July 20th, 1977-in which there are two phone calls and the cobwebs are swept away.

"Once upon a time, there were two little pigs who lived in a barn on snow, and they could go in where it rained, and when it was sunny they could break it all apart and put it together again.  They ate with snow spoons, on snow plates and snow bowls and they drank out of snow glasses and cups.  They ate porridge from a snow porridge tree and they had snow hamburgers on their snow plates and they weren't cold.  They were very comfortable and that's the end of the story...it's a very funny story and you  can laugh and cheer when it's all over"-Peter Lawson, Age 4 1/2 (still trying to sell the movie rights-PL)

Well, I played Dame Durden tonight, sweeping the cobwebs out of the sky.  Petey called to me, very much frightened, after he'd gone to bed.  He saw a shadow swinging back and forth, first a circle, then a line on the ceiling-at first I couldn't see it so I lay on his bed and looked up and saw a tiny cobweb swinging.  I got the broom and swept the ceiling and Petey went to sleep.  We spent most of the day sleeping, or sitting right in front of the fans playing cars.  I had two phone calls, one pleasant, one not.  John Sandquist called to say Stewart had called him, purporedly from Los Angeles where he is supposed with his brother.  He asked John if John had written to him, saying "I can't do anything until I get that letter"-so John offered to send him a copy to Los Angeles, but Stewart said no, he'd get it forwarded from London, and refused to give John his address, though he did make an appointment to see him a week from Friday.  Stewart seems to me like one of those postulated dark starsthat implode, or anti-matter.  He sucks things in, leaves everyone a little soiled by contact with him.  Just thinking about him, even tho I'm convinced he's not going to act (indeed, I'm sure wherever he is it isn't Los Angeles) can darken the day.  If only Pete had a loving father*...tonight he said "Pretend I'm a baby, and I just learned how to say 'I love Daddy'".  What do I do, tell him not say that?  He has so much love to give.  Pity Stewart's ruined his chances of every sharing any of it.    The second phone call was from Diane Sandoval to thank me for Rosanna's Communion picture, so she had a copy to send her Mom and Dad.  She'd seen Shirley Vendrall since we saw her at the Migrant Worker's School Fiesta.  She promised to come by and see us one of these days...tho with five children, it's not too easy to go anywhere.  She might bring Monica, Carmelita, and Paul someday when Rosanna and Yvonne are in school, but, as she says, "they get into everything".  It was good to talk to her.  They're already thinking of another baby.  She said, "I guess Armando and I are just old-fashioned", and they are, of course, very devout.  Pete talked to Yvonne and Paul.  Our old house on 2nd is gone; they're pouring concrete for the donut shop now.


Thoughts and Context:
*Specifically with regards to this passage, I should note that my father's absence from my life in these early years was mitigated by the fact I had so many positive male role models all around me.  My Grandfather, of course, was chief among these, but there were people like Joe Plaza, Dan Eiguren, Paul the taxi driver, John Sandquist, Jerry Bunker, and many more in our lives at that time...Later, there would be even more-Jack Ogilvie, John Kirby (who, as stated previously, I consider my "Dad" for all intents and purposes), Manuel Borge (briefly), and Grant Baugh (a mentor through my times in the insurance industry)...and the list goes on.  I should also acknowledge that, while I wouldn't think of it as a full redemption by any stretch of the imagination, my biological "dad" did make some attempts to reach out later in life (covering two trips to London, which I'm incredibly grateful for in terms of the experience) and was even somewhat conciliatory at my Mom's passing.  Time and distance and my adult perspective certainly don't excuse Stewart's poor behavior during this period, but there's no value in retaining whatever residual anger or frustration I might hold for the man.  I will say this, he was a hell of a story teller.  For those who've seen the movie "Big Fish"-directed by Tim Burton, Stewart was just that kind of story teller-always with an angle.  The only distinction is that the character of the father in that movie turns out to have been telling the truth the whole time.  Stewart, not so much.