True

Last night, we watched A Murder of Quality again. I like Denholm Elliott as George Smiley very much, he has all the Le Carre qualities for that character, including a kind of gentle befuddlement that Alec Guinness never gave him. But what struck me most eloquently seeing it again was how Smiley does not rise to taunting bait. He simply ignores questions that he is not interested in answering, with redirection or a powerful and eloquent silence. A refusal to answer that I envy deeply, or at least as a skill myself as a child could have used. I've learned since.

My father badgered, harassed, and I was not allowed the option of not answering insane questions. "Answer me! I ASKED you a question!" Well, often he hadn't, or the 'question' was unanswerable, ("Why don't you have any friends?" "Why did you say (something I didn't say) to your mother?") I had to respond, and that response would be hurled back at me, often for years to come. As though he threw rocks at me, and demanded I hand them back nicely, so he could throw them at me again. Yeah, that was my childhood. Constant interrogation. Not physical, but that hardly matters anymore. I wanted to simply shut down and endure, but that was strictly not allowed, I had to stay present - the worst part of it. Look in his eyes - although I learned to stare at the bridge of his nose. He knew something was off, but could not accuse me of not looking at him. Had to be able to answer the vague and contradictory and confusing accusations. Learning not to answer anyone took a lot of practice, deliberate work, later.

So now that the genetic family has failed to acknowledge the abuse, and indeed has managed to reiterate how much I am "like him" (wow) I want only to respond with serene silence. They don't want an honest relationship, they want to prove they are family because they talk with their sister/daughter. Estrangement is troubling to them. Well, that's their trouble. I gave them an honest chance, though I had nothing to gain. Her birthday next week, younger son visiting with older and her, I wait for contact. If it doesn't come, that is an answer, in my view the final one. If there is contact, I will be terse and honest - which will certainly not be appreciated, and that will be final as well.

No more answers from me. Let them make up their own version. From me, silence, a patient smile, and D's example. He's very good at silence, one of his better traits. He will not be drawn in. I admire that so much.


I had to ask him for confirmation this week of what he saw, when my father blew up at me when we were their guests. He did more, reassured me thoroughly, and I am reassured. Soon, I will be able to let it all fade away. Not quite there yet, freshly opened wound and all, but gradually. I just don't let this sort of thing go without care, like leaving the religion of childhood. I need to be thorough, do it well, nothing taken for granted. No regrets later. Dug down deep, rooted out.


The truth shall make ye fret.

Thicket

It's huge, this thicket of hedge, long neglected. I've lopped off quite a lot, but there is so much more to go, so many thick branches. I'm good for leaving the plants, greenery is good. But this mass has gotten out of hand for a city yard - safer to be able to see over it. Spent hours both days making a barely discernible dent. I need to saw, just lopping at least lets me figure out what is there.



The door is closed, done.
Unlocked, they won't follow.
Truth too hard for them.


They failed us again. My one brother put in an appearance and then couldn't be arsed. Older brother at least never pretended, not this go round, only the usual bright salesman sociability. Busy with his own two daughters' estrangements. Mother's phone number blocked, I couldn't stand being implicated in my own abuse. Given how toxic, I wonder that physical abuse was not ever really present in our little branch. Not to my knowledge, at any rate. The odd spanking when I was very small, but even that stopped very early. I remember three, and even I could not count that aspect abusive, just completely incomprehensible. No, it was the constant bullying, then the hypocrisy, the judgement.

Working through erasing the old voices, dropping the old baggage. It should fucking well be all gone now, but there is a massive amount still bobbing to the surface unpredictably, unknown amounts mushrooming in reserve. Trying to let it come and go, as with thoughts during meditation. At least not dragging it along any further.

Talking to myself as a kid now. I like her, I love that she paid attention and saw clearly, even if she couldn't interpret it well - not having the vocabulary or distance. I need to talk with someone who was there, me at ten works pretty well. Oh, and Aunt Evelyn, too. She would laugh at my decorating, but it would be meant kindly, accepting of my eccentric taste. Even when she disapproved, it would be in proportion, I would not feel her love for me was on the line.

She'd love how much this house is like hers. She'd love all the reds. She'd approve of my toy box for visiting children.

Listening

Out and about this morning, redeeming the Home Despot gift card, and getting thank-you cards. It's rare that I have given thank-you cards, the expectation in my experience is that an in-person thanks was sufficient, and a card was only for something sent - and a phone call was actually even better. But within the female environment of my work, I know the norm is more formal, and I really am grateful, so I will gladly thank them in the way they will best understand and appreciate. I feel very old-novel, Lady of the Manor sitting down to write my correspondence in the morning room.


All the modern conveniences. The fridge may be too large - IS too large, but it's a good one. As is the stove. Baking potatoes at the moment. I have very mixed feelings about the previous owners, some choices were amazingly good, others a bit odd and impractical. Not like I will ever have to socialize with them. Although, we hear they still live somewhere close-by.



Got a few dull necessaries, calking and wood glue, but also a good anti-stress mat for the kitchen tile (D's feet get very cold, even with his good slippers) & grippy stair treads for the basement - a light color that will be dirty soon, but very visible so that's alright then.



Yesterday, we stayed away from the practical, D played guitar, I arranged postcards. We rather needed a day like that. And I knew I had today off. Conferences this weekend, Friday we are closed. Slow week all around. But I can use my vacation time, and simply enjoy the day as such.



Called my mum this morning. Actually a fairly enjoyable conversation. She says her persistent cough is gone since being in Texas. Worried about one granddaughter, my niece, who has become a hoarder, and refuses to get a job. I listen, and hold my peace.


He has his back turned away, but his ears are turned toward me. He's listening.