reader, today is a sad day in the baron's personal history, a very sad day indeed. september 16 marks the 11th (11!) anniversary of the death of her father, and she's feeling kind of - but not totally - glum about this tuesday reminder.
the baron and her father had a complicated relationship, mostly because the baron was just a kid when he died; she was 20, and not a terribly mature 20. she was actually a kind of "wow, the 31 year old baron really cannot believe she was ever that self-centered and selfish" 20. in hindsight, the baron can understand why she and her father fought so often; less easy-going than her brother, the baron pushed back every chance she had. she invented opportunities to push back. see how annoying?
so, 11 years ago-ish, the baron, her brother, and their friend sweet lady x went to a movie; the baron's parents were two doors down, seeing a different movie ('air force one', as it happens), one that started just 30 minutes behind the baron's film.
can you see where this story is going, reader?
the brother and lady x and the baron finished their movie and went their separate ways... lady x to her home, and the siblings to theirs. it was evening. some time later - much later, which the baron remembers because she absentmindedly flipped through the channels while waiting for her parents to return and came upon 'nypd blue' - her mother came home, weeping. and, the saddest part of all - even sadder than her crying - was the sight of the baron's mother clutching her recently dead husband's shoes.
(an aside: it pleases the baron that her father died at a movie (for all intents and purposes - he faltered at the theatre, was revived by a good samaritan, and died on the way to the hopsital), because reader, he LOVED movies. he loved them. he liked his entertainment to be mindless and agenda-free, so movies like 'air force one' were perfect for him. he used to play hooky anytime a new 'star trek' movie was coming out. isn't that endearing?)
the baron's first thought upon seeing her mother was nothing. no thought at all. does not compute. makes no sense.
then she thought, 'i am an afterschool special. i will spend many maladjusted years trying to recover from this.'
perhaps you are thinking, shoes? how is that sad? or perhaps you are not thinking that at all, but the baron would like to share the rest of her story anyway.
her father - let's call him the father - was one of many children - 6 or 7, and yes reader it IS shameful that the baron doesn't exactly remember how many. his family was poor, very, very poor, having moved from illinois to redondo beach, california. the father's own father had left his family when the father was quite young - and, reader, that's a sad story too - so the father and his siblings were raised by just one parent; with that many children, the baron can only imagine how hard it must have been. anyhoo, this poverty marked the father, in two very specific ways.
first, by the time the baron knew him, the father always had cash in his wallet. not two singles and 3 quarters, like the baron, but real cash, lots of cash, as a tangible reminder that he could afford it (it? whatever it was). he wasn't wasteful with it, but he always had it... like a paper security blanket.
second, the father always made sure to buy expensive dress shoes. it confounded the baron, even in her selfish youth, because the father was a printer, a man who worked with his hands - and italian loafers just did not fit into his print shop lifestyle, smelling as it did of chemicals and awash in the steady, steady hum of the printing press. those shoes meant something to him - he told her as much once, when they were at a relative truce. that he was able to afford them meant something (something? what?), and the baron has happy memories of seeing her father in the mornings, every morning, polishing his shoes before putting them on (usually, it must be said, with a small silver shoe horn).
so, you see, reader, the sight of her mother - newly widowed, and holding so tight to a pair of shoes that, after all, meant so much more than footwear - was arresting. the baron can still see her mother, coming up into the light of the front walk, passing into and out of the baron's vision through the slits of the vertical blinds, and holding those shoes so close.
the father died before the commonplace use of digital cameras, and maybe she wouldn't even put up a photo of him anyway. some things are sacred.
the next days and weeks are a blur. the baron knows she became the VERY WORST version of herself, and treated the brother very, very badly.
but, you know what, reader? redemption and recovery are real! they are there, for all of us! we can get them, if only we loosen our grip and let them in.
so.
today, 11 years later, the baron had the following conversation with the mother:
the baron: hello?
the mother: hello!
the baron: where the hell ya been all day? i've been trying to get you since noon!
the mother: i had a class, and i have to go to yoga class! then alice and i went shopping.
the baron: oh - i thought you and jonathan went to daddy's grave, because, you know, didn't he die today?
the mother: yes. i'm going on friday.
so, you see reader? redemption and recovery. it's there for you.
the baron and the husband found this iron dragonfly (and its twin) at a thrift store early this past summer. both pieces are quite heavy for their size, and a bit rusty... overall, they make a lovely, rustic pair of ornaments. if you look closely, you can see a hole in the dragonfly's head, so it can be hung flush against a wall. and at the bottom of its body, you can see that hinge there... that hoop thing moves up and down on that hinge.
