My Iliad: Part One

Having "Darwiningly" (my word) learned to adapt to my generally lowly status of crawling in and out of the Hollywood mud as necessary as a Stand-In; having also occasionally been elevated to Co-Star status wherein I could claw my way to a foothold on terra firma with a few speaking lines on a Network show that would pay my rent for a couple of months; and forever fluctuating somewhere between the muck and the glory, I was quite convinced that as long as I adopted the proper personae for all possible scenarios, this Hollywood Actress could blend in like a chameleon, anywhere, anyplace, anytime!

Casting myself in the glamorous role of "Seasoned Traveler", I wheeled the behemoth hard-cased luggage to the curb and summoned a taxi on my not-very-smart cell phone to service my needs as my presence had been requested half way across the country for a week, followed by an additional three day limited engagement on the East Coast.

"Oh, how effortless is all of this gadding about!" I reassured myself ala Katherine Hepburn.  "The calla lilies are in bloom!" I added for effect and reassurance.

Unfortunately, my digestive system was by NO MEANS buying into my classical performance... 

*gurgle*

Scuttling off in the backseat of the cab to the airport, I made all manner of proper happy small talk for approximately three minutes with the driver.  And recasting myself as "Misunderstood Eccentric Genius Who Mumbles to Self Whilst Postulating String Theory and/or Tuck and Roll out of Said Taxi in Fight or Flight Instinct ", I was quite relieved to be left in silence for the rest of the ride.

Unfortunately, having relinquished my personal control issues to the Casting Director of The Universe who saw fit to bat me around mercilessly like a wounded mouse who can’t escape the torture of a playful vengeance-free kitty cat, any nuance of dignity I might’ve creatively mustered in the taxi was shortly shot to hell. 

Armed with a $4.00 bottle of Bob Hope Airport water and initially not particularly thrilled to have a gazillion (OK, three) flight connections* to Indiana, I found “in hindsight” (if you will) that as my digestive system continued to criticize my ability to play the triple threat roles of “Mumbling Eccentric” slash “Dehydrated Puddle” slash “Borderline Vomitus Dry Heaver”**, a few extra restroom stops weren’t such a bad idea after all! 

(*Note to readers – these connections included exiting security at one terminal in Phoenix, walking across a street outside in 110 degree heat to a shuttle that waved me to another stop, walking an additional 200 feet to reach said shuttle, only to be told by a separate driver that I needed to go BACK 200 feet and catch a DIFFERENT shuttle to another terminal, then metaphorically rise from the ashes wherein I would need to pad around germy security with more sweaty people clutching their sticky shoes whilst we all threw away our water bottles.)

(**Personal note to all of you lovely ladies with high end perfumes, handsome gentleman wearing Department Store cologne and all of you long-toe-nailed Hippie freaks in flip-flops who bathe in Patchouli:  FFS, save it for your destinations!  An airport may hold a cast of thousands, but you all gave me nausea and heart palpitations with your saturated “aromas”!)

But I digress!

Recast in a recurring role (which I’d not played in nearly eight years and at which I was feeling rather rusty), I found myself struggling with the complexities of “Dutiful Daughter Returning to the Family Fold”. 

Was it the overwhelming, unconditional biological love, comfort and nurturing from my parents that made me spit up my lasagna dinner like an infant that first night?  Was it the complicated integration of still feeling like a teenager despite their absolute willingness to accept me as the adult woman I’d become, that allowed me to reconcile my Dad’s paternal guidance to “stick with the alcohol” for my supper; as well as my Mom’s maternal advice to nurse a spoonful or two of creamy gelato for my tummy?

All I know is that boozily half in the bag 45 minutes later with gifts of cash in my purse somewhere in a town called Anderson; I won a $300 jackpot on a slot machine at the local casino!  (Hey, I was quite literally BORN for that role!)

>>><<< 

With less than a week remaining to meet up with ALL of my extended family, I was grateful that my Mom had chosen to split up the parties into smaller groups over the course of the next few days.  Yay!  Easy peasy! 

“So this afternoon there will just be the eleven of us.”  (Aw, C’MON!)

Now, whilst I had no official contract designating a change in title of my role as “Dutiful Daughter” during my stay, the further my parents mapped out my lengthy itinerary, the more noticeable the credits on the marquee were changing...

Sure the gathering of family at my sister’s house for home-cooked food and burgers (Whaaat?!?!) on the grill could NOT have been more delightful!  We feasted!  We socialized!  We watched my young nephews swimming in the pond out back! 

I even endured the proper amount of family terror as my sister fed the masses of cold-blooded vertebrates in said pond, whilst prehistoric enormous catfish (with whiskers longer than my deceased heroic feline sidekick Pretty!) thrashed and gulped at the kibble.  (EEK!) 

I even managed to remain moderately calm (well, MAYBE I jumped out of my skin every single time) as my kinfolk headed across the reeds to fire arsenals of bullets out of guns and rifles at empty milk containers.  (Dear Lord, where were the police and the helicopters?!)

But despite a bit of stage fright at reacquainting myself with my relatives and getting back to my roots, I must say that my sister made me feel ever so welcome in her home.  And any further trepidation that I may have experienced was startlingly dissuaded by the immediate love and affection from my lumbering “cousin” Henry.

I’d heard in advance that Henry possessed the best disposition when greeting new members of his extended family, but what I hadn’t counted on was the fact that as a Rhodesian ridgeback dog (mix), I was apparently a psychedelic festival of unusual and exotic smells.  (Thanks a lot, stinky airport Hippies!)

And sniffed front to back, head to toe, ass to armpits and having even received a buried face in my ponytail when I sat down on my nephew’s floor to watch video games, I was officially wet-nosed dubbed as “friend” wherein I was quite regally presented with a tail-wagging butt and a most auspicious gift of a slobber-covered soiled “white” sock with a hole chewed through it.

(Oh, would that ALL critics be so kind!)

>>><<< 

Frankly, as exhausted I was from air travel, casino winnings (and maybe a smidgeon more of bewhiskered fish and live ammunition than I’m generally comfortable with), I admit that I was looking forward to some solitary time in the bat cave that evening. 

But as I was staying in Ft. Wayne Indiana, I’d have to “make do” with the posh, ritzy accommodations at “Wayne Manor”, aka “The Fortress” with the moat out back (I kid you not!).

“Here’s the key to get out if you want to smoke a cigarette on the screened-in patio:  this is the PIN to completely disarm the alarm so the doors won’t beep, and here’s the code to reset the security when you’re done” my parents explained ever-so-patiently before wearily heading off to bed.

Ahhh...

The silence.  The single croak of a baritone bullfrog guarding the moat.  A time to write, to ponder, to muse, to unwind, to relax all by myself for a few hours.  In the silence.  The unnerving silence.  The DEAFENINGLY LOUD, ABSOLUTE SILENCE. 

Oh, for the love of God, I needed a cocktail and a ciggy!  And clicking on the portable radio that my Dad had set up in my bedroom as “comfort noise” for when I returned inside, I ambled through the dark mansion in search of the least noisy retreat.

Easily remembering the codes (as they pertained to my childhood), I unlocked a side door and slipped casually into the welcome solitude of the dark night; a lone nocturnal soul; an evening spot light beaming down from the rooftop over the threshold – a subtle one woman play for the smattering audience of care-free fireflies and a single seemingly forlorn bullfrog.

Until...

“WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP!  BURGLAR ALERT!  CALL THE POLICE!  WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP!  BURGLAR ALERT!  CALL THE POLICE!”

Frozen like a bug-eyed possum caught in a car’s headlights at 3am with a lit cigarette in my paw whilst my Dad deftly disabled the All Points Bulletin, I couldn’t have been more mortified...

“Well, at least we know the alarm works!” he laughed.

(Awesome.)

>>><<< 

Now, as I mentioned earlier (and as I reconnected with more and more of my relatives), I could feel my role as “Dutiful Daughter” slowly (and not so subtly) being rewritten...

Granted, I’d been trotted around like the “Prize Hog at the County Fair” for my hypercritical Great Aunt (who’s blissfully developed the attention span of a gnat), as well as her creepy, lecherous used-car dealer boyfriend (who hugged, kissed and slobbered almost as much as my lumbering canine “cousin” Henry); but my Producers (aka my Parents) eventually let on that I would be facing yet one more rather extremely important “screen test”...

“We just LOVE your sister’s “new” husband (of three years) who had to work during the bar-be-que” my Producers beamed.  “In fact, if they ever get divorced, we’re keeping HIM!” they agreed emphatically as they extolled his magnanimous virtues.

(Hey!  No pressure there for me to perform well!)

>>><<< 

With one whole day and evening to hang out with a couple of friends that I’ve known for most of my life, I wasn’t at all surprised at how effortlessly we reconnected.  Our worlds had changed to be sure, but our friendship never lost a beat.  We were teenagers again!  We were stupid and perfect!  And after a cocktail at “Dicky’s Wild Hare” (again, I kid you not), by 10:30pm we were all ready to go home and get some sleep!

>>><<< 

As to my vital “screen test” however, I do believe I passed with flying colors.

Despite 20 years of complete and continued sobriety, the best brother-in-law (in the whole wide world whatever lived!!!) stopped at a liquor store after our final family dinner to purchase a special gift just for me. 

And handing me the brown baggie containing a glass bottle of Ketel One vodka to tide me over for my last two evenings in The Fortress, I felt like I’d won an Oscar! 

(No offense to Henry, but that was waaay better than a slobbery sock!)

Positively overwhelmed with love and gratitude for my family and friends,

~I am the Passenger P

p.s. Next stop – New York!