November 1992

 

Dear Jeanette,

 

Hey, how are things with you?  They're pretty good here.  Baby and I went to Hawthorne today which made me miss you a lot.  It's dark here in November, not so cold, just dark like it might rain but then it doesn't.  That's actually kind of nice because Baby and I can walk around with her in her stroller and not worry about snow or ear infections.  But Hawthorne is great, you would like it.  They have cool coffee shops; mochas are the best.  Do they have those in Florida?  Bet not.

They have a dollar theater with matinees for little kids but Baby is still too young for that so we go to the bookstore, toy store and grocery store.  The bookstore has some of the most gorgeous children's books but they're real expensive, like $25.00 or so, so Baby and I just read the expensive ones then buy the $3.00 ones, if we buy.  Sometimes we don't buy books.  Sometimes we go to the grocery store and get some little toy, like bubbles or fake phones. 

 

Our neighborhood is great and there are lots of places to walk to.  The people are nice.  One day we were walking and Baby was running ahead of me when a man of about 75 came out of his garage.  He smiled at her and said "Aren't you spry?"  Then he looked at me and said "Wish I had her energy."  He seemed very nice.  I'm glad we moved here from Beaverton; it's a much better walking neighborhood.

 

Baby loves the toy store.  It's just gorgeous.  They have reproductions of turn-of-the-century toys, dollhouses, miniature furniture, Wizard of Oz paper dolls, all of which she is too young for but we like to look.   I love Baby, she is good and quiet in the stores and coffee shops and sometimes falls asleep in her stroller.   She has the biggest brown eyes and her little hands are so soft.  She has longish fingers for a 2-year-old, with oval nail beds.  I think they're beautiful.  Wish you could see her and that you would come out someday, maybe this summer.

There is a coffee shop here where the coffee man is very funny.  One day I bought a coffee and he said "that'll be tuna fish dollars."  I gave him 2 dollars and said "did you just say 'tuna fish dollars'?"  He looked  shifty-eyed and said "ye-e-ess."  We both smirked.  He's a nut.  They have the best mochas and almond croissants which are big treats now that I'm not working. I told you that didn't I?  I got laid off.  It's just as well.  Sam is very nervous around the baby and she's too little for daycare anyway.   I miss my friends from work though, having lunch with them and having adults to talk to.  We rarely see each other anymore, but we do speak over the phone.  I'm pretty dependent on Sam for company, which is really too bad as he's pretty distant most of the time.

Sam never comes to Hawthorne with us, so that's a little lonely.  He's kind of a grump anyway, but I'm always happy to see him come home from work for some reason.  He just goes and takes a nap the minute he gets home and when he gets up and comes down to have dinner, he barely talks.   That is getting a bit old but I am learning to cope.   I like him alone in the dark after the baby is asleep.   One night we had sex and he had his arms around me from behind.  He put his face into the back of my neck and whispered, "I have to be inside you again," and he was and it was good.  (I'm sorry if that was gross but I'm not crossing it out because I guess that's why I'm still with him; sex is very good.) 

I guess I don't mind the sullenness because when he is happy, (either because of fantasy football or calling his boss a lying sack of shit and getting away with it) he reminds me of Ernest T. Bass on the old Andy Griffith show, grinning and leaping about.   For this reason I prefer to have him be a grump especially at night.  If he were happy during lovemaking it would make me think of having sex with Ernest T. Bass, can you imagine?  Though I always liked ETB, so funny with that kerraaayyzzzeeee smile.

One night Sam and I did go to Hawthorne together because the therapist said we should get out alone together one night a week (whether we want to or not, I guess).  So we came down to the dollar theater where I talked to a man in line for candy more than I did with Sam the whole night.  The movie was Frankie and Johnny, which I loved.  Was never so jealous of a cook and a waitress before in my life. 

Then after the movie, as we were leaving the theater, this thin, angular

woman with long gray hair began to follow us and said to me very dramatically, "Do you know him?"  I thought she meant Sam so I said yes.  Sam was walking quickly across the street to get a beer and I was trying to be polite to this woman and keep up with S.  She then said, "Be nice to him.  HE'S HUNGRY."  I said I would and then caught up with Sam.  I asked him if he had heard her.  I knew he had, how could he not have heard?  He said no and we went and had a beer.   If he had admitted to seeing that woman we could have talked and laughed about that, but he didn't.  We drank our beer and left.  Having a beer with Sam is not like having a beer with you, sistah.

Remember when you came to visit us in Beaverton right after S and I got married?  It was around Christmastime and we went to that restaurant and had a couple drinks then went to the mall to get coffee at Starbuck's.    It was so crowded because of the Christmas shoppers and we placed our orders and then had to wait and wait.  I said "I feel like I'm waiting for a check to clear," and you said to the coffee man so loudly and clearly: "I-want-my-money BACK."  And he didn't answer you but glanced your way and you said even more forcefully "I. Want.  My.  Money BACK." Finally he said "What?"  And you, so tall and blond, said very condescendingly, with that Marlene Dietrich expression, "I'd like my money back.  I want to write a CHECK."  Then he looked totally confused and I had no idea what the hell you were doing and I couldn't stop laughing, and the poor coffee man said, "Why?"  And I choked out, "she's joking," and again with that  tired, serious expression you said. "It's a JOKE--a Christmas joke.  Most people  enjoy a Christmas joke."  And then we got our coffees.  Christ, how I miss you.  Then I remember we told Peggy that story and her husband thought we were horrid.  We were just having fun.  I miss you so much. 

I know I didn't ask much about your life, so write and tell me.  I hope things are going well with Lawrence.  I love you and miss you.

 

Love, Paula

 

P.S.  Remember that stray dog I told you about, the one that I took in and S wouldn't speak to me for days?  Well I gave that dog to the coffee man on Hawthorne, the tuna-fish-dollar guy.  So Sam's mother came over and said "Where's your dog?"  I told her I gave it to the man who runs the coffee shop down the street.  She said "he probably made a meal of him."  Before I could say "you think the coffee man ate the dog I gave him?" Sam said "We've seen the dog since."  And that was the end of the conversation about whether or not the coffee man ate the stray dog I gave him.  Love you, miss you.  Tell everybody I said hi.