. Great I say! Yes well it's kind of my job he said, I'm the tech consultant for the dorm (NASA more like it Thomas said). 

See photo below of him and F and some flying dried chicken. 

The chicken is part of a larger story- a symbol of the desperate attempt on the part of his mother to mother him from afar. I bought power bars and enough band aids for a preschool of blind kids; I bought water even though there is a water cooler directly in front of his door.

Most inexplicably, I bought many tubes of lotion for psoriasis: a condition Frederick does not have. I bought four rolls of tape; scented soaps; moisturizer for normal skin; and a kite. Then I put four decks of cards and a domino set in a drawer with a note on the outside that admonished him for not playing with them.

 "Stop playing on your phone!"

It wasn't until bought chicken jerkey in preparation for weeks on the space station, that I noticed I was losing it. And so I threw it at the boys while snapping this photo.

It just seemed like the right thing to do. 

On my jog I witnessed a family moving their son in: the sweetest, saddest tableau of a child leaving home; while the parents avoided their grief by focusing on carrying his fan. But unlike me, the mother was in full hijab. I was so taken by this and what must have been a terrifying moment - putting their kid into the arms of strangers- that I thought I should say hello. A one woman blonde welcome committee. Then I noticed for the first time that day, that I was in a neon orange jog bra under a see-through shirt; and maaaaybe I was in fact what they were afraid of. That their terror was of large, slightly past their prime blondes in orange bras. So I didn't.

(But ya just know Martha would have..)

The actual goodbye was as God damn sad as the one last year.

I really forced myself not to cry, as did F, and then he got on his skateboard and rode off into a literal sunset. It does hurt, I'll tell you. Luckily I remembered (I always do) this wonderful quote from -  Rabbi Menachem Mendel:

"There is nothing so whole as a broken heart" . 

True that. In fact all weekend I had moments of inspiration and clarity; and I even felt real pride in us humans. (And yes I watched the shit show of Donald Trump with Matt Lauer). 

I'm proud of our wee search for knowledge; I'm proud we fix each other's printers and smile at scared people. I'm proud some of us take genuine care of our friends. 

I'm proud of pine nuts and penicillin! Of duets with clapton and b.b. king! I'm

proud of pop chips and wifi on planes! And at this moment I'm proud and grateful for the song Boogie Wonderland. It is, much like guacamole- the cure for many broken things. 

Love yew.

....When the moon peeks over the mountains

Baby I'm gonna be on my way
I'm gonna roam this mean old highway
Until the break of day...

BB King