Then Again - Diane Keaton [45]
On the Other Side of the Same Coin
Mother made her big choice early. She married. I made mine late. I adopted. At fifty-four Dorothy was put out to pasture with thirty-two more years of living staring her in the face. At sixty-five there is no pasture, and I’m not lonely. With an all-consuming new occupation—parenthood—and an extended family, I’m busy. Eleven years older than Dorothy when she quietly penciled in her parade of panaceas, I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but I like it. I love it. It’s hard to imagine life without Dexter’s phone issues and Duke’s preadolescent poop jokes, which he insists on sharing as I drive him home from swim practice every day. We sing along to Katy Perry’s new song, “Firework.” We think it’s really funny when he hits my arm every time he spots a VW punch buggy. Dexter and Duke have changed my life. People say they’re lucky to have me. I don’t know about that. That’s not the real story. The real story is, I’m the lucky one. They’ve saved me, and I know what from: myself. Odd, isn’t it? My life today is as full as Mother’s was when she happily worked overtime raising a growing family in her mid-twenties.
In 2001 A.D. (After Duke), I began my first and only list. It’s not that I wanted to. It’s that I had to, and when I did, I knew what to call it: “To Do!” In the flurry of life I couldn’t afford to have anything, or anybody, overlooked. I couldn’t drop the ball. I didn’t have time to look for a way to feel better. I had “To Do” it.
To Do! November 2010
1. The California sign is slated to be finished on Tuesday. The question is, will it fit the brick wall of the Lloyd Wright house? The letters are 5 feet high! Did anybody speak to the neighbors about the trash cans? Who’s going to tell Stephanie B. the cabbage plant has to be removed? Let’s face it; it’s too English for a sustainable native California landscape. And those black plants. Oh my God, they look cruel within the context of the rest of the garden. I know, I know, yet another bad idea.
2. I’ve got to turn in the chapter on 1969 … as soon as possible.
3. Call Bill Robinson. I miss him, and Johnny, and little Baby Dylan. I don’t know how to keep close to them. Bill was a pivotal factor in the adoption of Dexter, and now that he and Johnny have adopted Dylan he’s gone. New York seems so far away. I’ve got to call him. Do you have any ideas?
4. When is the T Magazine article out?
5. How about hiring Dorrie to scout out Navajo pictorial blankets? She knows the dealers better than anyone.
6. I don’t know how I dropped the ball on Westmark School’s Get Ready for 9th Grade assembly. I have to go. Should I take the 405 or Mulholland? Anyway, it starts at 2 o’clock. We’ll discuss.
7. Stephanie, you’ve got to tell me the truth—how many flights do we have to take for the Unique Lives Lecture Series Tour? Who can I rehearse my speech to besides Jessica Kovacevic, who’s already been tortured one too many times? I’m starting to get nervous. Speaking of nervous, I don’t think I can keep trying to memorize my speech while jogging on the streets of Beverly Hills. The Starline Bus Tours unfailingly drive by while I’m in the middle of rehearsing the final section—you know, when I sing a bit of “Seems Like Old Times.” It’s awful. I feel like an idiot. Is this speech going to work? Be honest. There’s something