![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Homo away from homo
Mar. 8th, 2005 03:49 pmFor a place that holds so many, many dear memories for me, surely Rockaway is becoming more and more a decaying hole. A rat trap. I’ve known this for years, but as I contemplate re-orienting my sense of place in the world, it’s particularly stark.
My child’s mind’s eye remembers a place with long sandy beaches, neighbours who were involved in one another’s lives (for better or worse), a sense of ownership for “our” street, 114th Street. It was ours, we owned it, we belonged there. Our normal included inconsistent hot water, archaic wiring (and fuses held in place with pennies), and the use of one’s front porch as a waiting room for the showers (which were outdoors, under the porch, so folks could rinse off the sand from the beach before going indoors). “We” kept our houses in decent shape, put our bins out twice a week, and kept an eye on one another’s stuff--houses, cars, kids.
A lot of us got trapped, a lot also moved on. Most shifted down the road to Long Beach, which is a more middle-class version of Rockaway. So I’ve tread the streets here not really expecting to run into folks I know, but being open to it happening. It.Has.Not.
Today was a pretty good day, in most respects, for Ma. Breathing continues to improve and with it her humour. Today I spent 3 hours with her in the morning and another hour after dinner. As I left they were prepping her to move out of ICU into a regular bed--and she’s actually keen for the move (previously she’s been afraid to leave ICU). Will she come home? That remains to be seen. I want whatever she wants.
A not great moment: just like in Les Invasions Barbares, a lay churchwoman came by and offered Ma communion today, which she accepted. She took the host, but being dehydrated made swallowing OL&SJC* pretty much impossible. The faux nun went looking for water, while Ma gazed longingly at her can of Pepsi. “Would you rather just have a sip of your Pepsi?” asked the non-nun? Ma, a good Catlick girl from toes to crown, gave her a look that said “even dehydrated persons in ICU surely cannot rinse down OL&SJC with cola.” But she did, and no one burst into flames.
However, about 30 minutes later, a church deacon popped in, offering spiritual succor. I damned near kicked the shit of him. After exchanging pleasantries, he asked Ma is “she wanted to receive the annointing of the sick” this afternoon. Whatever the Vatican is trying to convey today about this sacrament, for many Catholics it’s the sacrament giving to those close to death--in fact, Ma’s already received it once, after my birth. As soon as he suggested it, she turned white as a ghost. Realizing perhaps his delivery (and timing and priorities) were fucked, he muttered an apology and excused himself. “Oh my god” she said “after he said that I feel like there’s an angel on my shoulder.”
Angels as in, to escort her to heaven. Ma was not enraptured by that prospect. I was enraged. What a fucking asshole.
*Our Lord & Savious Jesus Christ
My child’s mind’s eye remembers a place with long sandy beaches, neighbours who were involved in one another’s lives (for better or worse), a sense of ownership for “our” street, 114th Street. It was ours, we owned it, we belonged there. Our normal included inconsistent hot water, archaic wiring (and fuses held in place with pennies), and the use of one’s front porch as a waiting room for the showers (which were outdoors, under the porch, so folks could rinse off the sand from the beach before going indoors). “We” kept our houses in decent shape, put our bins out twice a week, and kept an eye on one another’s stuff--houses, cars, kids.
A lot of us got trapped, a lot also moved on. Most shifted down the road to Long Beach, which is a more middle-class version of Rockaway. So I’ve tread the streets here not really expecting to run into folks I know, but being open to it happening. It.Has.Not.
Today was a pretty good day, in most respects, for Ma. Breathing continues to improve and with it her humour. Today I spent 3 hours with her in the morning and another hour after dinner. As I left they were prepping her to move out of ICU into a regular bed--and she’s actually keen for the move (previously she’s been afraid to leave ICU). Will she come home? That remains to be seen. I want whatever she wants.
A not great moment: just like in Les Invasions Barbares, a lay churchwoman came by and offered Ma communion today, which she accepted. She took the host, but being dehydrated made swallowing OL&SJC* pretty much impossible. The faux nun went looking for water, while Ma gazed longingly at her can of Pepsi. “Would you rather just have a sip of your Pepsi?” asked the non-nun? Ma, a good Catlick girl from toes to crown, gave her a look that said “even dehydrated persons in ICU surely cannot rinse down OL&SJC with cola.” But she did, and no one burst into flames.
However, about 30 minutes later, a church deacon popped in, offering spiritual succor. I damned near kicked the shit of him. After exchanging pleasantries, he asked Ma is “she wanted to receive the annointing of the sick” this afternoon. Whatever the Vatican is trying to convey today about this sacrament, for many Catholics it’s the sacrament giving to those close to death--in fact, Ma’s already received it once, after my birth. As soon as he suggested it, she turned white as a ghost. Realizing perhaps his delivery (and timing and priorities) were fucked, he muttered an apology and excused himself. “Oh my god” she said “after he said that I feel like there’s an angel on my shoulder.”
Angels as in, to escort her to heaven. Ma was not enraptured by that prospect. I was enraged. What a fucking asshole.
*Our Lord & Savious Jesus Christ
