For fun, I will write this in the 3rd person and try out my God Voice.
Into color2008 found our hero in Bakersfield, California, living in a one-bedroom apartment with her son and a fat black cat. In the grey cold of January, the Harpy fell feverishly ill, and found herself standing naked in the wall-length bathroom mirror, wondering what her life had come to. 3 months pregnant, ambivalent about her erstwhile mate, about to face the end of her lease, heartsick, homesick, and sick with the flu, she had yet to make any decisions about the future except that it was time to stop waiting by the window and go home.
She interviewed for a position back in Hawaii, and they waited. The lease ran up, and her mate carried her belongings into his apartment, setting up the beds side-by-each. She couldn't bring herself to sleep next to him for the first few months. At work, the office she shared with her good friend had grown quiet, and whether this was because of the baby or the coming goodbye, she didn't know, but she let it settle between them because it seemed to be what he needed. Without any particular excitement, she signed the papers for the movers, bought the tickets home, made travel arrangements for the cats, said goodbye to the Eastern horizon, and went back.
In Hawaii, everything seemed to lay where she left it, the ghosts still lurking in mirrors. Sitting with her mother, she said, "It feels like I wasted a year, that the whole move to the mainland was pointless and stupid." Her mother said, "You found out what you didn't want, and that counts for a lot. People spend their whole lives wondering." She didn't want the cold, she didn't want lovers, she didn't want to be alone. Good stuff to know.
Appointed to a position in a rural library, she left her boy in the care of his grandmother for a few weeks while a home could be settled before school started. For the better part of a month, the Harpy and her mate were thrust into each other's company with only an airbed, two suitcases, and a cupboard of peanut butter and rice. They played cards on the bare floor beneath the skylight, read books on the sagging air mattress on the floor, pressed their hands on her belly to feel the baby kick, and finally became able to breathe easily again.
The movers arrived, the boy was returned to them, school started, and for a short time everything began to flow into a comfortable routine. On a clear night in August, the Harpy read the latest book by Stephanie Meyer and went into an angsty-vampire-induced labor. The baby was born with his cord around his neck, a soft limp blue thing that was clipped free and immediately passed off to a nurse like a football. The room didn't breathe until he did, and the new father cried. 4 days later, the Harpy hobbled back to work, and her mate found himself with the care of an infant for the first time. Her body slowly eased back into familiarity, her two sons were beautiful and fine, her mate had regained his old teenage smile, and life blossomed into color again. She started drawing once more, and knitted contentedly beneath a sleeping baby. Her son learned to read and celebrated his 6th birthday, her mate started brewing beer. Visits between islands to visit her mother were easy and plentiful, and the stories began again.
As the winter blew in once more, they were not cold, or alone, or waiting. They were comfortable - and that was, as she said, better than a punch in the neck.
(Hmm, my Voice of God sounds like Jim Dale.)
So, in short:Excellent survival rate for immediate family.
Drove through Los Angeles.
Ate meatballs at Ikea with good friend.
Ditched cat for 3 months with said friend.
Drove through a wildfire.
Ate terrible Mexican food and bought dirt-scented candle in Fresno.
Got a new job.
Moved from California to Maui (hemorrhaging money)
Gained 60 lbs.
Had a baby.
Lost 50 lbs.
Drank most of 1 beer.
Read 22 books.
Knitted 1 cardigan, 3 baby garments, 1 tea cozy, 9 ornaments, 3 hats, 1 Christmas stocking.
Drew 12 illustrations for new book.
Drew 50 rough layout pages of graphic novel.
Made good peach jam, terrible marmalade, and 2 failed batches of guava jelly.
Cried 4 times (not jelly-related).
Had 1 panic attack while driving.
Stole 1 nun.
Gained 1 kitten.
Missed 9 people quite a bit, 3 people very much, and 2 people heart-wrenchingly.
It was a busy, satisfying year, all in all.
In other newsLeif is 5 months old, and has started sitting up on his own. This weekend he ate solids for the first time. He had been lunging at our food for a few weeks and making chewy faces as he watched us eat, so I finally went down and got him rice cereal and banana baby food. He immediately stopped pooping. (Now we don't need to use corks anymore!)
Also he had 3 full-blown, limb-flailing, ear-splitting temper tantrums because he was - evidently - tired of his blocks/his blanket/our laps. This casts ominous shadows onto his toddler years. Aii.
