Arrived in Becket, Massachusetts at 4:00 PM today, courtesy of Annie K, my chauffeur up from Connecticut. Peg had just gone down for a nap. Stayed up long enough to say hello, cough her head off, then lay down again.
FIRST IMPRESSION:
The house looks immaculate, no scent of lingering collie, every surface pristine and sparkling. Tidy. Peg's quarters the usual shambles. No sign of Daddy's ashes. It's a bit--strange, not finding him here, not smelling him. I don't mean this in a bad way.
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Was awakened this morning at Annie's by Bonnie ringing with a heads up: Peg on Blue Book Rampage again, just what I don't need to hear. She'd just sent Outside Bob to Staples to buy her a big new totally unnecessary colour printer (to go with the totally unnecessary microwave and toaster oven I see we now have acquired since my departure last May). She furthermore lit into Bonnie on Saturday for trying to clean the upstairs, getting the rooms/beds ready for me when Peg "needs her" to copy things ("I've got over two hundred people waiting for these photo albums!"). I know she's upset and needs a focus but still. I suggested to Bonnie they leave the printer in Bob's truck and he can return it later this week but seems he refused, said Peg had had a bad day yesterday and he wanted to please her. I'm torn between appreciating his thoughtfulness and being pissed off. Because clearly we're back to square one here, if she's starting on these bloody Blue Books. These are scrap books/photo albums, you may recall, which she is compiling: a) unnecessarily; b) using pictures and photos not only of herself and family but stupid stuff like fishers she saw in the woods or a shot of Kate Smith doing the Charleston; c) to send to people--fans--relatives--who for the most part couldn't give a fuck. Spending a fortune she does t have in the process. You may also recall that my friends Wendy and Annie and I devoted a good deal of time last spring when we thought Peg was dying, putting a dozen or so of these Blue Books together and mailing them off, thinking well! That's THAT done! And PS, good for us, we'd done our Blue Book Duty, and brilliantly.
Peg doesn't recall us doing any of it.
I'm now thinking of Blue Book the #3, which we really spent time on making perfect and filling with lots of extras, and which went to unmarried childless Cousin Barbara in Wisconsin, found dead in the woods two weeks ago--and wondering who I'd call, since she had no relatives, to maybe get this book back, to maybe send to someone else.
Peg was--all over the place at dinner tonight. Only wanting to tell stories about her career. Kept bringing everything back to her. Stories I'd heard a million times, Stories she's told a million times, sometimes within the least half hour even. The word "stories" is misleading. Imagine typing out an anecdote then deleting every fourth word, then telling it that way. Npo one but me could possible follow what she's saying. I'm starting to feel embarassed by what to me seems to me to be a desperate attempt to still seem important and hold court. I know I should't but--hard.
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TRAVEL UPDATE:
Air travel gets no easier. Not helped this time by all the recent disasters in the news. I had to force myself to board the plane. Was glued to "NOAH", Russell Crowe movie (interested, I quickly add, only because am adapting a musical version of the Noah story in general with writer friend Jan) and hating most of it because it was so dark, couldn't see anything, kept thinking the screen had gone off when it turns out to be only some asshole lighting cameraman being moody--and am just at a powerful part where the rain is lashing, the seas are heaving, the ark's being tossed and turned and Noah (at least it appear to be him, if I squinted) is preaching to his family, all crowded round, that this is it, this is is the end, they will be sacrificing themselves, there is no future for man, man will die--and we're meanwhile coming in to land, which pleased me, thinking Yes! We made it! (past the Ukrainian rebels' missiles and so on) when SUDDENLY, wheels having almost been touching, UP we zoom again, full throttle, almost a vertical ascent, Abort! Abort! And for the next 15 minutes I thought that was it. We're all dead. I grabbed my handbag from under the seat and grabbed the little red plastic container of Zopiclone, sleeping pills--only 6, which, cut in half, were to last me the good six weeks here--and was about ready to pop them all, figuring it would be best to be out cold when we crashed. Although as Annie pointed out to me later, it would have taken them a good half hour to kick in, by which time... anyhow we didn't crash, we circled around and finally landed safely. Don't know what was wrong, maybe something on the runway. Then my bag was last. Then there was a queue at Customs. Then the Red Dot limo coming to get me (airport transfer van) left when I hadn't turned up so they had to send another from New Rochelle and I stood waiting for it under the Passenger Pick-Up Point D at Terminal 4 for one hour and twenty-five minutes. Then traffic up to Westport.
Getting here IS NOT EASY OR FUN AND I DON'T LIKE IT OR WANT TO HAVE TO DO IT AGAIN TOO SOON, IF EVER. And PS why is this kitchen full of fruit flies?? There's no fruit in sight and I must have killed at least 2o while I've sat here typing.
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