The Cheapest Milk in Town

Report from the road:

Dad called a few days ago.  He was driving through the mountains of Montana, about a hundred miles outside of Billings.  The cell phone reception was patchy at best, and he knew he’d cut out at any moment, but had to tell me that he had just driven past a place called Adam and Eve Lingerie & More.  Right next door there was a store called Teasers.  He was trying to puzzle out what sort of product might be available at these shops.   At Adam and Eve Lingerie & More he assumed he could pick up some lingerie, obviously, but also possibly some “work clothes, hair care products, maybe some small, sliced snack items.”  That’s the great thing about “& more.”  It covers everything.  “They probably have the cheapest milk in town.”

As for the shop called Teasers, he guessed it must be a place to buy either fishing bait or cat toys.  It’s the most sensible assumption.   Probably cat toys, he said.  (“Jimmy!  Leave the cat alone!  But mom…I got these teasers.”)

My Sister is a Terrible Hostess

I spoke with my sister a few days ago while Dad was still there for home time.  She read to me a note that was posted on the refrigerator at her house.  Dad had been home all day while Shannon and her family were off at work and school.  It’s important to know that Dad speaks a rare dialect constructed of mispronounced Dugan-family baby words.  Here are a couple of words you must know in order to understand the note.

GooCoos: a child’s mispronunciation of “cookies.”

Aggs: a child’s mispronunciation of “eggs.”

Titi: a child’s mispronunciation of “auntie.” In this particular case, Titi is me.  It also, depending on the context, is my sister’s name, as we are both, technically speaking, aunts.

Here’s the note, reproduced according to his original composition.

ATTENTioN!

Residents, There are no GooCoos on top of the fridge, so don’t bother craning your little bird necks around to see up there.  P.S. Even if there were snacks up there, I’m pretty sure they would be off limits to all bad aggs (eggs: Titi baby talk).

AND THIS MEANS

Y-O-U!

Shan: My friend was here so I asked her to read the note and tell me what she thought it meant.

Friend: Well, it means don’t eat the cookies.

Shan: No, no, see, it’s an invitation to eat the cookies. 

(Translated it means: “Dear Family, I bought some cookies today.  They’re on top of the refrigerator.  Please help yourselves, you good little children.”)

As Shan was telling me this, I could hear Dad offering a number of comments in the background, but couldn’t make out all of what he was saying. 

Liv: What’s he talking about?

Shan:  Well, I’m trying to clean up a little.  His mom—when he was a kid, it really bothered her when she was a guest in someone’s home and that person would clean up while she was there, right in front of her, instead of sitting down to visit.

Dad: Something—blah, blah, blah—regarding Shannon’s “skills about being a hostess.”

Shan: You’re right, Dad.  A better plan would be for me not to clean anything for the whole five days of your home time.  I won’t wash any of the dishes or wipe the table.  I’ll just leave all the dirty clothes in piles.  It will be really comfortable and pleasant to be here at the end of this time. 

Dad: I don’t think you’d be this upset if you weren’t feeling a little guilty.

Shan: You’re right.

Dad: You know I’m right. 

Shan: My new tactic is to just agree with everything he says.

Dad: Indecipherable exclamations in the background.

Shan (calling out): You’re right, Dad.

Dad: I know it!

An untrained observer might feel uncomfortable to be present during such an argument, but Shan was perfectly relaxed.  That’s because this wasn’t actually an argument at all.  This is just a regular Dugan-style conversation that qualifies mostly as a mutual joke.

(Here's Shan, by the way.)

Liverwurst and Spearmint Tea

My daughter Norah said, “Well, Bompa, mom brought spearmint from our garden into my classroom, and then we did science with it.  We are trying to grow roots from some cuttings.”

Dad said this via speaker phone:

Oh Norah, let me tell you something about spearmint!  When I was growing up we had a bunch of spearmint growing wild in our ditch.  We didn’t know you could make anything with it.  We just mowed it.  It always smelled really good.  Well, we had these neighbor kids, Francis and Roy.  Their mom was from Germany.  One day she came and knocked on our door and, in kind of a shy way, asked if she could have a little bit of that spearmint from our ditch.  “Oh, sure!” my mom said.   “Take it all.  Put it in a wheelbarrow.  It’s yours.”

Francis and Roy’s mom from Germany made her own liverwurst.  At her house she gave us liverwurst sandwiches on homemade bread and mint tea to drink.  I didn’t necessarily like liverwurst, but I went along with it because of the concept.  There was something magical about the way she put it all together.  I mean, she got that mint from our ditch, and then made tea out of it?  Come on!  It was compelling, like a Rod Serling script.  She even spoke with an accent.  Woohoo.

Space Music

My sister Shannon and her husband Dan drove to Seattle a couple of weeks ago to see Seattle Symphony Sci-Fi Favorites.  The show’s official description is as follows: Travel to distant dimensions with Seattle Symphony as the Orchestra performs the music from your favorite science fiction films and television programs, including Star Wars, Superman, E.T., Star Trek and more! Featuring narration by TV celebrity George Takei and a laser light show.

Wow.

So, while they were gone, their answering machine recorded this message from Dad:

Hey, it just occurred to me that you guys are probably on your... ah... date listening to space music.  I hope you dressed nice in your space suits.  I hope you don't space out and get lost on the way up there.  I hope there's plenty of space at your feet so that you're comfortable.  Perhaps at uh, intermission they'll serve coffee and Spacetries.  If you see Sissy Spacek or Kevin Spacey, tell them I said hello.  ... pause...  Aaah, let me think... (chuckling)…(now full, hearty laughter). I just kill myself with this stuff.  This is quality.  The kind of material Johnny Carson would pay for.  I especially like the part about Sissy Spacek and Kevin Spacey.  I just thought of those at the last second.  OK.  See you later bye.

(Many thanks to Shannon for transcribing and emailing me the message.)

Son of a Biscuit Eater

Dad just spent five days of home time with my sister on the coast.  While he was there he sat down and read the blog for the first time.  He said he’s really glad to be doing it, though the quick summary of his life (The Best Feeling, posted Sunday, October 16) caused a little sting.  Aside from noting some historical facts I got wrong he said reading it made him feel like “a weak-willed son of a biscuit eater” and “a heartbroken little dork.”

Olivia: Should we change it?

Mike: There you go everyone.  There’s Mike Dugan, naked.  Let’s take a look at the big fella!

O: Tell me what you want to add or take away and I’ll do it.

M: No, don’t change it.  It’s exactly the truth.  That’s exactly how the slope into the toilet was angled.

O: This is your deal, too.  We never have to post anything you don’t want.

M: You know, with your own paintbrush you never paint yourself completely accurately.  You take out that big dent in your forehead.  Straighten out the crooked nose or the lopsided chin.

And really, how would I like it if my life story were condensed to a series of blunt summaries covering all my weak spots and misadventures? 

My face was badly scarred in a car accident when I was five years old.  At school I struggled, with hand-me-down clothes and a number of ticks.  My parents divorced, and my siblings and I were left alone all the time.  I crash-landed into my own adolescence with a bottle of Southern Comfort, a pack of Marlboro Lights and my pants yanked firmly down around my ankles.  And this feeble little person?  This wretched wreck of a girl? It isn’t me at all.  It’s just a collection of sad stories that stirs up a lot of drama.  I also think of it as rugged terrain—dangerous land that I have traveled and survived. 

Dad told a story once about coming down out of the woods having run out water.  He was dirty and grubby and raced into a convenience store to fill up his water jug.  Outside he gulped furiously, spilling little rivulets from the corners of his mouth.  He laughed later when he thought of himself, because he said, to observers, he must have looked like some “wild-eyed mountain man.” 

And that’s what he is, really.  Consider the metaphorical rocky peaks and treacherous trails he has walked, often without basic necessities such as water, and always he has survived.  Dad is a hero in his own epic tale, and he has stored treasure more valuable than a cellar full of food or a suitcase full of gold.  He’s got humor and story which, in terms of the heart’s wilderness, make shelter and a feast.

For years now, any time I talk to him on the phone, I can’t resist taking notes because I don’t want to waste the things he’s saying.  He’s like a rare plant that drops a handful of valuable seeds with every bloom.  I’ve been hoarding them, though, not knowing what to do with the stacks of scribbled pages.  So, in all my efforts to record, it has still been wasted.  Writing this blog is the only way I can think of to plant the seeds and let them grow.  Someone has got to tend the garden.  It doesn’t matter if no one ever reads it.  The seeds will grow just the same.

A few years ago I had a dream that I traveled to the ocean to see my dad, though he has never actually lived at the beach.  In this dream I arrived at a little house with cool, gray waves rolling and roaring just beyond.  I had with me a ragged young woman, bent at the waste and vomiting onto the yard.  She was just ridiculously drunk and deeply sad.  I knew, quite clearly, that the girl was me as I once was, and I had brought her there to be healed.  My dad didn’t answer the door when I knocked.  Instead, he appeared from around back, from the direction of the water.  He was young and thin and had the most calm and peaceful look about him.  At first I mistook him for my brother.  He didn’t say a word (which is unlike him).  He just smiled, and I knew this girl would get the help she needed.

That dream has always been an important one for me for a number of reasons.  But today I’m thinking about how, even at his worst, and even if he can’t always find it, Dad contains this strong, peaceful presence.  Even when he is feeling angry or helpless, like a weak-willed son of a biscuit eater and a heartbroken little dork, he still has a healing force strong as the ocean behind him.  We all do.  And that’s the point.

A Simple Lesson on the Nature of Evil

What was it?
A phone conversation during which Dad was driving.

What did he do?
He interrupted himself mid-sentence with a sudden exclamation: "What?  Hey, what are you...you gotta be...me?  What are you flipping me off for?  Oh, you are a BUTT face. 

(Pause)

Let me tell you something, Livvy.  Occasionally, out here on the road, I encounter a butt face.

The Moral
Hey, it happens.  Just keep driving.

Moonlight, Mountains and Swimming in Lakes

When I asked, "Well, who are you really?  Sum it up," he had this to say:

Recently I’ve been driving along with a harvest moon down through southern Colorado.  The land there is flat as a pancake for as far as I can see, and glowing with this beautiful light.  I’ve always believed you have to hang onto certain images that comfort or inspire you, because they mean something.  These can be anything.  For me it’s three things: moonlight, mountains and swimming in lakes. 

Here’s what I told Kylie (his youngest daughter and my little sister): “When you’re a grown-up someday and life gets weird and complicated, when you start feeling tweaked-out and desperate, like you’re on the verge of doing something crazy, find one of those images.  Go outside.  Search.  Do what you have to do or go where you have to go to get close to those images that have by now become part of who you are.”

I don’t know if that’s who I am, but I have those images in my head all the time.