The Chronicles Of Jessica

Chandler Boutet, age 79, of Saco, Maine, passed away early this morning, less than three months after finding out that he had an advanced case of lung cancer. He is survived by his wife Lorraine Boutet. his daughters Barbara, Janice, Patricia and Kathleen, two great-grandchildren, Alanna and Alexandra, and four grandchildren: Tonya, Paul, Jill, and me.

My Pepere (a french nickname for grandfather) was just an all around great guy. He loved sailing, and golfing and Coors Lite and barbeques. Barbeques always remind me of him; his birthday was the fourth of July and the relatives usually gather somewhere on that day to engage in some marathon eating and talking - our family hobbies. When my mom was a little girl she thought for the longest time that the fireworks were in honor of Pep's birthday, because that's what he'd told her. (It's funny the things that stick with you; my father once told me that there were no adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons because they were all on vacation together.)

Pepere had a great sense of humor - dry and dirty. He was a mechanic by trade for many years, so he could fix any car or most anything else that was broken. If me and Tonya didn't get enough of the legit fireworks on his birthday, he could make some fantastic illegal explosions with acetylene gas from the garage. He could also make some crazy good popcorn with one of those old-fashioned oil poppers and massive amounts of salt and butter. On Christmas Eve he used to take me and Tonya all bundled up in our pajamas and parkas to look at the firehouse decorated with lights for the holidays.

He was the life of any party and if there is a heaven I know he is surely there, probably tending the bar or organizing limbo matches for the other residents. He was a wonderful father and husband, and a loving Pepere. I'll miss him.

The day after I got back from the funeral, I was on my way to work at the restaurant when I observed that there was a guy down at the end of the crowded subway car smoking crack.

I found this surprising on several levels. It occurred to me that I've been on the planet thirty years now, without ever seeing anyone smoke crack (and we threw some wild parties back in the day, right Big T? Tommy? Huh! WHOO HOO!) and here I was, getting a contact high on the A train. Frankly you just don't expect to see someone smoking crack on your work commute. I was half tempted to go right up to him.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm sorry to bother you..."

"No problem, young lady! What can I do you for?"

"Well, I was sitting over there and, well it's just that I couldn't help noticing how much you seem to be enjoying your...crack, is it?"

"You guessed it! Let me tell you, I am a FAN of crack. You could practically call me an addict!"

"Huh. Well, I'll let you get back to it, then."

"Do you care for any?"

"Oh, thanks, but no. I'm, um, a vegan?"

(I've no idea what being a vegan would really have to do with abstaining from psychotropic substances but it's my fantasy conversation, and besides, the guy is ON CRACK. He's probably not in any state of mind to be dissecting the finer points of the exchange, don't you think?)

Sigh.

I guess I can at least feel okay about not being as down and out as this guy. I realize that there are several bill collectors who're more than a little peevish with me these days, but at least I haven't turned to the pipe, yo. Not only that but I've bathed every day this week AND worn shoes, too.

Of course the reality is, that particular New Yorker would appear to have fallen completely through the cracks. (I so did not intend that pun, but - heh!) Not unlike the massive numbers of poor and indigent Americans disenfranchised in the Gulf Coast by the hurricane. I know that as long as societies exist that there will be problems with those societies, but it's my contention that if we could've (and would've) done a lot better for those poor people if someone other than Bush and his AssHat cronies at the helm. What the hell does that guy know about poverty? And really, what the hell does he care? God, I hate that dude. (If I was a kid, no way would I share my Slip and Slide with him. I might let him hold the hose for me and my friends but that is IT.)

One weird thing is that of the several people I related this story to, at least 3 of them, upon hearing the story remarked, "What time was this?" WTF? It was ten thirty in the morning, but what has that got to do with anything? Would such a flagrant disregard for the policies of the metropolitan transit authority be more acceptable if it was after noon? I really don't know. I just hope they weren't asking because they were hoping to catch up to him and join in. I have enough to worry about right now without trying to negotiate a group rate for a rehab.