On the Conference

I'm back from attending a conference in Monterey, which was just all kinds of fun and exhausting.  I go to this communication conference every year and the people are so smart and fun and I end up having conversations well into the night with them, and listening to interesting papers, and drinking way too much.  I don't take my vitamins or floss or go to bed at reasonable times.  I'm messy.  I eat at odd hours.  I do exercise but only as much as I need to in order to get up and get going again.

In short, I'm everything at this conference I'm usually not here.  Here, things are orderly and calm and the stress is always just nipping at my heels but I keep it at bay with all these practices--the journaling, the regular hours of sleep, the exercise, the calendar, the meditation.  At the conference, the stress is exhilarating, peaking as you give your talk then dying down as others peak and then you go out and have beers and talk about how nervous you all were even though you're all friends.  The clock and the calendar only matter insofar as you need to know when and where to show up to speak or to listen; time is fluid otherwise.  I take a plane to a new city and sometimes I don't know where I am (I thought I was in San Francisco, for example, until someone pointed out I couldn't catch the BART to my hotel in Monterey) or how I'm supposed to get to my hotel but I always get there.  I don't know where my next meal will come from or if I will meet someone new.  I come home wanting to write new papers and teach differently in my classes and not be so uptight.

The conference is the academic's workation.  I miss my kids, I miss my E., and I also delight in feeling young and free before I come home to security, responsibility, service, duty, peace.  The conference is my drug.  I don't want to live there but I sure like playing there twice a year.

Red Letter Day

Addie's school was closed today, because it seems to close every other Friday or Monday, and I had promised Nolie that when Addie get to stay home, she'll get to stay home, too, and so the three of us had the day together.  And here is what we did:

First, we went skiing, just the three of us, with no ski school.  First time ever.  Just going for it.  We only went for a half-day, and we didn't do a ton of runs, but the three of us made it up the lift, and down the hill, with no disasters and lots of fun.

Then, we came home and, after a loooong bath and some pizza--a rarity around here now--relaxed and cuddled up on the couch.  Addie read on the orange couch, and Nolie and I cuddled up on the red couch.  I had the new Sundance catalog and Nolie had Frog and Toad Are Friends.

I thought she was just going to look at the pictures and then bug me to read to her.

But no.  Blamo, the kid started reading the book.

Just like that.  She's been sounding out some words here and there, but not really reading fluently.  Then, Frog and Toad.  Pretty much with fluency.  And it's not that easy of a book.  I mean, it's not Dick and Jane.  I would never had believed it if I hadn't seen it.  How does this happen?

So, Nolie, at 4 1/2 years and two weeks, you began to read.

And now, we're watching Miyazaki's Ponyo.  If you haven't seen it, make plans to, right away (it's streaming on Netflix, if you have that).

Because it's awesome, as all Miyazakis are, and because it will give you the clearest picture of how Nolie is right now, much clearer than anything I could say.  Magical little fish baby:  that's Nolie.

And that, my friends, is what a perfect day looks like.

Why I'll Never Be An Adult

Ah, well, this made me laugh on a difficult day.  And it's good to know (judging from the comments) that all of us feel this way now and then.

Roller Coaster Day

Pru was scheduled to have her surgery this morning.  I did not have positive thoughts about it over the weekend, but by yesterday I had settled into the possibility that they would be able to remove her tumor all the way and get "clean edges" and she'd be okay.

Then the surgeon called E. and said while prepping her for surgery he had noticed a bunch more tumors.  E. and I had already agreed that if the cancer was really advanced we would not let her get very sick and suffer, we'd let Pru go, so we agreed to meet this afternoon to say our goodbyes.  Weeping, weeping, weeping.

But then the surgeon talked us into putting her on steroids for a week to see if the tumors responded and to give us time to say goodbye.  And this, too, seems reasonable, and so now she is home with us, nursing her wounds, and we will love on and appreciate her for this last week and maybe some time after that, but maybe not.  And we'll let her go.

Then Addie's school called to say that Nolie could go to kindergarten there next year.  Joy and hallelujah.

This weird life is full of odd blessings.

Davies Clan, Posterity

My cuz Heidi, who is a photographer, scanned a bunch of family photos in for my Gram's funeral.  I hadn't seen most of these, so I want to post some of them here, just so my girls see them when they look through the toddlerspit books someday, and so I don't forget.

That's my dad on the left there, with grandma and Grandpa next to him, and two of my Aunts, Debbie and Diane, below.  Crew cuts were and are popular with the men in my family.  Those who had hair, anyway.

Flash forward a few decades.  Muggs on the left, me holding some baby there (clearly my penchant for odd bangs and little babies goes back a long way), then my brother Jade, and my Uncle Terry's chin hair is in there too.

Muggs and my Dad.  She looks suspiciously over-happy in this photograph.  As does he, for that matter. Gives me pause.

Okay, weird to include this in family photos.  But this is the fox that visited my grandpa every day, especially in the year before he died.  He loved feeding this guy.  I have a fond memory of him getting very excited about the fox, even when he was quite sick.  This is oddly the most emotional photo for me in the bunch.  Hi, fox.

Muggs, with one of the six babies.  SIX!

Typical Davies shenanigans.  Don't even know what to say.  Babies are trophies, of course, but come on.

Also not quite sure what to say about this one.  I really did think of my grandmother as being quite staid. But perhaps these photos tell a different story.

Entire Davies clan, assembled some time in my twenties.

Um.  YES.  All I can say is that my wicked design skills must be genetic.

Also YES!  And definitely revising my previous assumptions about Grandma Muggs.

Ditto.  Gorgeous.

And my Dad, looking about 13 at his wedding to my Mom.

Thanks for strolling with me.

Young Writers' Memories

This permission slip just came home from Addie's school:

Which reminded me of my own Young Writers' Conference, which I attended in 1987, and still have the t-shirt for:

How 'bout that.  You try to split your life in two, and you're constantly reminded of the threads holding it all together.

reJuJuS on Etsy

So, it's not totally up to speed yet, but if you're interested, I've opened a wee shop on Etsy, and a few things are listed there.  A bunch of my very talented friends will also be posting items there soon--we're going to do a sale, some of the proceeds from which will benefit Partners in Health, an organization that has long provided local medical care to folks (and by folks) in Haiti.  I'll post more as things appear.

It's small, but, you know.  Baby steps.