Family Ties

Crossing the uptown park today, it occurred that I had neglected my regular walks and visits.  The Reservoir at sunset-- the usual tourists and locals waiting for the golden minutes to coat buildings with rare urban incandescence-- and a tiny jet trail in the sky, like a distant reminder of the newest American war. The water still covered with a clean-ish snow and ice-layer... one wondered where the ducks were hiding.  I'd last seen them squawking and flapping during the New Year's Eve fireworks... trying to process the fear from what they undoubtedly perceived as an attack... sounding a group alarm-- a warning. 

Difficult to process that we are stepping into the third month of this year... the way the future seems accelerated and indifferent, as though it already belongs to someone else and we, the elders, are being ever more quickly left behind. I'm not quite ready to admit that my February has poured its diminished sand into the March glass which is thankfully one of the longer ones.

Just a week ago the geese seemed agitated and aware of the pending blizzard; more than metereologist predictions I trust bird wisdom; after all, in an Olympic season, they have broken all distance and speed records with their migratory skill. 

Weather issues kept us from outdoor rituals and had me watching more of the Milan games than I anticipated. The rewards and heartbreaks of these uber-athletes are not just entertainment. The best among them have a sort of super-power-- a fixation on a personal goal that transcends parameters.  Others have a kind of competitive energy-- occasionally one sees a speed skater look back, the way racehorses and animals do not. There is team spirit, but rarely a tie in these games.

Personally I've never had that competitive edge, although I recently realized, being the second daughter, that my arrival was the single most psychologically affecting factor in my older sister's life. I never quite assessed my own value, the way she undoubtedly knew every measurement, grade, achievement, failure and bank balance. I gave up plenty of allowance, treats, gifts... just to retain her good will.  It was an endless quest which both my cousins and good friends were quick to notice.  My mother, too, often whispered in my ear ('don't tell your sister'), knowing her nature.  

I have girlfriends, as an older woman, whose friendship is everything for me.  Among them, a few whose subtle lack of trust and critical eye betray childhood indoctrination with this archetypal jealousy, for want of a better word. It's Biblical-- it's Classical... Shakespearean and Fairy Tale subject. It's motivating for some-- they've amassed fortunes and risen to the top of their corporate structures.  For me, it has stained what I would have wanted to keep as a sacred bond-- like ducks and geese, caring for one another.  In my world, it began as the simple coveting of things, progressed to tattletales and toxic narratives culminating in manipulating our aged parents and forging a will which deprived my son and me of all due material inheritance.

Does this make people feel better? Is cheating, lying, scheming, declaring war a means to some kind of inner peace?  It is not.  It is a self-consuming fire that burns and at worst motivates people to become Dateline-worthy murderers and felons. It is maybe an accident of simple birth order... or a true sociopathic embedded obsession.  Over and over I listen to our self-Midasized President who has amassed the largest pot of any previous political office-holder. He can't stop comparing himself to his predecessor-- to downgrading and maligning every Biden-authored program or decision. Will it ever be enough, for a man whose insidious ambition should disqualify him from any of the honors he craves?  

I remember reading The Bad Seed as a small girl and worrying. Watching the Olympic ceremonies-- the medal counting and the bestowing of these symbols of greatness (some of them breaking, ironically)... what would our lives be without these competitions... the lists of bank accounts and billionaires, the excessive piling of assets? It's a little alarming.  Even literature-- poetry-- music... must be 'qualified' and categorically numbered.

As the second-born, I came into the world as 'less'.  I would always be younger, less privileged, less skilled.. at least through childhood. I played the game-- I hung back, I let her have the yellow and green M&Ms and the extra brownie. I covered for her indiscretions and bad love affairs.... at my own cost. I remember sitting in the back seat of a 1960's Firebird freezing in my nightgown and robe while my sister had some kind of sexual encounter with a married gym teacher in his toolshed. Did I divulge the cause of my bronchial infection and school absences? No-- I non-judgmentally indulged my Sister-master.  I might still-- today-- if I weren't absolutely prohibited by friends and other family. I would watch my smaller purse open, the pictures come off the wall... the never-satisfied hunger of some deep deranged desire drain my resources.  And still... I feel whole... I feel sorry for the perpetrator.  Not the President... but my sister, who has a bit of that side-eyed bitterness and deep resentment.  It's unfixable.

There are no more disturbing tragedies than the ones in our own family-- no worse missed opportunities of love and protection and alliance.  It is no wonder the world cannot seem to balance itself, to tolerate and allow, to disagree and smile.  I've heard the moon will turn blood-red Tuesday.  Tonight it seemed so innocent and slightly diminished, like a transparent spot on the still-blue eastern sky at sunset.  I rely on her sisterhood-- from the night sky through the Firebird windscreen to her recovery from the pending eclipse-- surely one of a dwindling number I will eventually not total.