Originally mailed on May 15, 1995

Both my Grandma and Splash had birthdays this past couple of weeks, so I've been pretty busy with those festivities. Usually I just send my Grandma a card and some flowers or something simple like that, but not this year. See, a few weeks ago I went to her house and she had all these dog books on her coffee table. The library had done a special display when Grandma was there for her bi-weekly selection of Judith Krantz and Michael Crichton novels, and she ended up with a dog encyclopedia, two training guides, and a world history of sheepdogs. I said, "Grandma, what's all this?" and she said, "I've been missing Flopsy, that's all."

Flopsy was a yappy little spaniel mix my grandma had when I was younger. I'd say she was possibly the most spoiled dog in America. For instance, she ate whatever we ate for dinner. Grandma would cut it up for her: meat, mashed potatoes, vegetables, a little gravy, ice cream for dessert. Flopsy only ate dog food as an occasional supplement. And Grandma would get up two or three times during the night to let Flopsy out to pee or check on a noise or something. Flopsy didn't know a single command; we had a very harmonious household because Grandma catered to Flopsy's every whim. She was a sweet dog, though, and I especially liked it when she spent the night in my bed with me. I used to take her on walks downtown and we'd get ice cream and go to the park.

I said, "Yeah, Grandma, I miss Flopsy, too. She was a good little dog." And my Grandma said, "You know, I wanted another dog after Flopsy died, but I thought I was too old and I worried about what would happen to it if I died." I made sympathetic noises, and she said, "And it makes me mad, you know, because it's been eight years and I could have had a dog all this time. I want a dog now, but I'm even older. What if I died?" I said, "Oh, Grandma, you should have another little dog if you want one. I would take care of it if anything happened to you." She said, "I sure would like a little dog."

Well, a few days later I called to ask her what she'd like to do for her birthday. This is the first time in years I've been in town for it, so I wanted to do something special. But when I called her I could tell she was upset about something, and it turned out she had been calling around the pet shops and all the puppies cost a lot more than she could afford. I said, "You can get a real good dog a lot cheaper at the Humane Society, and it won't be a puppy-mill dog. I'll tell you what, Grandma, I'll take you and get you a dog for your birthday. I might even be able to help you out with supplies."

So on her birthday, Splash and I took her to the Humane Society to find a nice little dog like Flopsy. I figured maybe we could find one that was already grown so she wouldn't have to deal with the trials of puppyhood. But Grandma headed right for the puppy cages and would not let me steer her to grownup dogs. I kept saying, "A puppy is a lot of work, Grandma. You have to get up every few hours to let it out. It'll chew on your shoes. It'll pee on your floor." Grandma said, "I'm not going to get a dog and miss all the fun of having a little puppy around, so you just be quiet and help me pick a good one, Harriet. If you're going to cause trouble you can wait in the car while Splash and I pick it out." Splash said, "Yeah, Harriet. Mrs. Wagner should be able to have a puppy if she wants. If you think it's better to get a grown dog, you get one." Grandma said, "You call me Miriam, honey," and Splash grinned at me and said to her, "OK, Miriam, let's check out those puppies."

Well, I admit those puppies were pretty cute. They had puppies of all sizes and shapes, whole litters of them romping around their cages. My grandma adored them all, but then she got to a cage with just one puppy in it, a big black one, and it came over and wagged at her. She said, "Oh, I like this one," and I said, "It's big -- I think a nice older puppy is a good idea." But Splash had been reading the information card attached to its cage, and she said, "It's not older, Harriet, just big. It's a Rottweiler-Doberman mix." I said, "Geez, it might weigh 90 pounds full grown. I don't think you want a dog that big, Grandma. And I think they can be mean."

Grandma said, "I wish you'd stop telling me what I want, Harriet. Besides, they're only mean if people treat them mean, the dog books say so. Splash, honey, will you get an attendant to bring this puppy out so we can meet it?"

Well, the next thing I know we're on the way out to my car with Grandma's new Rottweiler. Grandma and the puppy were obviously delighted with each other, and Splash was totally into it. She kept saying things like, "When she gets big, Miriam, you should get a spiked collar for her," and "Can I borrow her for the Pride March? I'd look so cool in my leather jacket with your big ol' dog on a leash. Or, if you want, Miriam, you could come along. You'd look so cool in my leather jacket with your big ol' dog on a leash." Meanwhile my imagination is running movies of the slavering hellhound this adorable puppy will someday become eviscerating my Grandma in her sleep. Grandma said, "Don't you worry, Harriet, I'll train her. She will be very well-disciplined." "Like Flopsy?" I said, and Grandma said, "When I got Flopsy, I did not know about a dog's need to be a member of a pack with a strong leader." Splash offered to send Grandma to obedience school through Community Ed as her contribution to the birthday. Grandma said, "There you go, Harriet. We're going to obedience school. Thank you, Splash honey." Splash said, "Cool, Miriam. Then you'll really be Leader of the Pack!" and they both started singing.

At the pet store, though, Grandma had a crisis of confidence. She'd been reading up on dog training and care, and wanted to do it right, and was convinced that a dog needs a crate to sleep in and premium brand food to eat, but she'd had no idea how much those things cost, especially at the Rottweiler-Doberman level. She pulled me aside and said, "Harriet, I don't have enough in my checking account for all of this. What if this is all a big mistake? What if I can't take care of her?" I said, "I'm sure the supermarket food will be fine, Grandma, and you can let the puppy sleep in a box," and she said, "No, supermarket food's got sugar and by-products and not enough protein. It's not as well-balanced! Dogs who eat supermarket food even poop more because their bodies can't use it as efficiently! I want Science Diet! I want my dog to have a perfect life! Harriet, what should I do?" I said, "Buy the Science Diet, Grandma. I'll help you out with food for her." Grandma said, "Thank you, Harriet," as I hefted a 40-pound bag of premium puppy food onto my shoulder.

I also ended up buying Grandma a crate for the puppy, since it seemed important to her. She was so happy and excited, and she wanted so much to do everything right, that I just kept saying, "Whatever you want, Grandma." My original budget for her birthday present was $50; adopting the dog cost $75, and by the time we were done at the pet store I'd agreed to pay for the crate, a cedar bed for in the crate, and the Science Diet. At the checkout, I said, "What the hell," and also paid for dog dishes, a collar and leash, a long lead ("necessary for training, Harriet"), a squeaky toy, a ball with a bell, a rawhide bone, a nylabone, a rubber tug toy, a box of puppy treats, and a keychain that said, "I my Rottweiler." It's not like I don't have the money; it's just that the money was my savings for my ticket to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival. I'm glad I was so generous with Grandma, and I kept telling myself I could come up with another $250 between now and August 8. But I'm not sure I can, and I've got to just remind myself that all day on her birthday, I felt that it was worth any price to see her as happy as she was with that puppy.

Splash honey and I took Grandma and the puppy home to get settled in. We took the puppy out to play in the backyard, and while we were sitting on the picnic table benches watching it poke around, Splash asked Grandma what she was going to name it. "Flopsy the Second," Grandma said. I said, "Geez, Grandma, I don't think Flopsy is the most appropriate name for a great big Rottweiler-Doberman mix with a spiked collar." Splash said, "I think it's a nice name," and Grandma patted her knee.

Splash also got everything she wanted for her birthday. It was her twenty-first so her family had a party for her, and she invited me. Her folks live about an hour and a half away, and when we get close I realize that we have entered some serious suburbs. When we turn onto Splash's street, it's like we're not in the suburbs any more, but in a twilight zone kind of ultra-suburb. I mean, we're talking one enormous house after another, no two alike, set deep back in woods. Some of the houses you couldn't even see from the road, just a driveway next to a cutesy mailbox with country ducks on it. Some of the mailboxes had names on them that weren't the name of the people, but like they'd named their house, as if they were British royalty or something. And when we got to Splash's (her house was one with a mystery driveway) I said, "Christ, Splash, the garage is bigger than my Grandma's house."

Inside, the house had these ceilings that were like two stories high and windows that went up the whole front of the house. Splash gave me a whole tour, and there was a living room, a family room, a den, a dining room, plus room in the kitchen for a table with six chairs "for more casual meals," separate bedrooms for Splash and each of her three siblings, a guest room...and a total of five bathrooms. Splash's bedroom was a surprise, first because her bed had a pink frilly canopy on it ("What can I say, I picked it when I was nine," she said) and partly because it was literally larger than my studio apartment. It also had a bathroom attached to it, which she and her sister shared, but at least it had two sinks so they weren't too crowded.

I was interested to make comparisons with where I grew up. Grandma's house has only two bedrooms, so my mother and her sister shared a room. It still had the bunkbeds in it when I lived with Grandma; they had to put bunks in because there wasn't room for two twin beds on the floor unless the closet was blocked. Only one bathroom, of course. And no long winding driveway through the woods.

So I was comparing. But I didn't get jealous until Splash was opening her gifts. Her sister and brothers gave her the usual kind of sister-brother things, like CDs and sweatshirts from the colleges they attend. Her parents, though, gave her a super hi-tech backpack. Splash just looked at it with her mouth open like she didn't know what to make of it, but then her father said, beaming, "Well, you'll need it for tramping around Europe this summer!" Splash has some friends who are doing the after-junior-year Eurailpass thing, and her parents had said she couldn't go, but it was a lie designed to let them create this wonderful last-minute surprise. Splash was squealing "Oh, Daddy, thank you," in a most unbecoming girlie way as her mom was handing her a credit card and saying, "Now, you go get whatever you need." I was trying to smile but I could feel this little black cloud form over my head and start to rain on me and with every drop I was thinking, "Some people get to go to college and never work because their parents pay for it. Some people get to spend twelve weeks in Europe just tooling around. Some people grow up in houses where the rooms number in the double digits. Not you, Harriet."

I'd just squandered my vacation money on Grandma's birthday, and that was my choice and I'm not sorry, But why does it have to be either/or for people like my Grandma and me? What hard choices do Splash's family have to make? What do they ever have to do without?

I was pretty gloomy on the ride back to Lansing but I told Splash it was just because I'd miss her this summer. I gave her my birthday presents: a Hothead Paisan "I'm not yer fuckin' spritzhead girlfriend" T-shirt (Splash said, "I'll wear it in Europe!") and a red satin camisole (Splash said, "I'll wear it now!") I had a great time taking it off her but I felt sad while we made love because she's leaving in a couple of weeks and it's going to be a long summer, and because I felt like there was a great distance between us. And I felt sad because I'm not sure she noticed the distance. She was manic with excitement, sitting down one minute to write a list of things she'd need for the trip and jumping up halfway through to call one of the friends she'd be going with, then ordering a late pizza and answering the door in her new camisole in the hopes of disconcerting the delivery boy (it was a delivery dyke, though, and she did not blink an eye at Splash's half-butch/half-femme get-up. I find it quite alluring myself). She kept playing Hothead and calling Fang "Chicken" after Hothead's cat. I finally drove her home about three in the morning and then I just sat at my table, chewed pizza crusts, and moped. I was going to write a poem: "O! to be a carefree young lesbian with a ticket to Europe when spring is in the air," but at last I folded out the futon and went to bed, Chicken and Dumpling, er, Fang and Speedball at my side purring.

In other news, I should update you on Esther. I haven't seen her, but I hear through the grapevine that her lover has moved in with her (having been asked by her previous housemates to kindly GET THE FUCK OUT). I still get sad but it's been a good six weeks now so I'm getting used to it. I've been not drinking for a full two months, and it seems fine. It's not that hard except for reprogramming habits, but every time I think, "Well, I've proven something, I can have a glass of wine now," I stop myself and think, "Maybe just a little longer, to see what happens." Nothing of note has happened yet.

Louella and I have been consoling each other over our broken hearts. Remember I told you about how Louella came out to her husband and he came out to her? Well, she thought everything would be just great, that they'd stay married but it would be this hip, bisexual, open-marriage type of thing. They did keep living together for awhile after the big coming out, but Sam finally confessed that he doesn't think he's bi, but is pretty sure he's gay, and that he doesn't particularly want to stay married to her but "hopes they will always be good friends and co-parents." He rented an apartment and hired a lawyer, and Louella went into a blue funk, partly of heartbreak at losing him and partly because suddenly she's a displaced homemaker with two sons under the age of six. Even for a woman with a generous and fair-minded husband (Sam is still paying the bills for now) that's got to be scary.

But that's not all. Louella's lover Buddy went into a funk in reaction to Louella's funk over Sam, and said that if Louella could get that broken up about him she can't love Buddy very much. She further said that she had hoped Louella would turn out to be a real lesbian, which is what Buddy wants, but clearly Louella doesn't have what it takes. And Buddy left her. So Louella has gone from having both Sam and Buddy to being all alone with the kids. She's trying to sort out whether she's bisexual or just wanted to hang onto Sam and the security he represented. She was talking herself into the latter, telling me that if that was true then she could prove to Buddy that she's a real lesbian. I said, "Stop right there, Louella. Haven't we just seen in my own sad life the effects of trying to prove something to win a woman's love? You think about whether you're bi or a lesbian or both, but try not to be thinking at the back of your mind that the right answer will win you Buddy back."

We sit around her house and feel sorry for ourselves, but it's also kind of fun. On Saturday I went over and we baked gingerbread cookies with the boys and decorated them with frosting and sprinkles, ate too many of them while we watched "Ghostbusters," and then all took a nap together in Louella and Sam's king-size bed. It was a great day for all four of us. It felt like a cozy family day for me, and Louella said having me there helped raise her out of her funk. And it was special for the boys, who are upset that their dad has moved out.

It's also good to talk to Louella about drinking and not drinking. Her father was an alcoholic of the terrifying roaring-drunk kind, and she knows a lot about the issue in general. She won't answer a direct question like, "So, Louella, do you think I'm an alcoholic?" but she'll talk as long as I want to. I've finally told Louella the whole story about my childhood, about my dad dying when I was nine and my mom throwing me out when I was thirteen. She wasn't nearly as pitying as I was afraid she'd be; more matter-of-fact, like she's heard it all before and it doesn't surprise her a bit. She thinks I should confront my mother, though, about throwing me out, maybe even sue her. But I said, "Sue her for what? For doing me a huge favor? Believe me, I knew even at the time that I was much better off with my grandma than with my mom." I would make some kind of peace with my mother if I could for Grandma's sake. We're a small family, and it hurts Grandma to have us not get along. My aunt died of cancer when I was just a little kid, so me and my mom and my mom's family are it. I think it would make Grandma happy for all of us to sit down to dinner together sometime.

I'd better go. Splash is determined to teach me, Louella, and Louella's kids to rollerblade, and we have plans to go to the park this afternoon and try it out. Splash does not expect me to do very well, but that's just because she doesn't know about my extensive experience with roller disco in the late Seventies. I suspect I'll be boogie-oogie-oogie-ing around the park in no time at all, with a Bee Gees tape in my walkman. I wonder who Louella's favorite Bee Gee was? All my friends liked Barry best but I liked Maurice despite his weak chin because I thought I was pretty sophisticated to know that it was pronounced "Morris."

Hope you're enjoying the spring weather as much as I am.

Love,

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