Surreal Monday morning bus station Ohio, waiting for arrival of son and friend. It could be any bus station in any city: chairs, bags, ticket desk, TV, snack bar, all kinds of people. This ain't no party, this ain't no country club, yet there are certain rules of decorum, and bus station people seem to know how to act in a bus station.
The bus from Philly to Pittsburgh to Columbus is running an hour late, so I have some time to contemplate the son and his girlfriend, their arrival and reception in our humble home, their first impressions, their second impressions, their levels of comfort and discomfort, their adaptability in a midwestern middle-class alternative funky works-in-progress cultural milieu. I watch a little quality daytime TV, something about vampires, check my messages, make some notes, try to be patient.
There they are, both tall and angular and slightly rough around the edges, a little tired after an all-night bus trip. Jessi's hair is longer than last I saw it, and Alex has a new lip ring. I hug them both at once, and we walk out to the car, drive north from downtown to our little suburb. We talk about Alex's dream and a Neal Stephenson novel Jessi is reading, the way a fictional dystopia can be part of the problem instead of part of the solution, and for a minute it's like old times, talking about books with the kid who remembers long chains of detailed narrative while I chime in with analytical observations, but now his critical analysis goes way beyond mine, and it's fun to vainly try to keep up.
It's only a little bit shocking to see them, somewhat changed since their last visit last year from a very different subculture in a very different city, but then so am I. It will take a day or so to settle in, relax into a comfort zone, and enjoy a few days together. We are already finding ways to accept and overcome these surface clashes and really see and get to know each other. Kafka meets the cyberpunks.
J and A spent the day settling into the upstairs room that Zelda kindly gave up so that they could be comfortable. I had a longish, nerve-jangling day at the office and came home haggard to a scene that immediately lifted my spirits. The two of them enjoying the backyard that is my labor of love. Jessi was walking around the vegetable beds checking out the volunteer squash (or melon?) vines, tomatoes, pappers, and the compost setup. Alex was moving from room to room within the yard with her large-format camera, framing and shooting various angles and elements of the space. I think they have accomplished re-entry on Planet Methodistville.
Jessi and I had a few minutes to sit and talk in the den that looks out on the backyard. He told me about the chicken they have at their house in Brooklyn and about some issues with the neighbors, the landlady, the housemates, and the chicken. Zelda and Gven came home, and we decided on a place to go for dinner. The margaritas at El Vaquero were sweet, salty, and delicious; the food was predictable and tasty. I don't remember what we talked about, but it felt good to sit in a booth, kill the fatted burrito, and have a meal together.
Tuesday was another longish workday, and "the kids," as Gven is now calling them, spent the evening at Jessi's friend Andy's place. This could have been my opportunity to get some work done on a manuscript that's sitting on my desk, but no. I chose to watch Part 3 of the Ingmar Bergman Film Festival that is currently taking place in our living room. Bergman died last week, and I missed the first two or three waves of his popularity in the second half of the last century. I'm only now beginning to appreciate his work. By the library reserve lottery, I checked out 'Scenes From a Marriage', 'Saraband', 'Autumn Sonata', and 'The Magician' and watched the first three. Besides being visually amazing - large parts I would gladly watch again without any sound, they are shot so beautifully - the writing comes across well, even in subtitles, and the musicaly soundtrack seems to play a major role. And who wouldn't want to look at Liv Ullman for two hours?
Wednesday was busier yet, but I had the advantage of a taiji class before coming home to Zelda, Jessi, and Alex sitting peacefully on the patio on probably the hottest day of the year. After a brief negotiation, we ordered pizza and opened a large bottle of chilled white wine. The spider lilies that Grandpa Golly gave us a couple of years ago chose this week to bloom - long, thin, white petals with bright orange-tipped stamens - five of them in big pots on the patio. By the time the table was set, the pizza was delivered, and our friends the Gormans arrived with ice cream, it was cooling off on the patio. By dessert I was the most contented man in the universe. Good food, a tiny bit too much wine, people I care about, and conversation to die for, no amount of pre-planning could have made it more right.
We had to get up early Thursday morning to make it to the bus station on time, but we did, and saying good-bye so soon was bittersweet. I will review this time in my head for the next few days: wishing I had said things I forgot to say, wishing I hadn't run my mouth so much, wishing we'd had time to go to the state fair, wishing we'd had a chance to go for a bike ride, hoping there will be many more opportunities, but mainly grateful for the time toegether.
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