Another Wisconsin Visit

It seems like yesterday, but it was the week of the 4th that I visited my family in Wisconsin. My thanks to you who expressed concern about my dad. He seems to be doing alright. I think he wanted some way to take matters out of his own hands, and the structure of jail was suiting him for the moment. I went for a short visit, my days off from July 1st to the 5th.

I took my mom and grandma out to lunch several times, and they took me out.



My grandma is much more confused and forgetful, but still able to take care of herself. To recap: she's 89, has slow-growing lung cancer that she's elected not to treat, visits her doctor every two months, and my mom and her sister call her every day. I went to visit because my grandma kept asking me, "When are you coming to visit again?" She's full of stories of old, and I recorded some so they may end up here.



There was a small bit of drama on the plane as I traveled there. I had one stop in Phoenix, and the daily temperatures at the time were 115 degrees. We were all seated, ready to disembark when there was a small delay. The plane was hot, and we were told the air conditioning piped in from the airport lost its efficiency at around 105 degrees. Delay over, the captain announced our imminent departure. As if on cue a woman across the aisle from me threw up on her feet. The woman next to me worried the smell would get to her too.

Of course that caused another delay. They brought in a maintenance man, who cleaned it up, sprayed, threw some coffee grounds on it, and came back a second time to sweep them up. The flight attendant and others around me chatted about the smell-reducing merits of coffee grounds. The woman had been ushered to the front where they gave her a bag of ice for her neck. The man sitting next to me stirred fitfully.

Floor cleaned, woman given her seat back, we were ready to go again. Not quite. Now the jet engine wouldn't start. It stopped working as efficiently at temperatures higher than 105 degrees. They were sending a jump start machine, it would take about 5 minutes to get there. The woman held her head in her hand, ice still on her neck, occasionally exclaiming, "I was just so hot!" The man next to me stirred again. "Are you alright?" I asked him.

"No, I don't feel well at all."
"Do you need to get out?"

He responded by reaching for his bag, and I and our other seatmate stood up to let him out. At the front of the plane he spoke a few moments to the attendants, then dropped like a stone to the floor. They sat him there, got another bag with ice, and soon he was let out of the plane. I hoped he would be well. Me, I've learned the less I fuss, the less extremes will bother me, and then I enjoyed the empty seat next to me.

Back to my visit. My first order of business on the 2nd was to find out if I could visit my dad. I called the Sheboygan County Detention Center. The woman answering the phone was less than cordial. She confirmed my dad was housed at the detention center, and informed me the only exceptions to Saturday visitation would have to be approved by the Captain. She patched me through. I was cut off. I called again, and she patched me through to his voicemail.

When my dad first tampered with the fire sprinkler and was sent there, my brother Eric wasn't allowed to visit "due to his mental state." Later, when Eric was finally able to visit during the short visiting hours on Saturday, they told him my dad was moved to the jail. He wasn't allowed yet to visit dad at the jail.

Later that day I talked to my sister-in-law. She asked me to call the DA, that maybe I could find out what was going on. So I did, and I got the phone number for my dad's lawyer. He actually answered the phone himself. He was originally court-appointed, but when the court discovered my dad's money, the money was requisitioned (or whatever legalese term they use) to pay the lawyer's fees. That took care of my dad's worries over the burden of that money. His lawyer informed me that the DA was offering a plea that would mean only probation, and they were also looking into the possibility that my dad could be declared "mentally incompetent at the time." Something, he said, that would be complicated to establish, but would mean no charges. Either way, it sounded, mental health facilities would be involved. When I said my brother and I didn't try to raise bail because we wanted our dad where he could be watched, the lawyer agreed, saying that's why he didn't try to get the bail lowered.

The usual way one could get an exception to the Saturday visitation rule was if the inmate asked for a visit. I couldn't call my dad, only he could call me. Since I have only a cell phone, he couldn't call me collect. The only way for me to communicate with him would be through a letter. I was informed of this by the rather cold telephone operator at the Sheboygan County Detention Center. I asked the lawyer if he could get a message to my dad about visiting him. He readily agreed.

I never got a call back from the captain, so the next day I called the Detention Center again. The cold operator informed me the captain would not be back for the week, and if he didn't contact me, I obviously didn't have permission to see my dad. Wasn't there anyone else who could help me? No.

On the off chance my dad was in the jail, not the detention center (I don't know the difference either, just that they're two different buildings) I looked up the number and called the county jail. Yes, my dad was there, and yes I could visit him...someone was supposed to have contacted me. Wow. Excuse me, but what a bitch that other woman was. The holiday? Actually a holiday visit would be better for staff. I already had plans to meet my brother at my dad's apartment to pack some things, and it turned out the jail was not too far away. (There would just be a 4th of July parade blocking my way from one to the other, but I was prepared.)

My brother told me he'd received similar cold shoulder treatment at the county detention center. What did these strangers think of us? My mom told me her friend C. worked at the jail, as opposed to the detention center. Perhaps that was the kind person I spoke to that set up my appointment. Years back, we'd made horseradish together.

I was allotted a 20 minute visit at 11 am on July 4th, no physical contact. My dad was the only one there, we were alone in the row of booths. There was no phone, just an automatic intercom built into the separating wall.

They let us talk for 40 minutes instead of 20. My dad was still saying the Christian path was no longer for him. He knew he needed some kind of structure, couldn't really live in the city...unless it was a group home situation. He was doing better at the jail. The week before he'd stopped eating and taking his meds, so I wonder if that was why they moved him. We talked about his cat. He agreed that my brother could give it a try giving it a home at "the farm." (That's what we call my brother's place, even though it's more of a woods and orchard, with barn.) I was relieved the cat wouldn't be put to sleep. He'd seen his lawyer once. As far as he knew, the trial, if there was one, would be set at the end of the month. I suppose I should call his lawyer again and find out the latest.

My dad looked much older, scraggly with his beard grown out. When I asked if I could take his picture, he stood up, straightened his prison reds, tucked in his shirt, and stood back next to the wall.

He seemed to me to brighten a little, but that doesn't necessarily show in the photo. His glasses were still back at his apartment. Later that day my brother told me he didn't think they'd let dad have his glasses, so he hadn't tried to get them to him. Probably not, as my dad wasn't yet allowed even a pencil.

So that was my first, hopefully only, visit to a family member in jail. Here I've been facing the mortality of my grandma, but now I wonder how much longer my dad will be alive. All these years of taking meds, years of lithium, then the newer drugs I can't keep up with, I wonder what these do to him physically, and then there's always the allure of checking out. My brother bears the brunt of this. I am glad Eric has become softer, kinder in the face of this illness. More on my visit with my brother later. Hopefully not too much later, but I've got a zine to finish and other articles to write before the second week of August.

Oregon Coast Journal

Monday:

Our day was beset with obstacles. Steve had some errands to run before we came to the coast. We managed to get up and going by noon, but then the errands took longer than expected. He met up with a former co-worker in a store, someone he'd 'shared the trenches' with, someone he didn't want to blow off and say, "I'm in a hurry." Then he almost didn't go to the battery place, but he did because he wanted to get the alternator checked, and sure enough, it wasn't working at all. He was just running on the juice of the battery. They fixed that, took him over an hour at that. At both Jiffy Lube and Les Schwab they told him the alt was ok. We were relieved that we didn't attempt a drive to the coast without a working alternator.

But then after he got home he still had packing to do. He wanted to pack his computer and see if he could set up wireless here, hitch a ride on somebody's connection. We didn't take off till after 6:30, and we needed dinner.

We got Subway sandwiches in Hillsboro after he picked up some new allergy meds. We started seeing emergency vehicles everywhere. Overpasses icy, accidents everywhere. We kept wondering if we should keep going, each not wanting to disappoint the other. We probably went further than we should have, went about 10 miles on icy roads. Skating rinks, really. Finally we turned back. We got back home at about 8 pm.

We spent a quiet night talking, packing those things we'd forgot. We played Rummikub. Steve told me how much it meant to him that I love him unconditionally, I confirmed that I do. And I told him too how I felt he too loves me unconditionally. "It's incredible," I said. He said, "Yes." I can't convey what was contained in those words, what was conveyed in that exchange. How do I share the timbre of our voices, the message contained in the fullness of the notes, the love that we could indeed confirm in the deep honesty. How can I convey the naked honesty as our eyes meet and hold and say these things? We say we love each other so often, in a lesser relationship we might wonder if we are trying to convince ourselves, but as we confirm beyond the words, it is an attempt to express our delight at this incredible love we have for each other. I doubt we could know the depths of this love if we were not polyamorous. Whether other loves come or go, stay or leave, they increase the capacity of our hearts, and there are no walls in the heart. There is not a compartment for Krissy, for Steve, for Brent, for my closest friends, but that heart capacity just keeps growing, and the fullness is available for each one of our loves. My love for my friends is richer for this love with Steve, and with Steve, richer for the openness allowed through love without limits, polyamory.

What did it matter that we were not at the coast? We might have played another game there, same as here, and we might have had that same quiet time together. Even though we missed the road deadline, this night at home together was just right.

Tuesday:

The next day we got going at a decent hour. We didn't have to pack after all. It was then we realized what a gift it was, the necessity to turn back the night before. Even without those obstacles, without the icy roads blocking our way, we would still have had to make the 2 hour drive in the dark. This way we made the drive in daylight, and the snow-covered vistas were breathtaking. I do not miss the days and weeks of snow in Wisconsin, but it fills me with a childlike freshness to see that unspoiled snow on evergreens.





We stopped at a rest area where I began to see the snow splash from the branches. Little tufts of white making that dive to the white ground below. White running from green, meeting white, so delicate, so perfect.



We could not have had this the night before. Mid-afternoon we made it to Cannon Beach, where we stopped at the Wayfarer Inn where we've been before. Late lunch, early dinner...for a bit we were the only ones there. Deep fried avocado fingers and stuffed mushroom caps...heavenly. One of the waiters remembered us from a year before. He must have an eye for customers, he said he got in trouble the week before because a woman said he was handing her a line.

Wednesday:

I had a leisurely day. Woke up after a full nights sleep at 11:30 am, made coffee, ate Krispy Kreme donuts and sipped cream-laden coffee while watching the ocean. I woke Steve up and we watched the dogs romp: strangers meet each other, kiss noses, wag tails, pee and sniff, and run exuberantly up the beach and to meet other newcomers. It was such a delight to watch these creatures so enjoying the free space of the beach, and to see how they clearly enjoyed it more for having other dog companions.



The brush mower came along while we were sitting there. The mower part looked like an upside down scoop, inside chains dangled that spun around when the mower was cutting. I saw the roadwork sign when I first sat down, but no mower. Back and forth the tractor moved. Raising the arm to shred the brambles on the banks. Finally the driver carefully trimmed close to a 6-8 inch pipe sticking out of the ground, then backed up and picked up the sign, which I could now see said, "MOWER AHEAD". He strapped it on the back and took off. I figured he must have been on a lunch break when I first came on the scene, as he only did a portion of the bank in front of our windows.



While we were sitting there I told Steve about my phone call in the afternoon. He told me he was thinking of driving back to Portland and back. Why? Because he forgot his CPAP machine. He managed to keep this secret from me. Me, I could never keep that quiet.

So it took him about 3 hours to get back to Portland, still ice and snow in the mountains. Coming back, he took a longer route so he could avoid possible freezing rain and the icy roads on the higher elevations. My poor Steve, spending so much time driving in nerve wracking conditions. Again it took much longer, and he had to stop less than an hour away to stay at a hotel. The fog was too thick, and roads getting icy.