Memories at home

The trip has had a lot of nostalgia, but before we left there were different memories coming back. Many of them settled around the Friday night before, when I went to a concert. I will try and write more about the concert tomorrow.

A friend recently said to me that history doesn't repeat, but it rhymes a lot. That feels pretty true.

On the way to the show I was remembering a night not long before our last trip, four years ago. I was joining up with some friends for dinner and then hopping across town for my volunteer orientation for Stumptown Comic Fest. Because of those things - which were good - I was not there when my family first picked up Maeve from PetSmart, via the Cat Adoption Team.

Passing by similar locations (and cramming a lot into a small amount of time) was part of what felt familiar, but also I remember how Mom worried about the new cat coming while we would be gone. Through a string of small but important coincidences, there is a kitten who needs a home and will be making it with us. She does not come until after we get back this time. However, the new cat from then, our Mavis, is the one who has been acting a little brattier in our absence (hard to tell with cats sometimes) and who rubbed against the phone when it was on speaker and she heard my voice.

Of course now Stumptown no longer has a convention, but I have since given Rose City Comic Con a chance, and it will do, though I am still not up to volunteering for them.

That also reminds me that at that Stumptown I found out that year's International Comic Arts Forum would be held in Portland, starting the day after we got back. I could go to that! And I did. I missed the first day, because I was tired and they lost my luggage so I did not initially have any clothes, but there were more days. The panels were interesting, and I picked up some free books, but the most wonderful thing was talking to other people about comics.

This year's ICAF is in Seattle. It isn't quite as close, and doesn't cut the time as close, but maybe if I am a good girl and come up with a new source of income, that can be my next getaway.

One of the memories was a hard one. Last Friday was my second time at the Doug Fir Lounge. The first time was to see Frank Iero. It was a really early show (the doors opened at 4:30), which I found strange but intriguing. That was the night Mom got lost.

It was my fault, and don't think I wasn't aware of it. She had moments of disorientation before, but she was still driving to familiar places. She dropped me off at El Monica, which should have been fine, but I had a weird feeling. As I kept calling to make sure she had made it home, she kept not answering.

Why hadn't I just taken the bus?

My family was looking for her. They didn't expect me to leave the concert, but I kept jumping in case that was the phone, and I was afraid I wouldn't hear. Mainly I was just afraid. I gave up after about three songs by the opening act.

At the top of the stairs I ran into Frank. He was very nice, but I was not really there. My mind was roaming places where my mother could have ended up. I remembered that at the lounge this time, and on the way to the bus stop and at the bus stop. I remember waiting for the bus and trying not to fall apart. That may have only been possible due to some jerk on his cell phone explaining to his girlfriend that he wasn't the one fighting; he was being perfectly reasonable. And I remember on the bus finding out that she was home, and being too sapped to feel much relief. Maybe that was just guilt.

We survived. It is the least triumphant of the stories. I still have a weird curse around seeing Frank Iero play, and Mom still has dementia. We don't let her drive at all now.

But somehow, we are still here and managing. It's the battle cry of those just getting by.

Still here.

http://www.internationalcomicartsforum.org/

http://catadoptionteam.org/

http://sporkful.blogspot.it/2015/07/band-review-homeless-gospel-choir.html