My Octopus

My Octopus

from Jacqueline
(written on Wednesday)

“The family, that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor in our innermost hearts never quite wish to.” Dodie Smith

Some weeks are ordinary weeks, when we amble or scramble through our days according to whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing. Then there are times of worry, concern, or joy and expectation, and some weeks you get a little of everything, and your family will loom large in all that happens. I’ve been thinking of family a lot lately, about that many-limbed creature Dodie Smith (yes, the 101 Dalmatians creator) wrote about in her play, “Dear Octopus.” I come from a large extended family, due mainly to my mother’s mother, who had ten children. My people are all over the world now, cousins here, there and everywhere. Cousin John is publisher of a newspaper in Australia, and about a year ago didn’t even know his own paper had carried a review of one of my books – won’t let him forget that in a hurry. But back to my Octopus.



My parents arrive from the UK today. This is a big deal, because fifteen months ago my mother had a minor stroke – minor, but big enough to cause a heap of problems. (And would you believe, she emailed me because she didn’t want to wake me in the middle of the night. I flicked on my email in the morning and received a message that read, “Have had minor stroke. Don’t worry, am being taken to the hospital. Don’t leave a message on the machine, because your father always manages to erase them.”) Anyway, having hardly ever even taken an aspirin in her life, she was prescribed a cocktail of statins, blood-thinners and other heart-related thingummys, and she took it as a personal affront to her well-being and reputation for good health. Much to the chagrin of our family, she has argued with doctors for the past year, flashing any old newspaper report with a story along the lines of, “Statins kill – new research stymies doctors.” Or “Warfarin – the truth you should know.” And she was not allowed to fly, which is why I have been to the UK five times since she had her stroke. But she did laugh when I said something about confiscating the broomstick. Finally the doctors gave her the go-ahead to travel, so she and Dad arrive today. And I am beside myself with worry, even though I’ve made sure they upgraded to wider seats to avoid cramping, and she’s promised to walk up and down the aisles every twenty-five minutes. It’s an eleven hour flight – she will have lost ten pounds by the time they arrive.



And my brother was supposed to pick them up from the airport, because I’m leaving the house at 4:30am to travel to Washington on Thursday morning for Malice Domestic (see you there, Patty – mine’s a G&T, and I’ll need it!). But we know what happens to best laid plans. My brother’s dog was bitten by a black widow spider yesterday, and John spent six hours with Quincy at the vet’s office, sitting on the floor and stroking his dog’s head, while they gave the poor pooch antibiotics and anti-toxins and put him on an IV. I saw them both last night, and am not sure who looked worse – John or Quincy. That poor German Shepherd brings new meaning to the word, “Sick as a dog.” So, I’ll be at LAX to pick up my parents, late, and then will take them over to my brother’s house. Yes, some tentacles are close – he lives just around the corner from me. I’m sure he thinks it’s way too neighborly for comfort.



And then there was the good news this week, the lovely news, that my cousin, Fritha - who has known such sadness in her life, especially when her Mum passed away about eleven years ago at the age of 41, just after Fritha went away to university – had given birth to a baby girl. Ottalie May weighed in at 7lb 2oz, and gave us all a bit to worry about when mother and baby had to remain in the hospital for what were described as “a few problems.” But they are home now, safe and well, and Fritha and her partner, Richard, are overjoyed with their lovely daughter. The photo proves my thesis that all newborns have more than a passing resemblance to Winston Churchill – but we all think Ottalie's utterly gorgeous.



So, that’s my family this week. My dear octopus. We may moan about our octopus at times, we wonder what the younger ones are up to, and about the more senior tentacles, how they are faring. We weather our storms, pray through our losses and celebrate our joys, which may be as simple as seeing a son at a ballgame, or as grand as a daughter married (or the other way around). We visit hospitals and graduations, we welcome newborns, boyfriends, fiancées and fiancés (not necessarily in that order), and we go on, always attached, even when we wish we weren’t. And remember it’s also true, that family doesn’t always mean you have the same blood running through your veins. My best-friend’s daughter, my God-daughter, is like my own. I’ve just booked my flight to go to her wedding, and even though I do not really suit the color green, she has asked me to wear green because all the family are going for green in honor of her husband to be, who will be wearing his green kilt when they are married in August and he becomes part of their family. Oh, the things you do for your octopus.



Have a lovely weekend. Talk to your Octopus. Tickle a tentacle now and then, and remember that, for better or worse, you are joined.