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known he would say brilliant things like, “Give it spin
    [sic]. Check out the menu. Drive to the hoop, man.”
    You say, “Sunny is not a) a car; b) an entree; or c) a basketball.”
    You storm out of the family room, leaving Ted puzzled but unafflicted.
    This has taught you, Ducky, a lesson.
    Asking advice is not going to help. The only thing that is going to help is dealing with it yourself.
    Tomorrow.
    Definitely tomorrow.
    Aug. 29
    The History of My Sunday, Part 1
    So Maggie’s okay.
    You are relieved that one thing in life is going better.
    Maggie said that on the way home from the bookstore, her father told them what he had already planned. (You might have known that people in charge of big things like movies would GET
    THINGS DONE. On the other hand, you can’t help but notice that Mr. Blume spent a lot of time and effort avoiding the whole situation — and leaving his kids to stew in it. Good going, Mr.
    Blume.)
    But you don’t say this to Maggie, brilliant Ducky that you are.
    Mr. Blume says he’s already talked to the Betty Ford Center, a place where people with drug and drinking problems go to get better. They are waiting for him to bring Mrs. Blume in. But first there’s going to be an “intervention.” He and two of Mrs. B’s best friends are coming over to confront Mrs. B “in a firm, caring way” about her drinking.
    Maggie and Zeke can opt out of this part.
    The scene at the Blume house is not nice in a big way. (You’re not there, of course, but Maggie’s told you about it.) Mrs. Blume is drunk. The house is trashed, although Pilar has been there cleaning up. Mrs. B doesn’t even seem to have noticed that her own two kids were missing.
    (Maggie had left a note for Pilar that, fortunately, survived Mrs. B’s rampage.)
    Even Mr. Blume looks taken aback.
    Maggie and Zeke head for the relative peace and quiet of their rooms as Mr. Blume tries to settle Mrs. Blume down.
    He succeeds.
    Things are quiet. Until the doorbell rings.
    And rings again.
    After awhile [sic], Maggie slips out onto the stair landing in time to hear Rachel, one of Mrs.
    Blume’s two friends, say from the library, “Why would I make this up? You ARE an alcoholic.”
    “You drink too. You were loaded at the New Year’s party.” Mrs. Blume’s voice is off the scale.
    Maggie feels Zeke sit down next to her.
    Rachel says, “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
    “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” Mrs. B spits back.
    Mr. Blume says something Maggie can’t quite catch.
    Her mother’s voice comes through loud and clear, though. She says,” I don’t need help! I’m fine. You know what your problem is? You’ve got too much time on your hands. Take up a hobby. Knitting. Go knit yourself a life.”
    Maggie is on her feet before she knows it. With Zeke right behind her she goes down the stairs and into the family room.
    “Mom, you’re a drunk!” Maggie shouts, bursting in.
    Mr. B holds up his hand as if to stop Maggie. She remembers what he said about an
    intervention: caring, firm.
    Not nasty. Not angry.
    Maggie reins herself in.
    “I love you, Mom. We all do. But you are killing yourself. Just like I was killing myself when I wasn’t eating. It’s a disease and you’re going to die if you don’t start fighting back.”
    “Don’t drink, Mama,” Zeke says. “Don’t die.”
    Mrs. B says, “I’m not sick. I feel fine.”
    Maggie just looks at her mother. Her eyes are filling with tears but she doesn’t turn away.
    “It’s not true!” Mrs. B shouts. “I can quit anytime I want. I just don’t want to.”
    Mrs. B’s other friend, Corrine, puts her hand on Mrs. B’s arm. “Listen to your children,” she says softly. “Listen to the people who love you most in the world.”
    Mrs. B falters. “It’s not true,” she says. And then she says, “I’m sorry.” She keeps apologizing.
    And promising she’ll do better.
    Mr. B says, “Yes, good. You’re going