Their children are nefarious early risers so we are not getting to sleep in late here, but that’s ok. It’s sweet to see how Miss Cassandra can tame Jenifer’s morning monster with sheer adoration and innocent fascination. I’ll open an eye and see the door slowly open with a tiny swoosh noise on the carpet. Then a little blond mop of hair furtively bounces through the door to see if there is any reaction. I suppose Cassie’s not used to having somebody try and sleep late while she wanders around and after a few minutes of playing an awkward game of one sided peek-a-boo with no response she either decides Jenifer is feigning sleep or she’ll summon the courage only children possess and tiptoe into the room. She sees me watching her but since I am not the object of her affections I merely receive a conspiratorial smile. Cassandra will pat her on the head and stage whisper a loud “Jenni-fur, are you sweeping?” Once Jenifer responds that yes, she is in fact sleeping, the battle is already lost. My aunt might come in and chase her out of the room but Jenifer knows already that it’s a futile effort.
I’m really happy here. I love seeing the feeling of raw maternal-ness gleaning in Jenifer’s sleepy eyes, but if I told her that she would probably punch me. “Alas,” insert sweeping sarcastic hand motion here, “It’s so hard to be a sister figure.”
We’ve visited with my grandparents a few times since they “Winter” in Arizona and live near here. I love my grandparents, their old-fashioned logic and traveling RV lifestyle really appeals to me. I can also tell they like Jenifer a lot, which is important to me, but I can see they are not exactly sure how to react to her nose ring. To them it’s like meeting somebody you really like and then finding out they’ve had a sex change. Once, I brought a black girl, who was a good friend in high school, over to my parent’s house when my grandparents were visiting us in Texas and it nearly gave them a heart attack. I suspect that Jenifer’s having blond hair and white skin is a relief to them despite the nose ring and that they think it’s just a phase she’s going through. Raising four boys and my mother certainly qualifies them to think in terms of “phases” with no reproach I suppose. Like I said, they have old fashioned ways but they are good respectable people and I regret not being able to communicate my admiration of them in any tangible way. I suspect they understand though, being grandparents and all. Jenifer just talks and talks to them, innocently oblivious to their slight discomfort, and it’s obvious she’s won them over with her honest and open manner.
It’s funny for me to observe how much of my mom is in my grandparents. That may sound silly but she inherited their slight uptightness and amplified it with a squeeze of psychosis.
Tomorrow we’re going to try and go for a ride in my Uncle’s plane. He actually built a plane from a kit (see? CIA!) in his garage and since he’s a licensed pilot he’ll periodically take relatives up in the air and just hand over the controls to see how they do. I’ve always just liked cruising along looking out the canopy and watching the myriad of landscaped grids go by in a kaleidoscope of crazy patterns, but every time I’ve been up in the air with him he scares me shitless by making me fly. My brain starts screaming, “Hey, he built this fucking thing in his garage!” Or, “This thing is made out of the same stuff my parent’s swimming pool is made of.” and my imagination creates scenarios involving prolonged fiery death. The plane is made of fiberglass, it is no bigger than Jenifer’s car and it’s an ass-backwards looking bird with the big wings and prop on the back-end and the small ‘steering’ wings on the front. To fly in it is different than cruising around in a regular small plane because instead of feeling like there is something solid & secure steadily pulling me through the air, it feels like something powerful is thrusting me hell-bent-for-leather across the sky. It’s really a totally different sensation altogether. We’ve already been out to the hangar where he keeps his 70’s Corvette (with the motor ripped out) and other miscellaneous junk. It’s sort of his attic away from home with big toys inside it. Jenifer’s eyes actually bugged out of her head when my uncle dragged the plane out by the nose with his hands, thinking maybe he was joking about going up tomorrow and then secretly confronting her own mortality. Hell, we thrive on excitement! How many girls do I love that actually went bungee jumping on their own? Adventure makes her wet but I don’t think her parents would be too happy if one of my relatives killed her.
We’re both feeling so rested and psychologically on top of our shit that we’ve decided to extend our vacation. All it took was a slight expression of interest in Carlsbad Caverns and my grandparents plotted a route to get us there and they even had glossy pamphlets. My grandparents are the king and queen of glossy pamphlets. They have information about everywhere because they’ve been everywhere you can go in a motor home, even Alaska. I want to be doing what they are doing, randomly traveling, spending money on impulse items and collecting glossy pamphlets, but I don’t want to have to wait until I’m really old to do it.
It was so nice to see loving family again and I was sad, hell we were both sad, to be leaving Arizona behind although I was proud to be able to show Jenifer that our life together wouldn’t necessarily have to pattern itself after my parents. The love practically oozes from my grandparents and I was glad to see their appreciation of Jenifer blossom. I’m supposed to be their favorite grandson since I was over at their house so much as a child, but I don’t think they can really have a favorite out of the fifteen million or so grandchildren they have. I’ve always suspected that being the so-called “favorite” was a clever manipulative scheme devised by my mother to motivate me to make the honor roll or some such. Plus if I am their favorite then there must be something in my future that will fuck up the standings, my lifestyle almost guarantees it. Oh well, whoever I am and whatever I go through will have to be good enough. I expect to make many mistakes in the next few years to properly insure my eventual correct placement in society, I am gearing up for getting my mid-life crisis over at an early age and then focusing on nothing but steady progressive steps towards world domination. Plato said “Each man’s ultimate justice comes from within.” I never want to look back andsay I wish I had tried “ “ and now I’ll never get the chance ever again, pluswhile I’m pursuing my gluttony I’ll try to get all of my fuck ups out of the way and eventually be proud I found the conviction and strength to fix them. That’s my theory anyway; it never pays to be smug and contrite because God laughs while mortals make plans.