You would think I can't complain about being busy any more than I already have... yeah. I will try to contain myself when conversing, but suffice to say that work + preparing to travel for work + prepping for construction loan + car repair + normal bills and stuff to take care of... = Overwhelmed (more than usual) Starr. Sigh.
It seems worse than usual, since my co-conspirator is out of the country and not immediately available for help or venting.
But he did teach me something during our brief IM today: pierogies are Russian dumplings. He had some filled (variously) with meat, cabbage, mushrooms, apricots, and cherries. (He missed out on the salmon, apparently not enough to go around.) He had an apparently amazing boat trip around St. Petersburg today (well tonight, for him) from 10pm to 2am--gotta love having all that day light during White Nights. He said he took many photos (yay!) and there was apparently much yelling while under bridges. Huh. Guess that's a story I'll just have to hear when he gets back.
6.23.2008
6.22.2008
Solo Weekend
So, Alex is now in St. Petersburg; he informs me that as he is nine hours ahead of us, he'll shortly look up the winning lotto numbers and give them to me. Heh.
In any case, I'm off to ALA in Anaheim early Thursday am, and he's back in Texas the day afterward... I'll be back late the following Monday. We do get around these days.
Yesterday, my department enjoyed a lovely party at Clarice's house. Four of us ladies actually stayed in the pool until 10pm. 'Twas quite nice; I haven't been night-swimming in quite a while, and I've sorely missed Clarice since her retirement a few weeks ago. I stayed to chat with the last stragglers until 11pm, and was back in McKinney at midnight, then groggily woken up at 6:30 by Alex's call to say he was at his layover in London. Then it was off to church with pals Amy and Jaime, who also treated me to a scrumptious lunch of breakfast tacos, and rushed home for my first IM-session with Alex, once he finally got to his St. Petersburg hotel. We talked about Russian traffic and vessel sinks, primarily. (Ah, the joys of house-building.)
I believe the only things on my weekend list that actually got accomplished were purchasing a vanity for the new house's downstairs guest bath, and looking at a lot of vessel sinks and faucets. Here it is nearly 10pm and I haven't ripped a single CD, or cleaned my desk, or packed for California, or written any in my novel. Ah, well.
I have discovered this, however: Vader and stormtroopers dancing to Thriller. Which pretty much glows with Pure Awesome, considering it combines two of my greatest delights. Actually, make that three--I was going to say Star Wars and Thriller, but also the concept of a Dance-Off itself. Yep, Pretty Stinkin' Awesome.
In any case, I'm off to ALA in Anaheim early Thursday am, and he's back in Texas the day afterward... I'll be back late the following Monday. We do get around these days.
Yesterday, my department enjoyed a lovely party at Clarice's house. Four of us ladies actually stayed in the pool until 10pm. 'Twas quite nice; I haven't been night-swimming in quite a while, and I've sorely missed Clarice since her retirement a few weeks ago. I stayed to chat with the last stragglers until 11pm, and was back in McKinney at midnight, then groggily woken up at 6:30 by Alex's call to say he was at his layover in London. Then it was off to church with pals Amy and Jaime, who also treated me to a scrumptious lunch of breakfast tacos, and rushed home for my first IM-session with Alex, once he finally got to his St. Petersburg hotel. We talked about Russian traffic and vessel sinks, primarily. (Ah, the joys of house-building.)
I believe the only things on my weekend list that actually got accomplished were purchasing a vanity for the new house's downstairs guest bath, and looking at a lot of vessel sinks and faucets. Here it is nearly 10pm and I haven't ripped a single CD, or cleaned my desk, or packed for California, or written any in my novel. Ah, well.
I have discovered this, however: Vader and stormtroopers dancing to Thriller. Which pretty much glows with Pure Awesome, considering it combines two of my greatest delights. Actually, make that three--I was going to say Star Wars and Thriller, but also the concept of a Dance-Off itself. Yep, Pretty Stinkin' Awesome.
6.18.2008
Stuff Happens
...So much of it, in fact, that I haven't been around here much, have I?
Well, here's the update:
Well, here's the update:
- Alex leaves Saturday to spend a week in St. Petersburg
- I'll be at ALA in Anaheim June 26th - 30th
- so much more travel planned that it makes me tired/excited to think about
- been very social lately: dinner with Greg & Cari and then Amy & Jaime, art museum with my parents, day with Carolyn, and an afternoon of books and ice cream with Jayne & progeny
- visited bookstores 5 times in the past 2.5 weeks (it's an addiction)
- close to finalizing our houseplans (probably won't break ground until August--arg!)
- still reading a lot of "fun" books
- managing to write in my novel--major breakthrough last week
- still lack the ability to tan
6.09.2008
More of the San Antone Weekend
Check out this bizarre patent.
Other fun stuff we did this weekend (that I left out of my previous post):
Other fun stuff we did this weekend (that I left out of my previous post):
- Sunday afternoon, I swam for a gloriously peaceful forty-five minutes while Alex read one of his business books (poolside). Swimming underwater is one of the most tranquil activities to me, and something I rarely get to do. It's somewhat wrecked when I have to share the pool with other people, particularly chatty ones. Thus, sharing silent pool-time with Alex was blissful.
- Completely neglected to eat sweets for my Dad's birthday. He did manage to have some of the cheesecake Mom bought, but Alex and I were both so full and sooooo sleepy from our awesome TexMex meal that we fell asleep on the couch. Yes, sleep instead of cheesecake--it was a tough decision, and my brain won over my stomach (pretty rare occurrence, that).
- Again, I have to mention the early-morning chats my with parents. Saturday's morning was in the art studio, sans Alex, but Sunday was our more-traditional on the porch, with Alex. We all looked over the book purchases we'd made the night before and chatted about them--heavenly. Family + coffee + books + trees/country = bliss.
- On the five-hour drive back, Alex and I chatted about tons of stuff, as is our usual during that trek. We almost always bring music or audiobooks (this time we had a learning-Russian CD), but we rarely use them--we're having too much fun chatting together! That is just one of the hugest blessings of my life, that after more than seven years of marriage, Alex has even more become my best friend, so much so that we can't stop conversing through five hours of monotonous driving. This time, we discussed the new house plans, my book's plot, politics, work, travel, future dreams, finances... yeah, and I forget what else.
- I took a bunch of photos, primarily at the McNay Art Museum... but due to this week's schedule, I think it might be awhile before I get them up on Flickr.
Am I the Only Goofy One...
...or when composing emails, do you also reflexively smile when you add an emoticon? I don't know if I'm smiling "back" at the little digital face, or if my subconscious believes that by physically reinforcing the expression, my tone will be more adequately conveyed in the email.
It's also possible that I'm just an insufferably cheerful person.
So, this weekend Alex and I jetted down to San Antone for my dad's birthday--his 58th, which just adds to my whole reinterpretation of age, as he looks and acts, at nearly 60, nothing like what I thought of that age as a kid. I think he's more of what I thought 40 was--then again, when you're 12, it's hard to believe the world will still exist when you're 30. Anyway.
We had a great time--Alex made the remark, echoing what I've often thought, that my parents' house is an amazing place where you can truly relax. We tried to assess the reasons why, when we got back. We both think that a lot of it has to do with all the trees around their house--which bodes well for our future home, as the lot has tons of big, old trees. But there's also the birdsong (also related to trees), the "nearness" of the outdoors due to their abundant garden spots and back deck, and the sheer quiet. Alex and I lived in a similarly country-ish area at our old house, but there was the lack of trees (and thus birdsong), and because of the placement of our electronics, the house was always loud, even if you didn't consciously notice it. Whenever the power would go out, we'd be reminded of how loud the house usually was--the constant barrage of white noise from UPS's and computers and theater equipment and fans and the fridge.
So after waking up in that relaxing place--and enjoying my traditional cup-of-coffee-with-the-parents while Alex caught another half hour or so of sleep (this usually occurs on the back deck, but due to rain this time was moved to my mom's art studio, which is in a small red shed near the house), we took off for San Antone itself. We enjoyed the re-opening weekend festivities at the McNay Art Museum, a small but wonderful jewel of a place that reminds me of the Kimbell in Fort Worth (only with gorgeous Spanish colonial architecture instead of gorgeous modern architecture). It has a similarly comfortable and human-scaled approach to art display, with one of the most beautiful inner courtyards I've ever seen. We were ferried to and from the museum in a school bus in which the bus driver decided to dramatically illustrate that the shocks were not made to hold a load of adults, much to our discomfort (and amusement).
Then we headed off to enjoy a Jazz and Arts Festival at Crockett Park... but were perplexed to find it nearly empty, few booths (with the exception of the excellent Starbucks booth that twice provided us with free caffeine), and most befuddling, no music at all. Most people, performers, and vendors had apparently been frightened off by some earlier drizzles. We pronounced it neither jazzy nor festive, and instead spent awhile browsing through Half-Price Books, a dangerous activity for four people addicted to print. This was the third bookstore Alex and I had been to in a week and a half, and we brought home our fifth (at least) sack of books. I think we're a bit flustered by all our books being packed in boxes, and desperately trying to fill that hole--and since we plan on using movers for our next move, we don't have the thought of hauling heavy boxes to deter us.
Then we enjoyed a yummy (if loud) dinner at Tomatilla's, and headed back to my parent's casa rather late. A good time was had by all.
I'm now reading a ton of material in preparation for an all-day meeting tomorrow. Alex is off to Vegas (yes, again!) tomorrow through Friday, my mom is in town Wednesday through Saturday, my pal Jayne will be here over the weekend and a tad longer, and we have plans for yardwork and socializing over the weekend. Ah yes, and there are still preparations to be made for Alex leaving for Russia the following weekend.
It's a busy life, but at least it's an interesting one.
It's also possible that I'm just an insufferably cheerful person.
So, this weekend Alex and I jetted down to San Antone for my dad's birthday--his 58th, which just adds to my whole reinterpretation of age, as he looks and acts, at nearly 60, nothing like what I thought of that age as a kid. I think he's more of what I thought 40 was--then again, when you're 12, it's hard to believe the world will still exist when you're 30. Anyway.
We had a great time--Alex made the remark, echoing what I've often thought, that my parents' house is an amazing place where you can truly relax. We tried to assess the reasons why, when we got back. We both think that a lot of it has to do with all the trees around their house--which bodes well for our future home, as the lot has tons of big, old trees. But there's also the birdsong (also related to trees), the "nearness" of the outdoors due to their abundant garden spots and back deck, and the sheer quiet. Alex and I lived in a similarly country-ish area at our old house, but there was the lack of trees (and thus birdsong), and because of the placement of our electronics, the house was always loud, even if you didn't consciously notice it. Whenever the power would go out, we'd be reminded of how loud the house usually was--the constant barrage of white noise from UPS's and computers and theater equipment and fans and the fridge.
So after waking up in that relaxing place--and enjoying my traditional cup-of-coffee-with-the-parents while Alex caught another half hour or so of sleep (this usually occurs on the back deck, but due to rain this time was moved to my mom's art studio, which is in a small red shed near the house), we took off for San Antone itself. We enjoyed the re-opening weekend festivities at the McNay Art Museum, a small but wonderful jewel of a place that reminds me of the Kimbell in Fort Worth (only with gorgeous Spanish colonial architecture instead of gorgeous modern architecture). It has a similarly comfortable and human-scaled approach to art display, with one of the most beautiful inner courtyards I've ever seen. We were ferried to and from the museum in a school bus in which the bus driver decided to dramatically illustrate that the shocks were not made to hold a load of adults, much to our discomfort (and amusement).
Then we headed off to enjoy a Jazz and Arts Festival at Crockett Park... but were perplexed to find it nearly empty, few booths (with the exception of the excellent Starbucks booth that twice provided us with free caffeine), and most befuddling, no music at all. Most people, performers, and vendors had apparently been frightened off by some earlier drizzles. We pronounced it neither jazzy nor festive, and instead spent awhile browsing through Half-Price Books, a dangerous activity for four people addicted to print. This was the third bookstore Alex and I had been to in a week and a half, and we brought home our fifth (at least) sack of books. I think we're a bit flustered by all our books being packed in boxes, and desperately trying to fill that hole--and since we plan on using movers for our next move, we don't have the thought of hauling heavy boxes to deter us.
Then we enjoyed a yummy (if loud) dinner at Tomatilla's, and headed back to my parent's casa rather late. A good time was had by all.
I'm now reading a ton of material in preparation for an all-day meeting tomorrow. Alex is off to Vegas (yes, again!) tomorrow through Friday, my mom is in town Wednesday through Saturday, my pal Jayne will be here over the weekend and a tad longer, and we have plans for yardwork and socializing over the weekend. Ah yes, and there are still preparations to be made for Alex leaving for Russia the following weekend.
It's a busy life, but at least it's an interesting one.
6.04.2008
Just To Say...
I have seen
the Indiana Jones movie
that was in
the box office
and which
you were probably
intending
as a 1950's B-movie spoof.
Forgive me
the effects were so shiny
too CGI
and too much.
-- Starr Hoffman (with apologies to William Carlos Williams)
(Although I have to add an amended last stanza,
addressed to my fellow Indy fans...)Forgive meThe original poem is here:
it was delicious
so appropriately corny
and so fun.
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/274.html
The idea for this spoof came from This American Life:
http://www.thislife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?sched=1239
And to my cousin Victoria:
hope you enjoyed my crack at poetry spoofing.
5.27.2008
More Letters to Cherie
It makes me angry, now, to watch Battlestar Galactica. One of the main characters, President Laura Roslin, has cancer, and it hurts me and makes me angry all at once, that she looks nothing like a cancer patient. Oh, they give her a skincap once in awhile to show her bald, and her wig is sufficiently un-shiny to look like a wig rather than natural hair, but other than that, she just looks tired all the time. Like, mother-of-three-children tired, not fighting-for-her-life tired. They tried a little harder with a cameo role of a character that died of cancer--but they but such odd, harsh makeup on her that she just looked dirty, like she'd been playing in mudpies. She was still fleshy, whole, untouched by disease--just dirty.
It makes me think of your graveside service, when I see Laura Roslin. It reminds me that standing next to your coffin was probably the hardest thing I have had to do in my entire life. I thought it would be difficult, beforehand--I had no idea.
It was all I could do, hanging physically on to Jayne for dear life and biting my lip, to keep from screaming and throwing myself forward. If it had been an open-casket service, I don't think I would have made it.
I kept looking at that coffin and picturing your disease-wasted body lying there. And I think it was painful on two levels. I wanted to throw myself onto your body, to touch your body one last time, to see your golden eyelashes and your freckles--it was some deep visceral need that I didn't anticipate or understand. And on another level, I couldn't stand to even imagine your wasted body there, so unlike the body I used to know, before it was twisted by cancer and treatments and prescription drugs. I know in either case, I know, that that body is not you, was never you, even before that disease captured you. I know that your "you-ness," your soul, is long gone and destined for a better locale. But that didn't make it any easier.
The last time I saw you, barely able to lift your legs onto the recliner footrest, your legs were mostly bone, kneecaps knobily protruding from what had once been vibrant, muscular legs, capable of back-handsprings and running after two energetic kids. Your arms were so thin that it's painful to even think of it, and your face was swollen from the steroids--you wryly compared it to a chipmunk's. You made us all laugh at your comments about your complete lack of any butt, the fact that you could still somehow gain weight in your face and your stomach. But in the end, it was so hard to see you look so alien, to wonder where that body I had known had gone. To see my strong, vibrant friend so frail.
So I see these characters on TV shows, in movies--they all have cancer now. It seems everwhere I turn, there's a plot where someone dies. I'm sure everyone feels this way when they lose someone. But still, it makes me so angry. I want them to take the President Laura Roslin on Battlestar Galatica, and make her face look pinched and drawn--or swollen by drugs. I want to see her arms look thin and wasted, her legs look so frail as to nearly be incabable of supporting her body. It makes me resent her, that her acting expects me, the audience, to be sympathetic toward her plight, to fear for her health and feel sorrow for her pain. I simply don't believe it. She doesn't look sick, or exhausted. She doesn't have cancer, and I know it. My suspension of disbelief is no longer willing.
I cry a lot more now, at anything. Part of it is that every plot line is related to death, or cancer, often both. Part of it is that emotion seems always to be bubbling just beneath the surface--good ones, bad ones, all kinds. Except for those days when I'm too numb to feel anything. On those days, I wonder if I'm dispassionate, or happy you're no longer in pain, or too busy to feel anything, or forgetting you, or if I'm simply over your death. But I'm not--it's just another wave of numb, to be followed by another wave of sorrow. In and out, the tides flow.
I feel like no one who's not in this sorrow with me can understand. I need to talk about you, think about you, look at your pictures and--even more so--your handwriting. When I look at your handwriting, you seem so alive. Perhaps everyone feels this way, or perhaps it's just that in high school and college, we wrote so much together--stories, yes, but also notes in class and goofing around. We didn't write notes and then hand them to each other, we wrote entire conversations, sometimes talking at the same time, sometimes simply silently communicating through words. Your handwriting is, to me, like your voice--therefore reading it isn't like watching some static photograph of you. It is you, almost audibly speaking to me, in the present.
Your photo is on my bedside table, on my desk at work, and I've been carrying your senior picture with me in my backpack for weeks. I feel like anyone who doesn't understand will see it as some bizarre shrine, some evidence that I don't believe you're in Heaven, or that I'm obsessed. I think it's just my way of reaching out for your presence, not to hold you on earth, but to know that my (I keep using the word "vibrant," what's another word for this, for you?) hilarious creative friend is still alive. Not here on earth, but alive in a far more real way.
Everything I just wrote was about my own selfish sorrow--I certainly feel a lot of that, but it's tempered by my knowledge that for you, this is better. You are happier, you are without pain, you are waiting for us. But I also hurt far more for your family, particuarly for your mom and your sister. I cannot fathom what they must feel, knowing that their sorrow must be so much deeper than my own. It makes me unspeakably sad, and it strengthens my resolve in the promise I made you. And I pray for them, oh I haven't prayed this much in years. When I hurt for them, I pray.
And I remember what you told Mom, at Sasha's funeral, that it wasn't sad, that this was just the beginning for her. That it wasn't a waste of her young life, but that she got to go on to the real life that much sooner. And I know you were right, that you are right. Sometimes I can nearly see your wry smile as you shake your head about all the fuss we're making. But it's so amazingly hard, being left behind. I cannot believe it, it amazes me constantly how hard it is. I didn't see you every week, every day. I lived far away, I hadn't lived in the same room as you for twelve years. And still, it is this hard.
I've been talking a lot with a friend at work, who lost her younger brother in a car accident three months ago. I cannot believe, at times, that she is able to keep going. She didn't get a last chance to say goodbye like I did, she had no idea that this was coming, that he would be lost in an instant in a car crash. I know it's incredibly difficult for her, every single day--and I'm thankful that she talks to me about it, that we each have someone who understands a bit of this experience.
I started reading "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion, about the year after her husband suddenly died of a heart attack. I'd been wanting to read it for over a year--and now it's exactly what I wanted. I would have thought the last thing I'd want is to read a book about grief--but that's what I want, to hear someone else say "this is how it is" and "this is okay" and "you might later expect this." It makes me cling to Alex like he's a life preserver, or like he might suddenly vanish. It makes me almost want to have kids and screw that I'm not ready for that or wanting them at this moment--but just in case, just in case. To quote "The Time Traveler's Wife," when Claire talks about wanting a child with her husband, Henry:
"...I wanted Henry to be in this child, so that when he was gone he wouldn’t be entirely gone, there would be a bit of him with me…insurance, in case of fire, flood, act of God."
I know it's irrational, and we'll wait for kids at the right time, if and when it comes. And I know that ultimately Alex's safety--and mine, and everyone else's--is up to God. But right now I feel like I'm clutching desperately at everyone, to keep them close.
And in the end, if that makes me reach out to my friends more often, treasure each moment with them more dearly, then I think that would make you happy. So I'll wipe my eyes--yet again--and I'll do just that.
It makes me think of your graveside service, when I see Laura Roslin. It reminds me that standing next to your coffin was probably the hardest thing I have had to do in my entire life. I thought it would be difficult, beforehand--I had no idea.
It was all I could do, hanging physically on to Jayne for dear life and biting my lip, to keep from screaming and throwing myself forward. If it had been an open-casket service, I don't think I would have made it.
I kept looking at that coffin and picturing your disease-wasted body lying there. And I think it was painful on two levels. I wanted to throw myself onto your body, to touch your body one last time, to see your golden eyelashes and your freckles--it was some deep visceral need that I didn't anticipate or understand. And on another level, I couldn't stand to even imagine your wasted body there, so unlike the body I used to know, before it was twisted by cancer and treatments and prescription drugs. I know in either case, I know, that that body is not you, was never you, even before that disease captured you. I know that your "you-ness," your soul, is long gone and destined for a better locale. But that didn't make it any easier.
The last time I saw you, barely able to lift your legs onto the recliner footrest, your legs were mostly bone, kneecaps knobily protruding from what had once been vibrant, muscular legs, capable of back-handsprings and running after two energetic kids. Your arms were so thin that it's painful to even think of it, and your face was swollen from the steroids--you wryly compared it to a chipmunk's. You made us all laugh at your comments about your complete lack of any butt, the fact that you could still somehow gain weight in your face and your stomach. But in the end, it was so hard to see you look so alien, to wonder where that body I had known had gone. To see my strong, vibrant friend so frail.
So I see these characters on TV shows, in movies--they all have cancer now. It seems everwhere I turn, there's a plot where someone dies. I'm sure everyone feels this way when they lose someone. But still, it makes me so angry. I want them to take the President Laura Roslin on Battlestar Galatica, and make her face look pinched and drawn--or swollen by drugs. I want to see her arms look thin and wasted, her legs look so frail as to nearly be incabable of supporting her body. It makes me resent her, that her acting expects me, the audience, to be sympathetic toward her plight, to fear for her health and feel sorrow for her pain. I simply don't believe it. She doesn't look sick, or exhausted. She doesn't have cancer, and I know it. My suspension of disbelief is no longer willing.
I cry a lot more now, at anything. Part of it is that every plot line is related to death, or cancer, often both. Part of it is that emotion seems always to be bubbling just beneath the surface--good ones, bad ones, all kinds. Except for those days when I'm too numb to feel anything. On those days, I wonder if I'm dispassionate, or happy you're no longer in pain, or too busy to feel anything, or forgetting you, or if I'm simply over your death. But I'm not--it's just another wave of numb, to be followed by another wave of sorrow. In and out, the tides flow.
I feel like no one who's not in this sorrow with me can understand. I need to talk about you, think about you, look at your pictures and--even more so--your handwriting. When I look at your handwriting, you seem so alive. Perhaps everyone feels this way, or perhaps it's just that in high school and college, we wrote so much together--stories, yes, but also notes in class and goofing around. We didn't write notes and then hand them to each other, we wrote entire conversations, sometimes talking at the same time, sometimes simply silently communicating through words. Your handwriting is, to me, like your voice--therefore reading it isn't like watching some static photograph of you. It is you, almost audibly speaking to me, in the present.
Your photo is on my bedside table, on my desk at work, and I've been carrying your senior picture with me in my backpack for weeks. I feel like anyone who doesn't understand will see it as some bizarre shrine, some evidence that I don't believe you're in Heaven, or that I'm obsessed. I think it's just my way of reaching out for your presence, not to hold you on earth, but to know that my (I keep using the word "vibrant," what's another word for this, for you?) hilarious creative friend is still alive. Not here on earth, but alive in a far more real way.
Everything I just wrote was about my own selfish sorrow--I certainly feel a lot of that, but it's tempered by my knowledge that for you, this is better. You are happier, you are without pain, you are waiting for us. But I also hurt far more for your family, particuarly for your mom and your sister. I cannot fathom what they must feel, knowing that their sorrow must be so much deeper than my own. It makes me unspeakably sad, and it strengthens my resolve in the promise I made you. And I pray for them, oh I haven't prayed this much in years. When I hurt for them, I pray.
And I remember what you told Mom, at Sasha's funeral, that it wasn't sad, that this was just the beginning for her. That it wasn't a waste of her young life, but that she got to go on to the real life that much sooner. And I know you were right, that you are right. Sometimes I can nearly see your wry smile as you shake your head about all the fuss we're making. But it's so amazingly hard, being left behind. I cannot believe it, it amazes me constantly how hard it is. I didn't see you every week, every day. I lived far away, I hadn't lived in the same room as you for twelve years. And still, it is this hard.
I've been talking a lot with a friend at work, who lost her younger brother in a car accident three months ago. I cannot believe, at times, that she is able to keep going. She didn't get a last chance to say goodbye like I did, she had no idea that this was coming, that he would be lost in an instant in a car crash. I know it's incredibly difficult for her, every single day--and I'm thankful that she talks to me about it, that we each have someone who understands a bit of this experience.
I started reading "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion, about the year after her husband suddenly died of a heart attack. I'd been wanting to read it for over a year--and now it's exactly what I wanted. I would have thought the last thing I'd want is to read a book about grief--but that's what I want, to hear someone else say "this is how it is" and "this is okay" and "you might later expect this." It makes me cling to Alex like he's a life preserver, or like he might suddenly vanish. It makes me almost want to have kids and screw that I'm not ready for that or wanting them at this moment--but just in case, just in case. To quote "The Time Traveler's Wife," when Claire talks about wanting a child with her husband, Henry:
"...I wanted Henry to be in this child, so that when he was gone he wouldn’t be entirely gone, there would be a bit of him with me…insurance, in case of fire, flood, act of God."
I know it's irrational, and we'll wait for kids at the right time, if and when it comes. And I know that ultimately Alex's safety--and mine, and everyone else's--is up to God. But right now I feel like I'm clutching desperately at everyone, to keep them close.
And in the end, if that makes me reach out to my friends more often, treasure each moment with them more dearly, then I think that would make you happy. So I'll wipe my eyes--yet again--and I'll do just that.
5.19.2008
Weekend-ish Weekend
Well Saturday was all-out weekend-y, but since Sunday I had to write a conference paper, I'll just call it weekend-ish as a whole.
Friday night, we saw Iron Man, which was just about as fantastic as the trailer made it look, which made me extremely happy--but also frustrated, since I immediately wanted to see it again, and it no doubt won't see a blu-ray release until Christmas. Arg! But dude--yeah, I so called that Robert Downey Jr. was genius casting. Favreau, I thought if anyone could do it, you could--and you not only did it, you threw yourself in there as the chauffer. And had more than one line! I'm impressed.
Of course, we all know what movie is coming out this weekend, the thing of speculation for years, anticipated for nearly two decades--Indiana Jones. I've been heartened by the trailers--but worried that the whole "alien" plot thing isn't in the trailers at all. Yeah, that worries me. And the early buzz... I try to ignore it, but I guess time will tell. I hope to actually see it this week/weekend, despite the fact that we just saw Iron Man and have yet to see Speed Racer or Prince Caspian. But dude--it's Indy.
In other news, one of my fellow geek-brarians let me know of this extreme awesomeness: Joss Whedon is almost done shooting a 40-minute musical about supervillians that stars NPH (Neil Patrick Harris, for those of you not on the down-low) and Nathan Fillion (of Firefly, for those of you not--well, let's face it, for those sad, sad people who haven't seen Firefly yet). It's called Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.
Ahem: did you hear me? Whedon. NPH. Fillion. Musical. Supervillians.
Ah-ha, I thought I'd hear your scream of extreme awesomeness. Yes, indeed--and it's supposed to be released online first, later to DVD (and I can cross my fingers for blue-ray).
Erm, yeah, back to my weekend... Anywho, Saturday we met with our architect (yay!), had lunch at Freebirds (yay!), went to the Frisco mall and bought some clothes (I guess I'll just stop saying "yay" now before it gets old), had yummy tasty food at Cheesecake Factory, had a nap, I wrote in my novel (finally! returning to creative writing summers), and then watched some more of the new American Gladiators show--yeah, that's what I said. Cheesy guilty pleasure, indeed, with a little nostalgia thrown in.
Sunday, I had to work on a paper for IFLA (which is kind of a "yay" but also a groan for actually doing the work), but we did FINALLY break out the Mario Kart Wii. Dude--the wheel is a vast improvement, particularly for the kind of gamers, like me, who always threw their traditional controllers around anyway. I actually don't completely suck at this game--in fact, I got first place in most of the races I tried yesterday, which is pretty crazy stuff. I was so bad at Mario Kart DoubleDash for the GameCube that after the first week, I never drove my own cart, but was always Alex's partner in charge of throwing stuff at the other carts. I'm glad that the peripheral for the game is intuitive enough that I can finally drive my own cart. And the retro tracks are pretty fun--one of them is completely boring, but most are great, and I just love the idea in general. Next task: type in Bryce's Wii and Mario Kart numbers, so we can meet for online battles--woohoo!
We watched Enchanted in the evening, and it was truly awesome. I'm sure as a normal romantic comedy it was so-so, but for a Disney freak, it was awwwwesome, catching all the little references and watching Amy Adams do an amazing job of actually moving like a Disney princess in real life (which boggles my mind). And James Marsden was hilarious. And better yet was watching the credits and seeing James Baxter, my favorite animator of all time because he animated Belle, listed as animation supervisor. Dude!!! Go, Baxter! And who did he supervise? None other than Andres Deja (who animated Gaston). (I think Glen Keane, who animated the Beast, is busy working on Rapunzel, which I am so so excited about.) AND the great Alan Menken was responsible for score and song, which of course explains why both were awesome and hilarious.
I'm wearing the black-funeral-jeans again today--I keep wearing them and washing them and wearing them. Somehow it just comforts me to wear them, although I would have expected that I'd never want to wear clothes I bought for a funeral again. I think it's at least in part because it was Cherie's idea to get them in the first place, and having them on makes me think of her, in good ways. I've got still more memory notes, like my last two posts, but other than writing them down on a pad of paper, I haven't wanted to type them out and see them again. I think I'll get on that later this week, though. I don't know if it's important to anyone else that I put them up, but it makes them seem more real to me, if they're on the blog. And I know I'll read the blog again, whereas I'll probably lose the paper notes at some point.
Thinking of Cherie makes me think of missions, which reminds me: if you'd like to help with the crisis in Myanmar or in China, World Vision offers a great way to do that. They'll accept online donations of any amount, but if you specifically give $100 to either cause, you'll be providing one family with a survival kit including emergency food, drinkable water, blankets, temporary shelter, and a cookset/utensils. You can donate to Myanmar, to China, or both, or you can still sponsor a child for $30 a month. My family's supported World Vision as long as I can remember, and I've always been impressed by their organization.
And upon returning to my office with my lunch, I also brought back Jellaby by Kean Soo, which I'd read part of online and loved, but didn't realize was now in print. He's got short stories related to this book in the Flight volumes (which I also highly recommend). Jellaby is strongly reminscent of Calvin and Hobbes--only with a dragon and girl instead of a tiger and boy, and it's mostly drawn in purple--which is to say it is AWESOME. It's more of the "quiet style" Calvin and Hobbes strips, as I think of them, with a little manga-style background panels thrown in. I love it very, very much and if you like dragons or cuteness or small children with big imaginations, then you must buy this book.
That's a lot of news for one day, so I'll leave you with that.
Friday night, we saw Iron Man, which was just about as fantastic as the trailer made it look, which made me extremely happy--but also frustrated, since I immediately wanted to see it again, and it no doubt won't see a blu-ray release until Christmas. Arg! But dude--yeah, I so called that Robert Downey Jr. was genius casting. Favreau, I thought if anyone could do it, you could--and you not only did it, you threw yourself in there as the chauffer. And had more than one line! I'm impressed.
Of course, we all know what movie is coming out this weekend, the thing of speculation for years, anticipated for nearly two decades--Indiana Jones. I've been heartened by the trailers--but worried that the whole "alien" plot thing isn't in the trailers at all. Yeah, that worries me. And the early buzz... I try to ignore it, but I guess time will tell. I hope to actually see it this week/weekend, despite the fact that we just saw Iron Man and have yet to see Speed Racer or Prince Caspian. But dude--it's Indy.
In other news, one of my fellow geek-brarians let me know of this extreme awesomeness: Joss Whedon is almost done shooting a 40-minute musical about supervillians that stars NPH (Neil Patrick Harris, for those of you not on the down-low) and Nathan Fillion (of Firefly, for those of you not--well, let's face it, for those sad, sad people who haven't seen Firefly yet). It's called Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.
Ahem: did you hear me? Whedon. NPH. Fillion. Musical. Supervillians.
Ah-ha, I thought I'd hear your scream of extreme awesomeness. Yes, indeed--and it's supposed to be released online first, later to DVD (and I can cross my fingers for blue-ray).
Erm, yeah, back to my weekend... Anywho, Saturday we met with our architect (yay!), had lunch at Freebirds (yay!), went to the Frisco mall and bought some clothes (I guess I'll just stop saying "yay" now before it gets old), had yummy tasty food at Cheesecake Factory, had a nap, I wrote in my novel (finally! returning to creative writing summers), and then watched some more of the new American Gladiators show--yeah, that's what I said. Cheesy guilty pleasure, indeed, with a little nostalgia thrown in.
Sunday, I had to work on a paper for IFLA (which is kind of a "yay" but also a groan for actually doing the work), but we did FINALLY break out the Mario Kart Wii. Dude--the wheel is a vast improvement, particularly for the kind of gamers, like me, who always threw their traditional controllers around anyway. I actually don't completely suck at this game--in fact, I got first place in most of the races I tried yesterday, which is pretty crazy stuff. I was so bad at Mario Kart DoubleDash for the GameCube that after the first week, I never drove my own cart, but was always Alex's partner in charge of throwing stuff at the other carts. I'm glad that the peripheral for the game is intuitive enough that I can finally drive my own cart. And the retro tracks are pretty fun--one of them is completely boring, but most are great, and I just love the idea in general. Next task: type in Bryce's Wii and Mario Kart numbers, so we can meet for online battles--woohoo!
We watched Enchanted in the evening, and it was truly awesome. I'm sure as a normal romantic comedy it was so-so, but for a Disney freak, it was awwwwesome, catching all the little references and watching Amy Adams do an amazing job of actually moving like a Disney princess in real life (which boggles my mind). And James Marsden was hilarious. And better yet was watching the credits and seeing James Baxter, my favorite animator of all time because he animated Belle, listed as animation supervisor. Dude!!! Go, Baxter! And who did he supervise? None other than Andres Deja (who animated Gaston). (I think Glen Keane, who animated the Beast, is busy working on Rapunzel, which I am so so excited about.) AND the great Alan Menken was responsible for score and song, which of course explains why both were awesome and hilarious.
I'm wearing the black-funeral-jeans again today--I keep wearing them and washing them and wearing them. Somehow it just comforts me to wear them, although I would have expected that I'd never want to wear clothes I bought for a funeral again. I think it's at least in part because it was Cherie's idea to get them in the first place, and having them on makes me think of her, in good ways. I've got still more memory notes, like my last two posts, but other than writing them down on a pad of paper, I haven't wanted to type them out and see them again. I think I'll get on that later this week, though. I don't know if it's important to anyone else that I put them up, but it makes them seem more real to me, if they're on the blog. And I know I'll read the blog again, whereas I'll probably lose the paper notes at some point.
Thinking of Cherie makes me think of missions, which reminds me: if you'd like to help with the crisis in Myanmar or in China, World Vision offers a great way to do that. They'll accept online donations of any amount, but if you specifically give $100 to either cause, you'll be providing one family with a survival kit including emergency food, drinkable water, blankets, temporary shelter, and a cookset/utensils. You can donate to Myanmar, to China, or both, or you can still sponsor a child for $30 a month. My family's supported World Vision as long as I can remember, and I've always been impressed by their organization.
And upon returning to my office with my lunch, I also brought back Jellaby by Kean Soo, which I'd read part of online and loved, but didn't realize was now in print. He's got short stories related to this book in the Flight volumes (which I also highly recommend). Jellaby is strongly reminscent of Calvin and Hobbes--only with a dragon and girl instead of a tiger and boy, and it's mostly drawn in purple--which is to say it is AWESOME. It's more of the "quiet style" Calvin and Hobbes strips, as I think of them, with a little manga-style background panels thrown in. I love it very, very much and if you like dragons or cuteness or small children with big imaginations, then you must buy this book.
That's a lot of news for one day, so I'll leave you with that.
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