{"id":566,"date":"2011-05-05T09:26:56","date_gmt":"2011-05-05T17:26:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/onelife\/?p=566"},"modified":"2011-05-05T09:26:56","modified_gmt":"2011-05-05T17:26:56","slug":"a-la-vida-happy-mothers-day","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/?p=566","title":{"rendered":"A la vida! Happy Mother’s Day"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

Two mother themed excerpts from <\/em>The Town Slut’s Daughter, oddly, or not, both involving horses, gelding and foaling specifically. <\/em><\/p>\n

No matter how many times they moved, Bill and Jeanette managed to find another shack, the latest a long, low rancher in Langley.<\/p>\n

Jeanette was homesick, longing to return to Quebec, despite how wretched life had been. Would she ever be free of the past, the fear that at Sister Ann Marie might come along and yank her pigtails or rap her on the knuckles with a wooden ruler?<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t see too many empties but worried Jeanette might hurt herself again, relieved to hear she\u2019d had taken up crochet, though all the crappy old furniture was covered in ugly, acrylic afghans. Why can\u2019t she use real wool? Bill had gotten her a pet, a little wiener dog she dubbed Schultz, after the character in Hogan\u2019s Heroes.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy couldn\u2019t you get a real dog?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a Daschund. Hey, he\u2019s a tough little bugger! Full of piss and vinegar. Just watch him.\u201d<\/p>\n

The little bugger dragged in a giant field rat. Jeanette cheerfully tossed the carcass into the garbage, explaining the godamned things liked to chew through her telephone cables. She mopped up the blood as Fiona watched Schultz chase down more vermin, sturdy little body parting a sea of tall grass.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey were bred to go down badger holes.\u201d Jeanette deftly shuffled a deck of cards, machine-rolled cigarette dangling from her lips. \u201cYou know how mean a badger is?\u201d She dealt out a hand of Solitaire, Fiona relieved she wasn\u2019t badgering her into Gin Rummy.\u201cShultz doesn\u2019t know how little he is.\u201d Jeanette gloated. \u201cHe\u2019ll take on any dog that crosses his path. He wriggles under, goes right for the jugular.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, they say pets resemble their owners. Or is it the owners that resemble their pets?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeanette laughed. \u201cYeah, so we\u2019re tough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fiona once saw her mother evict a drunk twice her size and half her age by the seat of his pants. She was earning a reduction in rent for lifting bales of hay, feeding and watering the landlord\u2019s horses. Fiona sat on the fence as Jeanette admired the animals through the slats. Fiona could feel the thoroughbreds\u2019 hot breath on her collarbone as they ambled up, snuffling, nudging her arm for carrots. I\u2019m not scared when I know what they want.<\/p>\n

Jeanette pointed at the pinto. \u201cIndian Joe. They just gelded him.\u201d<\/p>\n

What was left trotted round the periphery, stallions shadowing him, nipping his neck and flanks. He snorted and kicked wildly but the stallions were ruthless, tormenting him until he ran under an old hemlock, cowering, stranded in his altered state. Fiona clambered down. Jeanette grabbed her by the arm before she could enter the paddock.<\/p>\n

\u201cFiona. No! What do you think you\u2019re doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe needs help! Why don\u2019t they leave him alone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re too young to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right.\u201d Jeanette ground her cigarette butt into the fence post. \u201cDo you understand he\u2019s a eunuch? A freak? Spooking the studs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fiona stared at her mother\u2019s forehead. Jeanette sighed. They headed back to the house. Fiona told her she was moving to LA.<\/p>\n

\u201cAw, no!\u201d gasped Jeanette. \u201cDon\u2019t tell me that!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry. I have to go. There\u2019s nothin\u2019 happening here. We have to go where the music business is. We wanna get signed. All the major labels are down there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, I\u2019ll miss you!\u201d Looking to the ground, Jeanette began to cry. Go for the jugular.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can come visit,\u201d said Fiona, both knowing it was a fiction.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy won\u2019t you let me be your mother? You\u2019re just a baby! My baby.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fiona vehemently shook her head No. Jeanette winced. Fiona watched Schultz, wonder wiener, yipping and dogging horses, inches from hooves the size of his head. She nudged her mother, pointed. Jeanette\u2019s eyes rounded at the dog\u2019s antics.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo badgers, but happy as a pig in shit, isn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, she whacked Fiona across the shoulder blades, nearly knocking her into the knee-high muck. Two days later, the Virgin Marries moved to Los Angeles.<\/p>\n

*********************************************************<\/p>\n

They collected the Virgins and headed up to his folks\u2019 place near Santa Barbara, Fiona excited, insisting on a visit to the Mission. The weather was glorious, world a blue sphere; sky of sapphire, ocean of turquoise. She noticed a fantastic tree hanging off the cliffs, pistachio wood peeking out from peeling cinnamon bark.<\/p>\n

\u201cMadrona,\u201d said Rita, planting her big feet on the dash. \u201cThey\u2019re called arbutus in B.C.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jackie and Dolores skulked and sulked in the back of the van. Jackie is prettier. She should have been interviewed.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not surfing season, is it?\u201d Fiona pointed to several zinc-nosed hangdogs trying to catch a wave.<\/p>\n

Rita laughed. \u201cIt\u2019s always surfing season in California.\u201d<\/p>\n

A kaleidoscope of kites whirred above Santa Barbara\u2019s broad, tidy, expansive pier, gum booted locals lazily fishing. Mottled pelicans waddled by, begging for tidbits like dogs. Kamikaze gulls zeroed in on the girls, one snatching Dolores\u2019s hot dog. She nearly cried.<\/p>\n

They reached the pink adobe Queen of the Missions in a natural amphitheater carved by the coastline and the Santa Inez Mountains. They strolled past crumbling tombs, cactus gardens and a stone fountain, lion\u2019s head spitting water. Fiona gazed up at a looming crucifix\u2014thorny crown, sunken gut, ragged loincloth, spikes driven through hands and feet of clay, Christ so beautiful in his suffering. I am so not a good Catholic. Fiona was good at ignoring martyrs, victims, whether they be Jesus, Jeanette, Dennis, or herself. The twins hugged the statues and mimicked the strung-up Son of God. Inside they found ten cubicles for praying to Christ, the Virgin of Guadeloupe or any number of saints.<\/p>\n

High noon. Time to go, countryside arid inland. It seemed everybody drove a pickup in and out of the oak groves and hills covered with chaparral and poppies. Dennis waved to a local yokel in a Sunny Country 102 FM cap. Soon they pulled into a long driveway and headed toward several big barns and a huge, yellow Victorian house festooned in white gingerbread.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey!\u201d cried Dolores. \u201cIt\u2019s just like the Big Valley.\u201d<\/p>\n

THE JEKLINS CHAMPION ARABIANS Dennis had made it sound like a hobby farm. He pulled into the yard and jumped out of the van, swooping his mother up into a bear hug. More blondes. More Jeklins barreled toward him, pouncing on his chest with glee. Dennis introduced the Virgins to mother Sharon and adolescent sisters, Laura and Nicole. The property was overrun with goats, geese, ducks, chickens, calico cats, Labrador dogs and Elvis the potbellied pig, the only beast rating an introduction and aptly named, propelling himself forward primarily from the pelvis.<\/em> They walked to the main barn, Fiona recognizing Shalimar as the breed in Black Beauty<\/em>, one of her favorite childhood reads. Shalimar pranced in a circle round the paddock, pawing the ground, tail high in the air. Sharon explained that Arabians were exotic, hot-blooded, bred strictly for show.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s gorgeous!\u201d gushed Dolores.<\/p>\n

\u201cHorses are beautiful,\u201d said Fiona, \u201cbut I have no urge to ever mount one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sharon smiled. \u201cWe love them. For their spirit. Courage.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis communed with his broodmare. \u201cShe\u2019s colicky. A couple of hours I\u2019d say. Monitors on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d replied Sharon. \u201cI just hope she stays away from the wall.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe wall?\u201d asked Rita.<\/p>\n

\u201cOften a mare tries to push the foal out by lying flat with her butt right up against the wall. We have to go in and relocate her. It\u2019s never easy and always annoying.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStupid,\u201d Fiona said to Dennis under her breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re just afraid of their magic.\u201d He pointed to a horseshoe tacked to the wall. \u201cTheir power.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s still a dumb animal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis threw up his hands. They left Shalimar to her labor, strolling back through tea roses and foxglove. A towering, barrel-chested man emerged from the house, Doug Jeklin as blonde and ruggedly handsome as his son. They embraced.<\/p>\n

\u201cBeen on the phone all morning he has,\u201d groused Sharon.<\/p>\n

Doug smiled and shook their hands. \u201cJust bringin\u2019 home the bacon honey. And I\u2019ve got to get back to work. I\u2019ll see you all for supper.\u201d<\/p>\n

Friendly enough, thought Fiona but unlike Dennis, very low key. Strong, silent type? Why is the wife always the extrovert? On the homefront anyway. Sharon showed them to their rooms and most importantly, the shower. Fiona went downstairs after to find her setting out a pitcher of lemonade. They chatted, Fiona chomping down on ice cubes until Sharon informed her it was bad for her teeth. They went outside to a gigantic herb wheel.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Dennis tell you he dropped out of law school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLaw school!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was enrolled at UCLA School of Law. He was going to be an attorney.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis sauntered over, so funky she could smell him through the lavender. It was a familiar odor, after all their miles together on the road, comforting, the way her father\u2019s had been when she was a girl. Fiona held her nose.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s gathering intelligence, isn\u2019t she?\u201d He pointed to his mother.<\/p>\n

Sharon rose and turned to him. \u201cYour father\u2019s going to grill a leg of lamb. You\u2019ll have to help him with the coals. Doug takes his role of BBQ chef very seriously.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis nibbled on some chives. \u201cHe\u2019s gonna rake me over the coals.\u201d Sharon sent him inside to shower.<\/p>\n

Rita joined them, the three chatting amiably. Dennis soon emerged from the house scrubbed, naked from the waist up, ready for anything as he motored across the compound to the van. He opened the back doors, pulled on a well-blocked cowboy hat and a shiny blue and gold hibiscus shirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey dude!\u201d shouted Fiona. \u201cWait till Dolores gets a load of you. She\u2019ll think she died and went to heaven. Or Hawaii.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything about him is loud, isn\u2019t it?\u201d said Sharon.<\/p>\n

\u201cA real upright guy though,\u201d said Rita.<\/p>\n

Sharon smiled. \u201cAnd highly motivated. Even if he has \u2018dropped out\u2019, something his father doesn\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis pointed to the barn. Rita caught up to him, Fiona waving them off.<\/p>\n

\u201cStill, he\u2019s lucky to have such supportive parents.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve only done what any parents would do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot any parents. \u2018Parent\u2019 isn\u2019t a verb to mine. I disowned them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Startled, Sharon studied her, pity mounting. Next she\u2019ll be telling me she\u2019s sure my parents are worried, I should go home, back to school, blah, blah, blah. Fortunately, Rita came out of the barn and beckoned.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll stay here,\u201d said Fiona. \u201cNo horses for me, thank you. Especially Arabian mares leaking colostrum.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chuckling, Sharon handed her a basket of herbs. Fiona found the twins on the verandah, smoking, gabbing. Sharon returned shortly, Rita and daughters in tow. The women convened in the cool kitchen, redolent with cumin and cucumber. Sharon assigned tasks; chopping vegetables, stirring sauce, grating cheese, as they watched Shalimar on the monitor throwing her head back at her stomach, nuzzling and licking.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s she doing?\u201d asked Dolores.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s in pain.\u201d Sharon tied her hair back, lopping the top off a red bell pepper.<\/p>\n

Jackie stared. \u201cPoor thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have no idea. Still, they have it easy, compared to we humans.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laura giggled and pelted Nicole with a carrot peel. Nicole bonked Laura in the head with a radish.<\/p>\n

\u201cGirls. Settle down.\u201d Sharon\u2019s daughters flashed crossed eyes at each other. \u201cThe human pelvis isn\u2019t wide enough for childbirth, due to our becoming bipedal. Which is why we have year-round estrus. Infant mortality rates have always been high, life expectancy short. \u2018Til recent times anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jackie and Dolores exchanged looks, unnerved by Sharon\u2019s earth mother routine. Laura and Nicole calmly diced and peeled.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d said Fiona. \u201cI remember all the tiny, white crosses with little lambs on them in the cemetery down home in Quebec.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFifty-two hours of labor with Dennis, twenty-seven with Laura and twenty-two with Nicole.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rita put down her knife. \u201cFifty-two hours!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes!\u201d Sharon laughed. \u201cTook all weekend. Nine pounds, four ounces. I refused the Cesarean. Drugs too. Coherency\u2019s important. For me anyway. I had to own the experience.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least it got a little easier,\u201d ventured Jackie.<\/p>\n

\u201cEvery pregnancy\u2019s different. They cannot be predicted, controlled, or managed,<\/em> as much as the obstetricians would like you to think so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m never having babies,\u201d said Fiona. \u201cMy sister Maureen had a baby then fobbed it off on our mom, the same mom that messed us up so bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sharon smiled. \u201cI hope that means you practice birth control? And never say never, Fiona. You don\u2019t know how you\u2019ll feel ten years down the road.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTen years! No. I can\u2019t imagine. Ten years. Gawd. I\u2019ll be twenty-eight years old. Nearly thirty. Thirty!\u201d<\/p>\n

Rita patted her on the head. \u201cFiona is prone to all-encompassing statements.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sharon coordinated an incredible meal; pinto beans, corn tortillas, chips with homemade salsa, trays of enchiladas and another brimming with peaches and watermelon, Doug\u2019s killer leg of lamb reeking of rosemary topping it all off. They feasted in twilight beneath a grape arbor, bluebottle flies bobbing in zephyrs of mesquite smoke. Doug lit Tiki torches.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have the coolest parents on the planet,\u201d said Jackie.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve never seen such a sexy old guy,\u201d whispered Dolores, giggling.<\/p>\n

Sharon appeared with fresh strawberries and shortcake, whipped cream flowing like lava, everyone moaning they were too full.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you have to. They\u2019re from my garden.\u201d<\/p>\n

If only Sharon were my mother . . .<\/p>\n

And it was obvious where Dennis got his generous good nature. \u201cBut she doesn\u2019t take crap from anybody. Including my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n

Doug removed his Top Of The Food Chain apron, sat down handing Junior an Anchor Steam. \u201cSo what are your plans, son? When are you going back to school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLater, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? I thought these people were your friends?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet off my back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t raise my son to be a bum, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis sighed. \u201cYeah, I know Dad. I\u2019ve heard it all before, about a million fucking times.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere do you get off talking to me like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis rose. \u201cWhere do you get off talking to me like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Doug stood. Seething, they leaned into each other, Father and son Rock \u2018em-Sock \u2018em robots, head to head, man to man, matching pecs tensed hard under their shirts.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re ruining your life!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight! My life.\u201d Dennis thumped his chest with his fist. \u201cMine!\u201d<\/p>\n

Sharon jumped up. \u201cEnough! Take it inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis suddenly dropped his shoulders, gaze falling onto the monitor. \u201cShalimar!\u201d<\/p>\n

A stampede to the barn ensued. Fiona and the twins remained sitting, content to smoke and drink under the stars, well clear of the blood and guts.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlright. Well, I\u2019m going to sit down.\u201d Sharon flopped into a chaise lounge, put her feet up. \u201cI need a break.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jackie raised a glass to her. \u201cYou certainly deserve one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sharon took a gulp of Chardonnay before glancing at the monitor to do a double take. \u201cOh oh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh oh, what?\u201d asked Fiona in dread. Dennis had told them about a mare once killing a foal by slamming its head against the wall.<\/p>\n

Sharon peered like a doctor inspecting an x-ray. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be a long night folks! Rosie\u2019s water just broke. Laura\u2019s horse. She wasn\u2019t due for another week. I\u2019d better go alert the crew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus H. Christ!\u201d yelped Fiona. \u201cIs it a full moon or something?\u201d<\/p>\n

Fiona and the twins sat back to watch, both mares down, Sharon in one paddock with Rosie, Doug attending to Shalimar in another, Dennis running back and forth. As predicted, Shalimar was flush against the far wall refusing to move. They coaxed, cajoled and yelled in vain. She refused to budge, foal a bulge under her thick hide. Must be part mule, thought Fiona. Finally, in desperation, Doug yarded on Shalimar\u2019s tail and heaved her far enough away from the wall for the foal to slither out. A blast of cheers shook the barn.<\/p>\n

\u201cA la vida<\/em>!\u201d Fiona and the twins toasted the newborn, Rosie\u2019s foal feted a few hours later after a tug of war with its shoulders.<\/p>\n

Morning slowly dawned, wine bottles removed, replaced with coffee and croissants. Dennis walked over, odd expression on his face. Surely the horses were fine, after all that effort, and TLC.<\/p>\n

\u201cDarby\u2019s dead!\u201d Dennis collapsed into a chair. \u201cThey found him last night. ODd. Suicide.\u201d<\/p>\n

The trip back was moist, a blur of tears, twins assuming mourning gave them license to drink, more than usual. Germs blasting, Rita navigated the 101 South, Virgins and an inconsolable Dennis bawling throughout an impromptu memorial. Fiona cried, not just for Darby, but for Fiona, for all of them, having to live with such cold, hard facts of life, their cheap mortality the hardest fact of all.<\/p>\n

\u201cI like it so loud, my ears bleed,\u201d she said. \u201cVolume can be a kind of silence, you know? Nothing can penetrate. You don\u2019t have to listen. Think. And silence is golden.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded glumly. Golden boy, she thought. Darby too. Punk Peter Pan, stirring up shit his primary purpose. Rumour had it he drove out to the desert, wrote a note, then shot himself up with a lethal dose of heroine. What a romantic.<\/p>\n

Dennis kicked Jackie\u2019s Ampeg. \u201cI should have seen it! Shoulda been there for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, he\u2019s immortalized in Penelope\u2019s movie,\u201d said Dolores.<\/p>\n

Dennis smiled. \u201cEveryone drawing on him with felt markers. Remember?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA martyr to the cause,\u201d offered Jackie.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat cause?\u201d Rita stared them down through the rear view mirror. \u201cHe was probably suicidal. Mentally ill. I\u2019m amazed he gained as much credibility as he did, always so drunk onstage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCharisma.\u201d Jackie yelled at the back of Rita\u2019s head. \u201cHe had charisma!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was really smart too.\u201d Dolores turned to Dennis. \u201cI liked what he had to say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho cares what he said! Fuckin\u2019 words don\u2019t matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nudging his shoulder, Fiona offered her apple. Dennis cupped it in his palm, lone tear plashing off its snowy flesh.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey matter to me. They mattered to Darby. They matter to you. \u2018Cause we matter. Life matters! It\u2019s just sad he was more afraid of life than death.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Two mother themed excerpts from The Town Slut’s Daughter, oddly, or not, both involving horses, gelding and foaling specifically. No matter how many times they moved, Bill and Jeanette managed to find another shack, the latest a long, low rancher in Langley. Jeanette was homesick, longing to return to Quebec, despite how wretched life had […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[10],"tags":[149,152,155,204,210,321],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/566"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=566"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/566\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=566"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=566"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=566"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}