Denis Faye's Open Salon Blog

Paul's well that ends well

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 09:09:42 -0400

Regular readers of Easy Fiend may know that I always had a peculiar relationship with my ex-wife's father, Paul. Basically, I spent 17 years trying to form a bond and impress him and he spent 17 years being seemingly unimpressed. Yes, we had our moments, but he's a tough nut to crack and I'm not much of a nut cracker.

Last weekend was my daughter's birthday party. Sandie organized it. (We're switching off year-to-year. Next birthday party: Clown Strippers.) I was nervous to say the least. It would be the longest I'd spent around my ex since I left the house and, just to make it all the more joyous, her parents would be there. That would, of course, include Paul.

In the weeks leading up to the party, I planned what I would say to Paul. I would be clever, dismissive. My cutting, Algonquin Round Table-style witticisms would say, "I no longer need to impress you, ex-Father-in-law, and frankly, that's just fine by me."

When we arrived, Paul was sitting against the wall, looking lost. I don't know why it never occurred to me before, but Paul is probably a pretty shy guy when not in his element. Before I could prepare my first barb, I marched up to him, shook his hand warmly and told him I was happy he could make it. A few minutes later, after making the rounds, I approached him again at the snack table. Over raw broccoli and fruit kabobs, we discussed the progress of the golf team he coaches. Although, at times, it feels like he's only said three dozen words to me in the last two decades, I listened intently to those 36 words and was more than able to use them in conversation.

An hour later, he approached me with his cell phone and spent the next 30 minutes showing me photos from his recent fishing trip to Mexico. It was a pleasant, breezy chat and by far the most comfortable I've ever felt around him.

Last post, I claimed I wasn't seeing the irony in life. I guess I was mistaken. I find it ironic that I've found a solid footing with Paul only after the footing I had with his daughter has crumbed to dust and blown away.

I'll probably see him from time-to-time but I'm still going to miss that guy.

An ending and a beginning

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 10:09:15 -0400

I like to tell anecdotes when I write on Easy Fiend -- tales that flow through a beginning, middle and end. But I haven't written much lately because I haven't been seeing the poetry that flows through life that allows me to turn it into stories; I've just been living. Not that it's a bad thing. Some parts are great, particularly the ever-deepening relationship with my daughter. Last night, we walked to the beach to watch the weird algae blooms that have turned Redondo's coast bright green and it was one of the most tranquil, happy nights of my life. But it was part of a new-found existential groove I'm in, the moral of which escapes me, so I have no wise or clever tales for you right now.

That said, today is both my daughter's birthday and the day my divorce is official. I do see the irony in that. I have a tiny, gold baptism bracelet with my name etched in it that my daughter liked to wear until she outgrew it. I plan to sell my wedding ring and use the gold to add links to the bracelet, so she can continue to wear a part of me through whatever life hands her.

Okay, so maybe I do still see a little poetry from time to time.

The Black Cloud over the Black Hills

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 14:09:43 -0400

The kid and I got back recently from a week in the Black Hills with my parents and my sister's family. All-and-all, it was a good time, but unfortunately, I discovered I'm not as together as I thought I was. It turns out I've got quite a robust reservoir of anger bubbling below the surface. Here at my beach shack, in control of my environment, I didn't notice it, but throw me into a two-bedroom cabin with 7 family members, 1200 miles away from the mighty Pacific, with no access to organic produce and, well, kaboom!

While the Faye herd is admittedly a handful, I was over-the-top livid, bursting into blind rages several times over the smallest of infractions, including:

My dad eating too many Fig Newtons.
My nephew throwing a half-eaten apple into the woods.
My sister daring to critique my ability to properly drain garbanzo beans.
My brother-in-law making fun of me for getting mad at his son for throwing a half-eaten apple into the woods.

And my personal favorite:

My mom accidentally melting my daughter's toothbrush over an open flame.

Anyway, I suppose it's good to know that's there so that I can work on it.

The French Toast Party

Wed, 9 Sep 2009 16:09:24 -0400

The other day, my daughter and I hosted a French toast party. She invited a friend from school and I invited my friend Steph.

We gorged ourselves on French toast, maple syrup and strawberries. I've taken a week off of coffee, so I had a well-earned cup of joe. We then went to the beach. We made a drip castle that Steph announced looked more like a funnel cake. My daughter and her friend simultaneously got nailed by a big wave and I had to prevent two flopping, screaming 5-year-olds from washing out to sea, which is no easy task. I expected my daughter to freak out, but instead she laughed.

We went back the beach shack. Steph chuckled as both of the little girls pulled aside the bottoms of their bathing suits and demanded that I brush the sand off their private parts. She then declined when I offered to do the same for her.

We all went out for yogurt.

Later, after our guests had left, our neighbor, Nick, gave us a big bowl of vegetarian spaghetti that we shared for dinner. Then we played an improvised game with poker chips and playing cards. Out of nowhere, my daughter looked up from the game and announced, "Daddy, today with a really fun day."

She liked making the funnel cake best. My heart nearly exploded.

By no stretch of the imagination am I out of the shit storm this divorce created, but those of you who have been following the process through this blog can stop worrying. We're doing just fine.

My divorce envelope has a broken clasp

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 19:08:17 -0400

My divorce is final. I received the papers telling me this last week. Our mediator's cover letter opened with the word "Congratulations," which I felt was an odd choice, but I suppose any judgment that ends with only minor blood loss is a cause for celebration in the eyes of a divorce mediator.

I have a big, manila envelope that I shove all my divorce crap into, the idea being that once this is done, I can seal the bastard, shove it to the back of my file box and put it out of my mind, forever. Thinking that this final "Stipulated Judgment" would be the end of it, I stuffed it onto my big folder and folded the clasp down.

It broke.

For some reason, I was much more pissed off than I should be. It's not like the envelope exploded or all the mind-numbing paperwork within suddenly flew out and consumed me like Robert De Niro in Brazil. I mean, I can still just tape it shut.

I suppose I was annoyed because I realized that, just as I can no longer properly seal this divorce envelope, I'll never be able to seal the divorce envelope in my head either. I'd love to focus exclusively on the feelings of liberation and self awareness I've been experiencing in the last few weeks, but the fact is, this beautiful, flawed and failed experiment of a marriage, as well as the twisted end it came to are part of my psyche until the day I die. That envelope will never close, so what I do now is accept that and move on.

Good news is, I'm getting damn close.