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The viewing for Mary Ann went well but I was not able to attend. It was a simple manner of sloppy weather, a 60 mile round trip drive and a quarter tank of fuel left in the 86 Grand Marquis. I often fantasize about having a working car that might be in the 90s but I'm determined to work some bills down before getting back onto the car payment plan. Ironically she had a great turn out from AAA employees that reflect the high regard we all had for her. AAA was even thanked in the obituary notice. Mary Ann would be the first to forgive me for the lapse (she understood payday to payday blues.)

One neat thing Gayle was asked to be godmother to Mary Ann's only blood grand-son (the others being by way of being a step-mother.) I used THIS opportunity to repair an injustice. I firmly believed her grandson should have a momento of Mary Ann by way of the Stargate magazines I had been buying her to which she returned to me when I visited her at her trailer shortly after the final dianosis had been rendered. To be fair Mary Ann never had the collector's mentality so she never knew how that return was a bit hurtful--like a rejected present. I had toyed with the idea of trading them off for a couple of issues of Avengers but I rather like the idea of her grandson reading these things a few years down the pike and watching old reruns on DVD/TV and reflecting his grandma loved that show--similar to my kids being unable to think of The Wild, Wild West (TV--not that horrible Will Smith movie) and being unable to NOT think of the old man. Gayle will hand them over (at the appropriate time) in the years to come and I'll have more room in a box.

My brown suit by the by had gone missing. The long suffering one declared she had tossed it. Stuffed turkey was out of fashion-stuffed blue penquin was in. The brown suit was always a bit of an albatross. It had been bought a week after gentle persausion from a fellow church-member that it was time to update the wardrobe. Not being easy on the eyeballs (though highly memorable in a police lineup I might add) being no excuse not to try. One week after the purchase (which at the time was a bit of a financial inconvenience--admit I would rather buy books and magazines any year then clothes) said brother in the faith and family moved to a different church and I added them to my list of fair weather friends and Litnetters who never say goodby PROPERLY. Thereafter the brown suit was put away in a fit of pique and bah humbug and used for funerals--the last significant one being Dad's six years ago shortly after I turned 50. Sometime ago the Mrs. got the blue one but my only attachment to it is that the pants feel VERY thin in the material and I keep thinking my legs are being checked out. And so it goes.

Still NO news from son Jim at Ft Irwin since losing the custody battle. He is a very independent spirit (often to his harm--I do have a sense of when it's good to have people in your life but try not to overuse them to the point of abuse) so he is probably licking his wounds and plotting his next move. I have true to form made no attempt to contact Shelia my position has never wavered, Damion's teen years will be interesting to hear of when all the poisons start coming out. I expect my fair share of rebuke for the deliberate neglect but I have an answer ready hopefully that will add perspective to it.
Not that I believe it will be respected--this is after all real life and not a Dickens novel. People seem to be amazed that I can separate life from fiction like getting two toys out of the cracker jack box and you can actually play with them beyond two minutes.

On the other hand what God keeps back He returns with double measure by way of the errant husband nephew Stephen. A voice mail message from him declaring wife Julie slapped him with a restraining order earned him a 30 minute phone call which did him little good and just delayed my supper by that much. Now the last phone call he's telling me he KNOWS Julie LOVES him so much. Yeh yeh I tell myself that about Logos all the time too and Ruth wonders why I grin on Litnet posting all the time. Wait til L. reads THIS post finer writing bar none until Virgil posts next--thank goodness Robinhood3000 is scarce these days never could show up that young puppy.

We return now from the latest "Love That Logos" episode back to reality. Hmmm maybe he can't separate fiction from reality? Mtpspur Frantically checks the second childhood website. Nope eight years away before the courts will accept it as a plea bargain. Restraining orders indeed!

Anyhoooo with that it mind I start the call off by kicking the cripple (inspired by a Dashiel Hammett Continental Op story): Goes somewhat like this:

Me: So nothing says loving like a good ol restraining order huh?!

Him: Yes and I am LIVID. (One wow he knows the word--two--not the reaction I was expecting--thought he'ld be whining--should know better that's three minutes away.)

Me: Livid--thought she was the great love of your life etc. etc.

As the conversation went on the mind gets fuzzy about it. He cried at one point and I tell him Kleenix or toilet paper will fix that right up. Determined NOT to give him what he wants--the poor baby routine. Thankfully years of ladies treating me likewise has taught me a few tricks and a bit a calcium to the backbone. To think all those years of rejection not realizing it was providing training in grief counseling for idiot nephews who brought their troubles on themselves. All those sacrifices seem mighty worth it now. But oh Leona of the blue eye lids!!

He showed at court and was informed of the order. Some civilian that was with his wife and mother-in-law told him he couldn't talk to her so he informed him of the placement of that degree in the unimaginative vulgar style. I inform him strongly to heed the order, honor it and start acting like a husband and a man for a change instead of a child. I'm no longer sure he can. Says they'll lose the house--foreclosure can't be that far away. Will probably move back in with Mom and Dad. Major mistake there. Sister Elaine will try to set ground rules but he'll break them in a month and just rot in their basement and I get to play my favorite game Told You So.

Among other things Stephen brings up that he doesn't trust God anymore. This charge rarely annoys anymore. I honestly think people that toss that grenade out think Christians are going to start crying for the smelling salts. If my faith hung on whether John Doe believed the Lord Christ or not that would make me a convert of little value and the faith overall a house of cards. People that don't believe God!! --lot of them out there. Not even close to extinction. Why Stephen thinks he's so special is beyond me. I know I'm self focussed but we like to think we have others in the peripheral background. I calmly inform him that I don't consider him a Christian and therefore he has no business complaining about God's treatment of Him since he doesn't trust or believe in Him where's the basis of complaint? He backs off and says he's just trying to understand why God doesn't help him more. I give my patented answer if I were God he'ld be a lot worse off and I've never been able to accurately predict how God treats OTHERS in working out their life problems. BUT I know He does a better job of it then I could.

That topic gets dropped and he's back to Julie. Loves, hates, loves, hates, hates--oops he's stuck in the groove now. He's planning on selling her hope chest. I counsel rethinking that move. Five years from now in the unlikely event they are back together she won't remember his 'great' love--she'll remember when it got tough he sold her possessions in a fit of spite. At this point he doesn't care. My sister hopes he'll give it to her in a rare shallow moment of her own that was oddly touching.

I ask him how the drinking's coming. At least he doesn't pretend he's stopped. I'll allow him that. I let him know since alcohol was what led to the breakup shouldn't he hate the thought of it. Why bother? This phone call is geting tiresome and it's late and I'm wondering if Andave Ya replied to my latest e-mail about comic shopping when act three starts.

I know he and I are almost done when he starts telling me what a wonderful uncle I am. I finally decide to tell him what a crock that is. If I'm so wonderful why isn't he the better for it?!! He has no reply except to trot out James Bond and Indiana Jones as his other heroes. He is slowly killing my joy of the Bond movies and I refuse to let this warped vision of 007 ruin my childhood fond memories. Son James was named for him--but his middle name Arthur has Chrisitain connotations to balance it out.

I give up and tell him he's enjoying feeling sorry for himself way too much to deal with now and supper was waiting. I'm very close to boycotting him.

Especially after calling sister Elaine two days later. Stephen had said they were mad at him and I assumed (and we know the joke that goes with that word) it was the usual whining. No it was better then that. He faked an Italian accent and pretended to hang himself with all the sound effects. Wasn't very convincing. Elaine hung up on him.

I had warned him what I would do if I caught him bothering Elaine about suicide again.

Sigh.

I should be more careful of my threats. Now I have punish him. I remember in the child raising years this used to be more rewarding and character building. In this case there is not much material left to work with. My other son Dan honestly thinks he has a screw loose, Elaine concurrred and reluctantly I have come to that conclusion. Very reluctantly. Seems mental illness runs thru my generations on Dad's side mostly (according to my sister as we went over past and long forgotten relatives) though for me it's recuring moodiness usually cured by contemplating my blessings as they are and not what I wish they were.

NEXT: Still mulling over the Navigators and Church Fellowship topics