Gavin slept in an hour, and I lost a pound over Thanksgiving. Huh.
Mike got me a CD for my birthday, which I've been playing to death.
The better part of three days have been spent walking through the mall, watching the fish in the koi ponds and watching the people push past each other similarly. My mother and I drank chai in the book store, where I sulked a bit because they didn't have a present I wanted to buy. We learned the next morning that a package I had ordered for Gavin arrived at my in-laws' house in New York. Darn it. While they worked to correct the problem, my grandfather called to say he might visit this Christmas. After fighting cancer for almost two years, it's about time he did a victory dance with us. Also on the phone this weekend was my mother-in-law, who mentioned that my brother-in-law will be getting married next October. I wondered if I could schedule another root canal during that week, but I suppose I don't need to make any excuses at all. I'm in grad school, and I'm simply not going to skip class and blow $1000 to surround myself and my son with hostility and see someone I'm still mad at get married. Mike can go by himself, and Lorenz can do a happy dance and drag him out to get drunk without me there to mess things up. Besides, I think it's healthy to get away from your significant other at least once a year, for mental health purposes. Mike would do good to breath a little New York air in October and spend a few nights with his friends and family without having to worry about whether I'm enjoying myself.
...Yes, all those things. But mostly what I am thinking about today is this: this weekend I bought a pair of pants that were two more sizes down.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Saturday, November 20, 2004
consumerism
Last night we went with my aunt to the dreaded Walmart to hunt for a Little People Enchanted Castle play set for Chris. I bypassed my boycott by thinking that I needn't actually buy anything there. Unfortunately, there were a lot of inexpensive toddler toys just right for Gavin, and I broke down and spent $40 on a wooden train set, pack of Play Doh, set of plastic pots and pans, and box of die cast cars. And a sparkling tacky tinsel light-up tree topper for our new (fake) tree. Oh, well. I will do better in the future. Embarrassing.
I curled up in bed with Gavin and fell asleep with happy dreams. I dreamed that I saw an old friend again after these many years, and I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his lips, just happy to see him again. Maybe some day I really will.
In the morning, we stared hatefully out the window at the noisy neighbor children, then hopped into my mother's new VW Beetle and zoomed over to Costco to join the pre-Thanksgiving crowd. Gavin wanted every free sample, particularly enjoying the slices of honey-glazed ham. After sitting down to share a frozen yogurt, I was unhappy to hear my mother say she wanted to return to Walmart for a set of seat covers for her car. Fortunately, I left the ATM card at home with Mike, so all I could do was look at the toddler pajama sets and potty seats. Walmart will not get the better of me, despite the allure of cheap crap.
Returning home, I saw that Mike had already left to attend the RSCDS board meeting. I sighed, knowing our afternoon date to see Bridget Jones wasn't going to happen. The poor guy is getting burnt out. We need to see each other soon.
I curled up in bed with Gavin and fell asleep with happy dreams. I dreamed that I saw an old friend again after these many years, and I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his lips, just happy to see him again. Maybe some day I really will.
In the morning, we stared hatefully out the window at the noisy neighbor children, then hopped into my mother's new VW Beetle and zoomed over to Costco to join the pre-Thanksgiving crowd. Gavin wanted every free sample, particularly enjoying the slices of honey-glazed ham. After sitting down to share a frozen yogurt, I was unhappy to hear my mother say she wanted to return to Walmart for a set of seat covers for her car. Fortunately, I left the ATM card at home with Mike, so all I could do was look at the toddler pajama sets and potty seats. Walmart will not get the better of me, despite the allure of cheap crap.
Returning home, I saw that Mike had already left to attend the RSCDS board meeting. I sighed, knowing our afternoon date to see Bridget Jones wasn't going to happen. The poor guy is getting burnt out. We need to see each other soon.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Tis the season...
My christmas cards are ready to go, the season is gearing up. Next friday I turn 25. It's a season of change, and I'm ready for it.
Here I am looking squinky-eyed and unimpressed:
Gavin with the guitar:
Gavin examines leaves in the back yard:
Here I am looking squinky-eyed and unimpressed:
Gavin with the guitar:
Gavin examines leaves in the back yard:
From the pages of my class notebook
Last night...
Nov 11 2004
Winter is here with grey skies and chilly winds. I stood at the coffee dispenser, cramming a wrinkled dollar into the rusty machine and cussing mentally each time it spat the bill out again. Victory was mine, and I punched the hot chocolate button. The winds blew rain into my cup as I hummed and trudged across the leaf-strewn courtyard to the ancient elevator. As the doors rumbled shut, I sipped my paper cup of cocoa and eyeballed the rear doors of the elevator, wondering what secret parts of the chemistry department they lead to. I stepped out into the 1950s as I reached the third floor. The corridor was dark, a single unlit bulb suspended from the ceiling. An open classroom cast light from the windows onto the concrete floor, and I peeked in at the old furniture. I imagined a chemist with a crew cut and horn-rimmed glasses lecturing a class of bored students in tight sweaters.
This cocoa is too thick. It is like chocolate mucous.
Last Tuesday Morning...
Sick sick sick. I have successfully arrived at school without vomiting or passing out on the Pali. Gavin, still sick, cried intermittently from 10pm to 4am. Aside from one or two near-hysterical remarks from me while half asleep, I managed to rock my poor boy in my arms and snuggle next to him as he watched a midnight showing of Lady and the Tramp. Adrenaline hit me as I leapt out of bed at 6:22am to get ready for class, late. That, combined with hunger, must have sent me into a sort of low-blood sugar shock, and I sat down on the toilet, trembling and working up the nerve to make a run for the fridge (our downstairs bathroom is close to the kitchen). Fighting off stars, I chugged three or four gulps of milk from the carton and sat down again for a moment before making a go for the Gatorade. The nausea faded enough for me to trudge upstairs to get dressed. Suspicious, I took my temperature, which should have dropped to 97.4. 98.5. I peed on a stick I had handy, which went reassuringly blank. Now I am at school, cold and sleepy. I need a nap.
Even though I am exhausted and sick, my teacher commented in front of the class how pretty I looked. I should stay up all night more often.
Last Monday evening...
Once again alone in the chemistry hall. I've had childhood nightmares about these long corridors. On the doors at the end I see a sign depicting a flailing, horizontal man screaming. Is he slipping? Falling? I am going to assume that on the other side of the door is no floor.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Halloween flood in more detail
Halloween was great. We carved the pumpkin, dipped caramel apples, and toasted pumpkin seeds. Gavin helped me color decorations to tape onto the front door, and when the sun went down behind the rain clouds we painted our faces and prepared to head out for Gavin's first trick-or-treating. The little barefoot mouse caught on quickly, hurrying up to the doors with his candy bag, calling "teet teet teet!" in his best attempt at "trick-or-treat", while I followed along behind him with the umbrella, a bit sweaty in my pirate costume. We ooo-ed at the neighbor's haunted displays and scary smoke machine, we avoided a stampede of frenzied princesses, and returned with soggy mouse ears and smeared makeup to our own door, where Gavin emptied his candy onto the floor and rolled in it, tearing the wrappers off with his tiny teeth. He licked two lollipops and stuck them to the carpet, then slumped onto a floor pillow and tried to fall asleep in front of Lady and the Tramp, until I carried him upstairs for a wipe-down and a tooth brushing before plunking him into bed. Here is a picture:
My mother and I were downstairs, admiring the pumpkin, when the phone rang. The slightly tipsy voice of Eileen told me that while she and her class had broken a window and escaped the flooding library, our school was demolished. As she sat in class Saturday evening, she heard an explosion and looked into the hallway to see an inch of water rushing across the floor. Seconds later, a louder explosion, and a foot of water burst in. A third explosion sent the locked door flying inward (it was an out-ward opening door) and the desks, computers, and walls came down, rushing together violently. Geysers erupted from the floor. The class got to the windows and banged uselessly until one student picked up a stool and smashed out the glass. As the students climbed up through the window, four feet above ground level, the water flowed out with them, joining the river outside. Eileen was last to come out, floating nervously on a couch until it was her turn. Everything was destroyed. The computers, the furniture, the books, the professors' offices, everything, to say nothing of the maps and government documents departments next door.
I turned on the news and watched footage of the dark, mud-caked wreckage of my beloved library school. What would happen to us? When would we resume classes? Were our grades lost? What now?
Today I left Gavin with his dad and headed out to drive to Manoa, stopping at the store for a case of bottled water. I was so stressed, I was barely coherent enough to ask the cashier for a bag of ice, and when I hurried into the parking lot with my goods, a large man leaned out his car window and called to me, "Eh, my friend Rocko likes you!" I didn't know what he was talking about for a minute, it was such a clash from what was happening. At the university, the lawn was littered with documents. People with hoses rinsed off maps dug out of the wreckage, and students with wheelbarrows were carting off files to be dried. I was given a job, which gave me hope: I had to gather cleaning supplies and prepare our temporary room in the chemistry building for classes. Armed with the knowledge that life would go on, I enlisted the help of another student and scrubbed desks, dusted chairs, wiped down the white boards, and helped sweep the floors until the room was presentable. Satisfied, I joined the other volunteers for a slice of pizza. My cataloging teacher, covered from head to foot in mud, emerged from the building to join us, grimly acknowledging the loss of all his years of work as he lit up a cigarette and assured me we would be meeting for class next Monday. I suppose I should get on my homework, despite all the excitement, then.
My mother and I were downstairs, admiring the pumpkin, when the phone rang. The slightly tipsy voice of Eileen told me that while she and her class had broken a window and escaped the flooding library, our school was demolished. As she sat in class Saturday evening, she heard an explosion and looked into the hallway to see an inch of water rushing across the floor. Seconds later, a louder explosion, and a foot of water burst in. A third explosion sent the locked door flying inward (it was an out-ward opening door) and the desks, computers, and walls came down, rushing together violently. Geysers erupted from the floor. The class got to the windows and banged uselessly until one student picked up a stool and smashed out the glass. As the students climbed up through the window, four feet above ground level, the water flowed out with them, joining the river outside. Eileen was last to come out, floating nervously on a couch until it was her turn. Everything was destroyed. The computers, the furniture, the books, the professors' offices, everything, to say nothing of the maps and government documents departments next door.
I turned on the news and watched footage of the dark, mud-caked wreckage of my beloved library school. What would happen to us? When would we resume classes? Were our grades lost? What now?
Today I left Gavin with his dad and headed out to drive to Manoa, stopping at the store for a case of bottled water. I was so stressed, I was barely coherent enough to ask the cashier for a bag of ice, and when I hurried into the parking lot with my goods, a large man leaned out his car window and called to me, "Eh, my friend Rocko likes you!" I didn't know what he was talking about for a minute, it was such a clash from what was happening. At the university, the lawn was littered with documents. People with hoses rinsed off maps dug out of the wreckage, and students with wheelbarrows were carting off files to be dried. I was given a job, which gave me hope: I had to gather cleaning supplies and prepare our temporary room in the chemistry building for classes. Armed with the knowledge that life would go on, I enlisted the help of another student and scrubbed desks, dusted chairs, wiped down the white boards, and helped sweep the floors until the room was presentable. Satisfied, I joined the other volunteers for a slice of pizza. My cataloging teacher, covered from head to foot in mud, emerged from the building to join us, grimly acknowledging the loss of all his years of work as he lit up a cigarette and assured me we would be meeting for class next Monday. I suppose I should get on my homework, despite all the excitement, then.
Wholesale Destruction
Holy fucking hell
Big flood, almost killed 30 of my classmates. My best library buddy was down there when the water busted through the doors and filled up the basement in 8 minutes with about 10 feet of water, they had to break a window to escape. Library server destroyed, government documents and maps destroyed, computer labs and professors offices (with dissertations and current book projects) destroyed. Rare book destroyed. Our grades, exams, curriculum, homework, everything. The walls were coming down (the upper library survived) and the floor broke open with geysers.
I'm going to go down tomorrow to help salvage things, but the entire campus was based on the library server. Unless someone had backups of the cataloging files somewhere outside the library, we're talking years of work lost. We don't know when we may go back to class.
No air conditioning and a library of 300,000 books in flood conditions... there are going to be major mold problems that may set the library back a fortune. I can't even start to imagine the extent of this. I'm so heartbroken. I'm just glad it was on the weekend, so the cataloging department and others were closed, otherwise people would have been killed, because there are no windows in those rooms and no way to open the doors with that much water on the other side.
Big flood, almost killed 30 of my classmates. My best library buddy was down there when the water busted through the doors and filled up the basement in 8 minutes with about 10 feet of water, they had to break a window to escape. Library server destroyed, government documents and maps destroyed, computer labs and professors offices (with dissertations and current book projects) destroyed. Rare book destroyed. Our grades, exams, curriculum, homework, everything. The walls were coming down (the upper library survived) and the floor broke open with geysers.
I'm going to go down tomorrow to help salvage things, but the entire campus was based on the library server. Unless someone had backups of the cataloging files somewhere outside the library, we're talking years of work lost. We don't know when we may go back to class.
No air conditioning and a library of 300,000 books in flood conditions... there are going to be major mold problems that may set the library back a fortune. I can't even start to imagine the extent of this. I'm so heartbroken. I'm just glad it was on the weekend, so the cataloging department and others were closed, otherwise people would have been killed, because there are no windows in those rooms and no way to open the doors with that much water on the other side.
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