Mere moments later, at a different counter, ‘Bekah asked the lady to go above and beyond, and she did as ‘Bekah asked without even batting an eye.

Now, this may not seem remarkable to some of you, but it is not how I generally go through life.  In the same situation, I would be given any number of dismissive comments:

“Sorry, sir, I can’t help you”

“Rules are rules”

“That’s really not my job, sir”

“But I don’t have the combination to the safe!”

“If you persist in using that kind of language you will be ejected from the premises”

And countless other less-than-helpful responses.

How is it that Rebekah just glides through these transactions so effortlessly?  In the car after this twin killing, I decided to ask her.  This is what she said:

“Well, I been grifting for awhile now.  Worked most of the major cons – women’s clothing, jewelry, children’s clothing, even greenhouses.  I got plenty of experience telling people ‘Oh, you look stunning in that dress’ or ‘what, orchids? – they’re just about the easiest plant to take care of’, and I don’t know how many grandfolks I fleeced working with the Children’s Mercantile mob out of old town.”

I must say that I don’t find the answer convincing, however.  I have worked my share of retail jobs, and I don’t seem to have cultivated the same way with people.  I’m pretty sure that there is such a thing as raw natural charm, and that ‘Bekah possesses a double share of it.

Anyhow, the latest news here is that Rebek is down with a flu-like virus.  She couldn’t keep food down for a good chunk of yesterday, and she ran a pretty stiff temperature for much of the night.  In keeping with my established position, I will blame Phoebe (and possibly the little incubation-pods Rebekah teaches all day long).  Right now, Phoebe is maximum-pissed, due to the whole divorce/cessation-of-free-ride thing.  In her world, Merlyn must resemble his namesake, because he has all but vanished from Phoebedom at this point.  Abbey, too, is a great distance from the scene of the action, which is doubtless not the unadulterated blessing for her that it would be for a selfish fellow like me.  In short, they are both out of the line of fire.  Rebekah works with Phoebe.

Under normal circumstances, ‘Bekah finds this trying, as Phoebe is capable of demonstrating the ruthlessly selfish mindset and predatory cunning of a wolverine.  These days, however, the wolverine has been caught in the cruel steel jaws of a bear-trap.  It is nearly out of its mind with pain and fury.  Rebekah is sitting under the same tree.  The wolverine can reach her lap.

No wonder her immune system has quit under the truly staggering amounts of stress.

The Duck is plucky, however, and persisted in her quixotic quest to make people care about the various feathered vermin of the world.  She enticed readers back with snazzy photos and hit singles.  Still, the undeniable panache and verve of Equus Asinus repeatedly bore out their claim to superiority.

That is, until recently, when this bombshell was ferreted out of obscurity (the italics are part of an in-joke – move along, nothing to see here).  After seeing this, I cannot help but conclude that birds are (grumble) approximately as good as donkeys.

Anyway, the cracking and grinding of tectonic plates continues here, and I feel like I probably ought to share a little bit more of what is going on.  I’ll stick to what concerns ‘Bekah and I most closely – ‘Bekah has decided to give up teaching at Children’s House and return to the pursuit of higher education.  It was a very difficult decision for ‘Bekah, who has invested not only plenty of blood, sweat, and tears in the school, but also a great many of her hopes and dreams.  Unfortunately, the relationship between Rebekah and her mother has just become too complicated and, frankly, dysfunctional for them to continue working together.

One’s relationships with one’s parents are tangled and intricate webs, to be sure, and far be it from me to attempt any further analysis of or commentary on  the situation.  It wouldn’t help anyway.  It is so tempting to take a simplistic view of these sorts of conflicts, or play blame games, when the reality is so fraught with layers of meaning, idealization, and contradiction that the “truth” is probably not recoverable even by those most intimately involved.

For those of you not intimately involved, however, who don’t need the truth as much as a working explanation, you can get by with this brief summary – it’s pretty much all Phoebe’s fault, because she is a bad person.

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Part of our tradition is to select one book for each other.  This year, I picked out Sky Burial: An Epic Love Story of Tibet by Xinran for Rebekah, and she picked out Flaubert’s Parrot by Julian Barnes for me.  I know ‘Bekah couldn’t wait to tear into all the birding books she bought, and I am in the middle of The Bourne Supremacy, but we will probably get down to reading each other’s selections soon – after all, Rebekah’s past picks for me have included some terrific books, like Kevin O’Hara’s Last of the Donkey Pilgrims and The War for Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts by Louis De Bernieres.

For the last couple of years, the book store romp has been followed by a stop to pick up carryout from the nearby Hunan restaurant, which also happens to be my favorite restaurant in the whole wide world.  Then, our galleon laden with our new treasures, ‘Bekah and I set sail for home, done with another blissfully low-key Valentine’s Day.

I leave you with one thought:  Thank heaven for Rebekah, who graciously assumed my share of the morning duties so that I could snatch an extra half-hour of sleep today.  I only hope that my comrades have fared as well.

I want to write a post all about ‘Bekah today, but I don’t want it to be a saccharine lovey-dovey affair, so instead I’ll tell a story about one of those little mundane occurrences which normally only ‘Bekah and I get to see.

The other night when Rebekah came home, she was very tired from coaching her kids through a concert for their parents.  She decided to crawl right into bed, though it was only 7:30.  I hopped in as well, and chattered at her for a little while, but I could see she was trying to read, so I eventually got up to attend to some household business, figuring that Clem, who was busily chewing away at a bully stick in the vicinity of Rebekah’s feet, would keep her from getting lonely.

Going to the fridge, I noticed that we had some produce that had gone bad, so I took it out back and flung pieces of it at passing cyclists and pedestrians until it was all gone.  I was out there maybe ten minutes or so.  I went back in and noticed that the bedroom was dark, so I tiptoed down the hall to check on ‘Bekah.  “Are you goin’ to sleep, hon?” I asked just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of Clem’s chewing, which was continuing unabated.  “No,” came the prompt reply, “I just turned my lamp off because I thought the one on your side was turned on.  I was hoping you would come in soon and turn your light on so I can read a little more.”

So I did.