something is rotten in the state of Denmark

the best thing about family dysfunction is that it's so easy to diagnose. and all symptoms were on display saturday for l.i.t. grandpa's 91st birthday. l.i.t. grandpa is a dry drunk who got off the sauce in the early 60s. he had put his own father and brother in alcoholic asylums in the 40s only to find himself succumbing to the disease. he read one AA pamphlet and decided he was definitely an alcoholic--only not the kind who needed a silly program with a bunch of rules. he quit drinking on his own, but not easily. as he said himself: "if you had offered me Marilyn Monroe in one hand and a pack of Lucky Strikes and a bottle of bourbon in the other, I'd have passed up Marilyn in a minute."

his daughter, l.i.t. mom, barely touched the stuff most of her life. one margarita was enough to get her singing and dancing to the likes of bobby brown. "it's my .... PERRRRRROGATIVE!" she would growl. what a hoot. but about three years ago, after the l.i.t. kids had gone off to college, she found she really liked a cold corona after work. in fact, she liked them a lot. these days she likes between 6 and 12 of them a night. l.i.t. dad has taken to counting the recyclable and updating us kids, but he's tired of talking to her about it. "it's my prerogative," she basically told him. this time with a slur, not a growl.

it's been a long time since i've seen l.i.t. mom sober. grandpa's birthday was no exception. bottles magically flashed in and out of the refrigerator, and l.i.t. mom would disappear for an hour at a stretch. apparently her m.o. is to shut herself up in the windowless master bathroom, smoking, swilling and listening to right-wing radio. beer is hidden all over the house.

funny thing is, l.i.t. mom's behavior isn't the first sign that something is wrong. our actions are more telling. l.i.t. dad has suddenly taken renewed interest in things far outside the home: gyrocopters, karaoke machines, trips to alaska. everyone is suddenly more helpful, and more silent, in the kitchen. and acrid political debate hangs like a heavy smoke over the whole house. l.i.t. mom now speaks only in rants, and only about ward churchill. in fact, while there on saturday, i found a letter to the Fire Ward Churchill Committee donating $200 in the name of my parents "and our daughter, who attends the law school."

!!!!

my parents, who won't even give a pocketful of pennies to the salvation army bell-ringers, giving 2 bennies to fire a stupid professor with a bad pair of highlights? and with my name on it! it was almost enough to make me forget that my mom is at the gates of alcoholic insanity. and then i realized: it's the prime indicator that she is.