2004-04-28
I've been reading my father's book and, well, it's not very good. It's basically a string of anecdotes, many of which are setups to one-liners which are also not very good. B likened it to Vaudeville shtick. B also suggested that perhaps my father had dictated the thing for some secretary to type up, because it reads exactly as he speaks. B also noted that the thing is utterly devoid of introspection. He's correct on all counts. My main question is whether my father has ever read a memoir, for this bears very little resemblance to any I have ever come across.
There's also a shocking absence of his family in this book. Not his family of origin--he goes into lots of detail about his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and sister. But so far--I'm about halfway through--there are only occasional sentences indicating that he had a wife and that every few years a child appeared. It's very peculiar, and a little upsetting.
I have often felt that I missed out on a lot by not knowing my father better but reading this book is making me think maybe there wasn't really much to miss out on. Which in one way makes me feel better but not really.
And what else?
You know that psychoanalysis class I took last fall? Did I ever mention that it continued after the holidays but that I decided not to take the second half? Well, I did, but a couple weeks ago one of the teachers called to tell me they were holding their last session at a restaurant and would like me to join them. So I did, earlier this week, and it was quite gratifying because they all gushed about how much they had missed me. With one exception, the other students were these timid little mice who rarely opened their mouths so I'm not surprised that the conversation had a lot more lulls in my absence. Anyway, that was pleasant.
When I last saw them I'd been in the throes of that job search that ended so unfortunately and they asked about that, kind of reopening the work dissatisfaction can of worms for me. I do still long for some kind of dream job to present itself to me on a silver platter, but most of the time I'm feeling quite fortunate all told.
I'm actively liking living where we do. The gorgeous weather of recent weeks contributes significantly. I've been taking the kayak out on the lake, sometimes alone and sometimes with Clay in the little child seat, and it is really glorious at times. On Sunday afternoon B took C to the hardware store and I found myself paddling around the backyard, wearing a tank top and pajama pants, wondering how I got so lucky.
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