Bad mail

Rejection letter from King County. No moving to Washington next year.

Judgement for my bogus traffic violation: $97.

Down and kicked, dammit. At least I made some banana bread today, and Christmas has been packed away for the year.

Bah. Oh, well, so I'm trapped in Hawaii. Things could be worse I guess.

Poosie Nansie

Books, books, and books. Christmas was great, except that I ate too much chocolate and had a bad time with some Christmas spirits (the kind from the bottle, not from Dickens), and ended up sitting on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, firmly telling myself that I was not dying. I would not throw up, I would not burst a heart valve, I would live. I just hate scotch a lot.

And I did live. "We won't see you for a week!" my mother said as I read my pile of new books, and then she kept interrupting me for the next three days. I read a few paragraphs while putting Gavin down for his nap. I found myself with a whole page uninterrupted this afternoon, and then Mike wandered out of the kitchen with a beer, pondering the meaning of life. I lowered my book an inch and stared at him. "I'm sorry, I'm bothering you," he said, and then he sat down to play the violin. After a few minutes, the terrible sounds he was making discouraged him, and he turned it over to pluck it like a guitar. I kept reading, resigned.

The book is Inconsolable, how I threw my mental health out with the diapers, written by a friend of mine on the joys of postpartum depression. It's a funny and sharp look at society's expectations of motherhood, and it was resting in the passenger seat of the car as we finally dragged our late and irritable bodies into the RSCDS Boxing Day party last night. The party hall has Art Deco architecture, with a wide fireplace and Frank Lloyd Wright lighting. I ended up outside on the terrace with the other mother, Nicole, watching our children hold hands and dance to the music. Nicole has two little girls, one a year older and one a year younger than Gavin. She is pregnant with a third. She homeschools. She is my age. Her husband elbowed Mike and told him he had better get cracking on knocking me up again. Nicole laughed about how angry she has been this pregnancy, smiling benignly down on the kids with hollow eyes. I kind of laughed, too, though I didn't find it funny at all. She watched her girls run shrieking in circles around Gavin, who reacted by lying on the floor and letting them use him as a hurdle. The younger of the two slipped on her small legs and clocked him solidly in the head with her boot. He waved his hands quickly and said, "No, no, I'm not hurt," as I stepped forward to check on him. "You have a boy, and my girls are so much rougher," Nicole said, trying to smile again. I thought about the book in the car, wondered what she would think of me pressing it into her hands and whispering, "Fuck Dr. Sears, Nicole."

But Christmas came and went again. Tonight I made a Thai curry out of leftover roast beef ("Oh, the roast beef!" Mike says; he loves large hunks of meat) and Polar Express has taken center stage on the television as Gavin nurses a holiday head cold. We had my aunt and her husband over for cornish game hens, the old tensions lubricated by the flow of wine. Gavin caught on to the mistletoe enthusiastically, distributing dozens of kisses. Chris stuffed as many cookies as he could fit into his face. Mike worked, but at least toted a pound of meat with him to the theater.
 

Burns Night is coming up, and I have been nominated to serve as Poosie Nansie, the bearer of the celebratory scotch to accompany the haggis. I get to wear a wimple for the first time, tactfully offset by a pushup bra, I think.



edited to add:

Fluffy stuff: Gavin was so inspired by the sight of Nicole's pregnant belly that he has been pushing chocolate into my hands, saying, "Eat, eat, mom! You need a fat belly too!" He thinks I will pop out a baby for him if I eat large amounts of candy. He may be slightly misled.

the Christmas Spirit

Yes, the Spirit is on the rampage the week before Christmas. It is evident in the fingers flipped in parking lots, the shoving in long shopping lines, the screaming of exhausted children, the angry honking of traffic. My mother and I, possessed by the Spirit, paused to yell helpfully at a group of loitering surfers, "Hey! We can smell your pakalolo from around the corner! Be careful!"

Safely back home, we drowned out the shrieks of the neighborhood children with our Peter, Paul and Mary holiday album, put on the kettle for cider, and ate stinky cheese with okole bread for dinner. The holiday lights are on, my mother and aunt are sipping chai and eating freshly made chocolate mice while the boys play around in the presents under the tree. My mother said the Christmas organ music on the stereo sounded like funeral music, which got them talking about Tchaikovsky. My aunt and cousin have been visiting more often to enjoy some holiday atmosphere as their house undergoes drastic remodeling. 

Gavin rode the kiddie train at Pearlridge today, sitting with his hands clasped on his lap, glowering seriously at the forest of Christmas baubles. I like how serious he is, I was the same way as a kid. Gavin hopped right off the train at the end and got back in line to do it again. He gave a little sigh as we led him away for lunch, but did not fuss. Love him.


Librarian news

I have a key. On Monday, I got into my new library for the first time, spending hours exploring the shelves, the circulation system, the budget reports, and the class schedules. I left at the end of the day feeling inspired and intimidated, making mental lists of books to buy and displays to arrange, worrying about organizing budget reports and coordinating book fairs. But, like everything, it will be one day at a time. I will not mess things up every day, and I have many librarians, organizations, and teachers to consult for advice. I just hope they don't mind a lot of questions while I get settled in. I have pulled out my favorite text books, highlighting authors and titles in my children's and YA lit books to check against the collection and noting program suggestions. It feel like I might love this job.

smooth

While I was in class, Gavin ran into Yuri's twin toddler neices at Costco.

"It was the cutest thing," Yuri's sister told me over dinner, "They were running around and around the fruit bins, and he would run off a little ways, then stop and act really cool, calling them over to him," she postured and beckoned with her hand.

I chuckled and we turned to Gavin. "Did you meet the little girls today?" I asked. "Uh huh," he said. "Were they nice? Did you like them?" I asked.

And Gavin did something I had never seen him do: he leaned on one arm, smirked, and waggled his eyebrows suavely. Cindy burst out laughing, "Oh, man! You are in for soooo much trouble!"

...

Sick and tired

Struggled to wake up from cold-medicine induced coma-insomnia. Can't sleep, but can't wake up. Hot shower, cold shills. Spilled butter on dress pants. Car broke down. Late for class. Listened to mom and Gavin chatter incessantly with a headache. Cold classroom.

blarg.

Did not dope myself up with dayquil. Yesterday I took some while driving, and I watched my pupils turn to saucers in the rear view mirror. Typed emails and term paper. Did not proofread. Hope I get a good grade.

Grad dinner tonight. Need dress. Headache.

Mad that some student was bothering Dr. Drew. Favorite professor. Wanted to hug him in class while dopey. Kept mouth shut so I wouldn't say anything stupid.

Headache.

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart

I set out on my own to do chores. Listening to the Darkness, I sat at a red light and picked up my my hair clip. The stereo screamed in a deafening falsetto and I tried to put my hair up before the light turned green. Twirled it up, clipped it crooked. Twirled it up, fell out of the clip. Twirled it up, clipped up like a cockatoo. Got mad and threw the clip across the car. The guy in the truck next to me was grinning. I tipped him a salute and peeled away.
 

In the mall, I snuck into the bookstore and took pictures of the children's display cases for my class project. I pretended to be only pretending to be interested in the sappy Christmas books.

In the dollar store, I loaded my arms with holiday crap. At the cost of our sanity, I deliberately purchased a silver jingle bell for Gavin, as he has been shaking a jewelry box for 2 days to pretend he had one. From the racks of tacky Christmas accessories, I pulled out a red and green hair tie with tiny tinkling bells sewn all over it. Oh, that will annoy the heck out of Mike, I thought, and threw it on the counter with the rest of my loot.

The Kanoehe library was full for a weekday morning. A group of uniformly dressed missionary boys stood by the new books display. I moved closer to them, eavesdropping. What do a pack of 19 year-old boys in church suits talk about at a library? One was bragging about his Rolex, explaining all the ways to detect fakes. Disappointing. My hair jingled, and one turned and looked at me. His name badge said "Elder William". I don't know the history of this "elder" business, but I need one that says "Old Crone Holly". Before my noisy hair could get me thrown out of the library by the reference librarian in the snowman sweater, I finished my homework and ran to the car. I waved at the cop shop and nearly drove into an oncoming van as I exited the lot.

Class was a smorgasbord of end-of-semester foods. We walked over to the cafe afterward to watch Mike sing and shovel pie into Gavin. Batting my eyes attractively at Mike, I inhaled a sip of diet Coke and coughed myself violently off the chair. "Real sexy there," he said. A classic Mustang sat next to our Jetta in the parking lot. Its deep metallic blue paint looked like candy under the street light. I ran my hands over it. Spread my arms across it. Mike looked sadly at the VW and bent into the trunk. "MIKE!" I yelled, hoping to see his head jerk up and hit the door. He screamed, "STOP DOING THAT!" But I need my hobbies.

Good day.

The windup

My cap and gown arrived at the door last night. I pulled out the packages, enjoying the crisp newness of the black gown, the plush yellow velvet of the Master's hood. "Please do not decorate your cap in a manner that obstructs the view of the people behind you," read the instructions. I imagined all the towering literary sculptures I could perch on my head, wondering how easy it would be to spell out "smart, lol" in masking tape. My mother fretted for a moment about missing my graduation in favor of a date with her long-time motorcycle-riding steady-gazed smart-ass crush, but I assured her that Mike would take lots of pictures.

I turned in my employment papers yesterday. I am a hired woman. To prepare, I have been digging up research articles about librarianship and dyslexia, and looking into library organizations for resources and support. These are my formative years, the time that I will become very good at something very specific. If I had been hired for the systems position, I would be getting into library technology and beefing up my knowledge there. With this job, I hope I'll become very good at running a small library, at enriching the lives of the kids I'll get to know every day, and using the experience to make great children's books. Maybe I'll end up specializing in books for children with reading disabilities and make some kind of difference.

And here I thought I had missed out on my banner-carrying years! I've got that mid-twenties optimism and inspiration. Hope I use it right.

Up in the air

A call for a second interview from King County threw a bit of a hitch into an otherwise easy decision. This pitted Mike's desires against my own, and I've already asked a lot from him. I feel my hands are tied by what I need to do to keep my family together and happy. I just don't know what that is.

In the movies, some people make hard decisions over drinks, others sleep on it, some take a brisk walk, and a few organize a rock-off. Me, I sat on the floor between the toilet and litter box and cried. Whatever my bathroom activities, Gavin reliably comes to check on me after about 30 seconds. He cracked the door open, made a concerned noise, and came to kneel next to me. He wiped my cheeks with both hands, "Oh, mom, you're crying?" I noticed that he gets worry lines between his eyebrows just like I do. "Don't be scared, mom," he said, smoothing the hair away from my eyes, "There are no monsters, mom. The monsters are all gone." He kissed my forehead and hugged me.

Then he pulled me into the bedroom, beat me with a stuffed goose, and jumped on my guts with his pointy knees, but I got the message.

No decision yet. I'm going to try sleeping on it. Maybe a brisk walk. No rock-off.

just my color

At the end of my shift at the library, I watched as Caton found a secure beam and did five or six pull-ups. I elbowed him aside and jumped up to see if I could manage one. "You're not supposed to use your legs," he said, pointing to my swinging limbs as I hoisted myself up with trembling arms. I managed to touch my forehead to the beam before dropping down. I looked around for applause, very impressed with myself, but Caton and Yuri were looking at their cell phones. The call slip machine croaked out another dvd slip, and Caton tore it off. "Hey," he said,"Someone's lucky, both the Kill Bills are in. You like that movie?" I smirked, because he referred to 2 films in the singular and because I have hated every movie he has tried to start a conversation over. "Actually, yes," I admitted, embarrassed to share a movie preference with someone who dyes his hair like Eminem. He beeped the barcode. "You could pull off that," he said. "What?" I hoped for a moment that my half-a-pull up had somehow shown my aptitude for ninja ass-whupping. "Her outfit," he said, holding up the disc. I blinked, remembering all the times I walked past the full-sized standee of Uma in her yellow catsuit outside the video store and grumbled to myself about donuts. I surprised myself by being suddenly flattered. The feminist in me wrung her hands. Well, the outfit in the movie is splattered with the blood of her enemies, that's pretty good, but you're responding to an unrealistic body image reinforced by male validation. Shame spiral! Bah. I have a pile of old katanas (can I pluralize that?) that need sharpening in front of Bridget Jones's Diary.

Birthday girl

26.

Mike and I spent the entire day around each other for the first time in months. It went okay. I was coaxed out from under the bed to answer two birthday phone calls, and our dance group toasted me twice over shots of scotch. I felt loved.

Ala Moana was busy with holiday shoppers. We looked for boots, stuffed into changing rooms to try on interview pants, and ate food court Thai food. I spent one of my three birthday gift cards, and we returned home with a sleeping boy over Mike's shoulder. While the kid napped, Mike and I got into the leftover liquor bottles abandoned by our Thanksgiving guests while I insisted on watching the stupidity of The Surreal Life because it was my birthday. My mother learned how to "bring it" like a diva, then Mike and I walked up to the store for peppermint sticks to decorate my cake. In the evening we went downtown for the RSCDS party.

We are beginning to worry about our Scottish dance society, as members have started fighting and quitting. My mother has been trying to solve the problem by bringing scotch to all our events. The real problem is our lack of unity; our parties used to be fun events with laughter, drinks, dancing, and food hosted in our homes. Now we meet at boxy churches and old dance studios and everyone sits around quietly like it's an extra class meetings. We have decided to try to bring some life back into our group by hosting a scotch tasting party at our house some time. We need younger members, but I don't know how to recruit. I've been dancing with these old goats since I was 12, I hate to see them falling apart.

 

Inventory

stayed up 3 days with my baby in the hospital
published my first book
submitted a second book to the publisher
started work on a third book
took 10 classes
started working weekends at Sinclair Library
wrote a 15 page term paper in 1 day
learned about stress-induced panic attacks
made 4 good friends
applied for 8 jobs
had 5 good interviews
bought a motorcycle
lost 7 sizes
had an unusual amount of relationship drama
ate the most crab I've had in years
developed a liking for kim chee
got back into art modeling
missed the bronze sculpture class for the first time in 4 years
spent half the year thinking I was already 26

 (how did I have time to do any of this? The year just flew by!)

Here's to year 27.

Gavin picture

The kiddo has had a cold for a few days. He has taken up a post in front of the tv in his rocking chair, slipping in our Nightmare Before Christmas dvd. He's in good enough humor, though, dancing at open mic night and twirling with his plastic sword. Developmentally, he's been using full sentences (his pronunciation is still a work in progress), he likes to listen to long stories and he can follow and understand them. He's into baseball (weird) and firetrucks, he puts together puzzles, uses the computer to play games, and he's completely got the toilet thing down. Turns 3 in a month. Hard to believe.

He looks like his dad, I think. He's a serious kid most of the time:

no trip

Last night I had nightmares and woke up with tears in my ears. Nuclear warfare, huddling against the blast with my baby in a basement full of windows. At one point Mike turned into Aragorn and rode off to organize our escape, but that still left me in a tough spot.

This is the weekend I would have flown to the Big Island for the HLA conference and a luxury hotel getaway. Instead I am warming my hands under my arms in the AV center, pulling DVDs and shelving videos. Things just don't work out sometimes. I'm still hell bent on going to the ALA conference this spring. I'm not kidding myself; I know conferences can suck your soul out (as the child of a single mother I was dragged to quite a few), but it's more about independence. I haven't had a night out on my own for almost 4 years.

I brought my camera; this time not for embarrassing my co-workers, but to document our PR project. At least being away from round tables and tiki bars means I can get some homework done.

Oh well.

Work pics

Printing up a picture of Gavin to send in a thank-you card to my Great Aunt, I found some pictures I took at work. 

Caton, hater of natural pigment:



An uncanny resemblance to 1970s witch art:


Cute Tubby Rocker helps fill call slips:



Sneaking through the basement is ruined by my lack of balance:



Libraries are fun.

cold boca burger kind of day

Endless Thursday. My desk faces a picture window overlooking the city, shining against the morning sun. The highway flows like a vein across it. My inbox is empty, I am not going to hurl any messages into the darkness. I roll through my usual list of sites to make sure all is right in the world, dig through my empty lunch bag, look sadly at the squashed boca burger in my purse, scribble ideas for a graphic novel on a scrap of PostIt, then get back to work. Thursday...

Yesterday seems like a long time ago. After nibbling a square of fancy chocolate while jotting down notes on the library staff meeting I was in, I sat at Volcano Joe's and watched Gavin snore on the cafe couch. My mother and I drank tea and coffee, watching the college kids and trying to figure out where they were all from. After an hour, we stuffed the sleeping boy into his car seat and drove home with a roast chicken in the trunk for dinner. Mike and I left for dancing alone. The RSCDS planned a party on the same day as my birthday (but not for my birthday), and I haven't decided whether we'll be bringing 26 slices of cheesecake or 26 mini bottles of single-malt whiskey. 

... oh no, it's still Thursday.

Copy cat

Because I'm feeling left out with the quizes, I have stolen Marie's. Woo hoo! Who says I don't open up?

1. Your name spelled backwards? Ylloh (wtf?)

2. Where were your parents raised? Guam; Indiana

3. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer? tsunami warning research articles and that "pissing the night away" song.

4. What's your favorite restaurant? the Mekong

5. Last time you went swimming? February 05


6. Have you ever been in a school play? I was a lizard in the school nativity play.

7. How many kids do you want? 2 - 1 girl, 1 boy. Since we have the boy, we're scared to have the next one - and then the next one and the next one - until we end up with 5 boys.

8. Type of music you dislike most? Country.

9. Are you single? I'm a free spirit in a committed partnership.

10. Do you have cable? Several.

11. Have you ever ridden on a moped? nope.

12. Ever prank call anybody? no, but I've gotten a few interesting ones. "Hi, ma'am, is Holly there? This is Scott, I know her from school... *ahem* Hello, Holly. Are you ready for my 12 inches of love? My 12 inches... I said 'my 12... why are you laughing? *click*" I still have no idea who 'Scott' was...

13. Best friends or people you can talk to? yes.

14. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? depends who asked and whether I was trying to get in bed with them.

15. What country would you wanna live in? Scotland!

16. Do you have a garden? I have a stump of a plant in a pot outside.

17. What's your favorite comic strip? I saw the author of Mother Goose and Grim in his Superman jammies, but it's Calvin and Hobbes.

18. Do you really know all the words to your national anthem? I'm dual-citizen; I don't know the words to 2 national anthems.

19. Bath or Shower, morning or night? Morning shower. Afternoon if I'm pissed off.

20. Best movie you've seen in the PAST MONTH? Jay and Silent Bob Stike Back. (Sorry, Elizbethtown)

21. Favorite pizza topping? fresh tomato

22. Chips or popcorn? kettle corn

23. What color lipstick do you usually wear? the ones with fish scales ground up in them

24. Have you ever peed somewhere besides the toilet? I have peed on a wide assortment of natural landscapes and small insects. Yay, camping and poverty.

26. Orange Juice or apple juice? diet caffeine-free soda

27. Who was the last person you went out to dinner with? The "gang", Dixie grill

28. Favorite type chocolate bar? The expensive stuff.

29. When was the last time you kissed someone? This morning as I left for work; slobbery baby and sleeping husband.

30. Last time you ate a home grown tomato? Is that an offer? I want one now.

31. Have you ever won a trophy? I won a 5th place storytelling trophy; a "most valuable player" trophy for band class; and a small assortment of plaques and ribbons for various swim-team related nonsense.

32. Are you a good cook? Yes, but I still prefer to eat other people's cooking.

33. Do you know how to pump your own gas? I don't produce gas from any pumpable source.

34. Ever order an article from an infomercial? No.

35. Sprite or 7-up? Whichever says I have a 1-in-6 chance of winning.

36. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to work? I had to wear a uniform to catholic school. With knee socks and pleated skirt.

37. Last thing you bought at a Walgreens? I will switch this to Longs Drugs. Halloween decorations.

38. Ever thrown up in public? Only if by "public" I can count over the 2nd-floor banister of a ski lodge at 2am.

39. Would you prefer being a millionaire or find true love? Are the two mutually exclusive? It depends, of course.

40. Do you believe in love at first sight? Yes. But only on my end of it.

41. Can ex's be friends? Only until the ex finds Jesus and decides you're the devil because you won't pull out your fillings.

42. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital? My son. :(

43. Did you have a lot of hair as a baby? I was bald.

45. What's your favorite color? ylloh

46. What was the name of your first pet? Are you trying to log into my bank account?

47. What things are in your backpack? notebook, rumpled syllabus, emergency pad, empty breath mints box, empty rolaids box, pennies, dead pen, old lipstick.

48. Favorite thing to do before bedtime? drink tea/watch Battlestar Galactic

49. What is one thing you are grateful for today? I burned a new cd to listen to in the car, and I haven't panicked driving for the past month or so (fingers crossed).

50. What are you thinking about? My ice-breaking conversation with a goon in front of an autopsy video.

Yay! I'm done!

spiral-bound potential

Driving to the university, I squinted across the glaring pavement while the rain came down from a blue sky. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young strummed at me from the cd player, reminding me of the days when my mother played the album on vinyl. I unexpectedly burst into song, amazed at the human ability to remember lyrics for 20 years and still forget everything ever learned in high school. I didn't angle down the sun visor; I have the irrational fear that it would chop off the top of my skull in an accident.

I splashed through puddles and into the bookstore on my way to my internship. I looked at all the nice new sketchbooks and chose a medium-sized Strathmore pad without thinking about it. I have worked my way through enough brands to know what works best for me. This morning I had pulled on my new socks and declared, "There is nothing better in the world than a new pair of socks!" but I was wrong, there is nothing better in the world than a fresh sketchbook. It holds limitless possibility, it is the best sketchbook you have ever had, until you use it. I picked up a cheap mechanical pencil - my favorite - and headed to the library feeling much better. Maybe this will be the sketchbook that launches my graphic novel. It could.

Halloween '05

By 9am, I was lying groaning on the couch in front of Harry Potter. Mike laughed when he saw me wiping a smear from Gavin's chin, and came over to with a cloth to clean the chocolate off my own face. We had discovered caramel wraps - a great invention that eliminates the mess of melting caramel. We draped the apples in blankets of caramel, popped them in the oven, and rolled them in mini chocolate chips. Happiness on a stick.

As the evening approached, I pounded out a book critique for class while drinking a pumpkin ale. My mother put on her costume, which she has been carefully bent over with needle and thread for several days, and went off to class with our papers and a stuffed goose (she was Mother Goose). I remained at my post as candy server.

While dressing up as a pirate, I had to stop after my second layer of eyeliner to get the boys ready. Mike spent a good twenty minutes destroying his work pants with a pair of scissors before rolling in mud for authenticity. Gavin sat very still as I carefully rubbed kohl around his eyes. He laughed when I held him to the mirror, then posed with his plastic rapier.

Mike made a toddler run and came back with my little cousin Chris. As the sun set, the boys charged around the lawn in their blinking sneakers, pausing to look into the jack-o-lantern, and finally grabbing their pumpkin buckets and hitting the dark streets with Mike. I popped in a Halloween music mix and stood vigil with the candy.

I handed out candy to a lot of princesses and ninjas. The older boys have taken to snapping on plastic masks and wearing their backpacks backwards to serve as candy bags. Pathetic. I gave them pixie sticks for their weak efforts.

The boys came back an hour later and dumped their buckets on the rug, ripping through as many candies as possible, tasting and discarding them in favor of the next brightly colored wrapper. When we began to run low on candy to distribute, Gavin picked out his hard candies and bubblegums to contribute to the pot, cheerfully greeting trick-or-treaters with "Happy Halloween!" and handing out the candy himself. He is such a good kid, he makes me so damn proud.
 

Mike returned Chris to his mom and we dumped Gavin in the tub. When my mother came home, Gavin told her all about his ghostly adventures, then curled up on her lap and sleepily watched The Nightmare Before Christmas.

All told, a successful holiday.

Christmas on the horizon

Art modeling is a lot of thinking and noticing. The classical music in the dim room,with the patter and scratch of charcoal on paper. The room is cold except for the cone light above my shoulder. I can see the tiny hairs on my arm as I look down at the nail driven into the wooden platform. The nail has a happy face scratched into it from years of wear. I think about making a graphic novel. I mentally cast the people I know as character models. I think about my medium, pen and ink or wacom tablet? I would need a G5 for sure; my poor old iMac is bogged down with family photos and book illustrations, my version of Photoshop is outdated. My wrist has gone numb. I shift my weight a fraction, leaning into my hip and allowing a hot rush of blood to pour into my hand, prickling my fingertips. My cold white hand turns pink. I think about my Christmas cards. My inlaws love Sears portraits. It would be cost-effective to just button up my pride and bring the family down for a sitting. I could stick those cheesy 5x6 portraits into those holiday cards with the windows cut out and send them en mass to the mainland folks. Or perhaps I could make a drawing to decorate the cards. My sore knee shoots pain up my leg. I snort hot breath onto my shoulder and hold very still. My skin under the light has a sheen of sweat; my skin in shadow has goose bumps.

beepbeepbeepbeepbeep Time's up.

When I arrived home, chilled to the bone, I put on the kettle and mixed up three cups of hot cocoa. I poured in eggnog flavored coffee creamer. Piled them up with mini marshmallows. Mike and I sat on the couch, watching our little boy lick the melting marshmallows off the rim of his cocoa, obviously enjoying it. Some things in life are just perfect.

undaunted, we advance...

... to serve the principle of freedom.

My orals are next week, just to clear up confusion.

I went to bed ridiculously early last night. Patted the computer as I shut it down, crawled into bed with my baby, and woke up every hour for the rest of the night as Mike failed to return from work. The motorcycle finally rolled up at daybreak, just as I was rolling out of bed for my shower. Yes, we are remembering how things were going before he left to New York. Oh well, only another couple of months left, then we may have time to see one another again.

Today I intern, at noon I hop in the car and earn myself some pay at WCC. Then I'm off to the mall to blow that money on Christmas presents (must get them when I can, I'm not going to have money in December). I love the winter months, it makes me happy to shop for presents, bake things, listen to seasonal music, and drink spiced tea. I've never lived in one place long enough to really call it home, but the winter holidays take that place for me. These months are home.

impotent rage

I infuriated the driver behind me by stopping my car in the right hand lane and parking. She honked. I pointed at the big yellow sign and jerked my thumb for her to go around me. She pulled up next to me and read the sign loudly, trailing off and zooming away when she got to the "except weekends and holidays" part after No Parking Anytime. Ha.

The fire alarm was honking in the library as I got in at 7:45am. I watched the security guards run around, then pulled out my book. I had allowed my frozen chicken dinner to thaw and leak all over this novel, and in the following days in a hot car, a thick fur of black mold had grown over half of it. I blew away some fuzz, peeled the pages apart, wiped as much of the black mossiness off as I could, and wiped my hands on my pants. Good thing I never took Preservation.

With planned power outages, A/C troubles, psychotic computers and mysterious printer problems, today is looking up. Toolbox Guy was taking digital pictures of his computer screen, which was filled with pictures of drunk frat boys. He gave me a furtive stare and hid his activities. I didn't ask.

Mat passed his orals, and we convened to congratulate him in the afternoon. Happy Hour at Dave & Busters was slow enough that my buzz wore off between drinks, and I did not get drunk enough to enjoy the video games. Yuri beat the tar out of the virtual boxer while I got my face jabbed in, but I at least managed to shoot more bad guys than her in Police911. She shot all of her colleagues. I'll remember to pick a different partner when I find myself in a library shootout. Gavin went for the driving games, crashing his car into every wall, field, and pedestrian on the screen. Mat and Mel smooched a lot. We left at 7:45pm, and I watched the young college crowd streaming in to begin their Friday night. I curled up in bed with my baby and was asleep by 9pm. Wild thing. Maybe when Mike comes back we can take the motorcycle down to Ward and have a go at D&B's and a movie at the MegaPlex of Doom.

Mike comes home tomorrow.

rude

The radio kept playing dirty songs about cheating lovers. I turned it off.

Mike is being good in New York. Fuck off, radio.


So Yuri has this stinking pile of construction debris near her house that she thinks might have a dead body in it, and I was about to head over with a shovel after our interviews, but my mother came to pick me up. Instead of solving crime, I spent the afternoon tearing apart Gavin and Chris and making a dinner which I was not destined to eat. I left my mother and my aunt to feed the kids and hurried off to class, stopping for a diet soda and some cash for parking.

"Hey, the ladies were discussing you when I went into my interview," Yuri said. "Oh shit," said I. But no, apparently they were talking about finding more information on a vacancy they might want to stick me in. I'd better start researching Valencia. And writing my book on winning over interviewers with stories about salami-eating masturbating hobos.

I love librarianship.

Blue Turk

I couldn't get the shower hot enough to shake the chill I was feeling today. Just stood under the steaming water with goose bumps and stared at the tiles. My nice jeans hang loose and crappy now. I pulled on a Led Zeppelin shirt and decided not to try for the sexy librarian look today. Technically speaking, I'm not supposed to operate a vehicle when sedated, but I popped my medicine and started up the car anyway with a roar of Alice Cooper on the stereo. My mother came out waving the phone, so I killed the engine and went inside to chat with Mike for a couple minutes. He's in the city today with his friends. No time for details, we said we loved each other and I headed out to work.

I sang along, focused vaguely on the pavement spinning toward me.

I'm covered in blood,
Like a rat on the sewer floor.

I thought about throwing out my lunch as I waited for Yuri to let me in to the library, but I ate it anyway and humored the Xerox Hobo with chit-chat about clock repair. Yuri let me in and handed me her keys on a string, which activated my dormant latch-key kid skills. Man, I'm such a bad-ass, I thought as I whirled the keys like a ninja. My shoe caught on my baggy pant leg and I fell down the stairs.

As I flipped on the lights, illuminating the long dark musty shelves of journals, I pulled off a few volumes of Nuclear Devices and Theory, 1959 and discovered that we have all the information needed to end the world right at our fingertips. In some form of strange coded language called math. The world is safe from me, at least.

unsettled

The peace of our neighborhood was rattled by the homecoming of our military neighbors. You Fucker (the only name for him that gets screamed out their window) and the Bland Guy were out washing their cars after a welcome-home squabble with the live-in girlfriend/roommate, the Shrieker. Pretending to check the mail, I went out to eavesdrop. I ignored them and they ignored me as we all side-eyed each other. You Fucker went inside and got his digicam, then surveyed the mountains and the parking lot with it while narrating to his unseen audience, "And there he is washing the car..." I herded Gavin off the road and looked over to see You Fucker pointing his camera at me. He looked at his camera, I looked in the lens - a standoff on opposite sides of a viewfinder - then he turned casually and went back inside without indicating that he had noticed me. Hmm.

I wonder where Mike is from minute to minute. Driving? Sleeping? Eating? I tossed all night despite a dose of Tylenol PM, my dreams were unsettling. I finally got out of bed at 6am and stood in front of the bathroom mirror in my underwear. My eyes are usually a bit puffy in the mornings, giving me a more innocent look. This morning they were just fat from crying in my sleep. I sang quietly to myself as I scrubbed my face, my voice a growl because of the illness grating my throat. I quietly got dressed, went downstairs, and ate cheerios in front of the computer as I plugged in my diet for the day. Saturdays are long and hungry. Today I am weak and trembly from my chest cold, so my mother dropped me off at work although she didn't need to. I feel disorganized and uneasy, but basically okay. The week to come is a rough one. I have also been booked for another figure modeling gig, the Friday after next. Much of my nervousness over the last session was due to the fact that I was emerging from the woodwork; now the calls won't stop until I move again. Artists are desperate for reliable warm bodies; at least I'll have cash for Christmas presents this year.

I'd like a nap. 8 more days until Mike comes home.

the sickness

A couple nights ago I came home late to find Gavin watching tv while my mother chatted with a neighbor. He was zoned out in front of America's Next Top Model, which, although mentally appropriate for 2 year olds, would not be my first pick for him. "And America's Next Top Model is..." I flipped the channel. Gavin sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with alarm, "No mom! I watch! Give me back remote!" and he punched it back to VH1 and slumped back onto the pillows as the quivering girl sobbed off her mascara. Huh.

My sniffle crawled into my lungs. My mother, unwilling to surrender the couch to her sick daughter, pulled out the couch bed and piled it up with pillows and blankets. This was the first time since my wedding that we had touched the thing, and the musty old sheets sent particles of dust up my nose as I sunk into the springs to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas with the family. The dust did nothing good for my chest cold, so I knocked back a couple Tylenol PMs and crashed like a log in my own bed for the rest of the night. I need sleep.

Mike be gone

If you set a butterfly free and it doesn't return to you, it was never yours to begin with, but if you smash it and it reanimates as a zombie and comes after you for eternity - that's love.

(My god that will be really unfunny if Mike's plane doesn't make it.)

So I've somehow found myself with 2 interviews within a week, both for places I am uncertain about living in. But you know, when you're 26 years old, sharing a bedroom with your husband and child in your mom's house, something has to give. Eventually I have to actually pull in the bacon. It's the circle of life.

Mike and I have said goodbye at airports more than a dozen times in the past 8 years. In college, we were apart for 3 months at a time, during summers. 2 weeks for his brother's wedding will be a snap. We mashed Gavin between us in a bear hug before waving goodbye. Between the mini bottles of liquor and complete works of Douglas Adams stuffed in his backpack, his 10 hour flight should be easy. Have fun at Lake George. Don't knock over any tour boats.

Since Mike took the camera, I will be reduced to posting pictures from the internet until further notice.

work

Reference question of the day: "This library?" Yes, yes it is. And no, we don't have any books.

Good librarians smile at their patrons. Bad patrons take this as their cue to leer with their staring eyeballs peeled back and their teeth bared every time they walk by the reference desk. Not sexy, man. Eyes front. It was just a newspaper I handed you.

Oh crap, it's Friday

mom: what do you want do today, Gavin?
Gavin: daaaah [grannie], it's cookie day. [duh]

Who am I to argue? I've got cookies baking now.
 

Last night Mike had the evening off, so we linked arms and walked up to the store. We rented A Lot Like Love and flopped onto the floor with popcorn and candy. Mike went to work halfway through the movie, leaving me in front of Ashton Kutcher all by myself. He climbed over me at 1 am and went to sleep. I woke up at 5:30 am and stood under a hot shower, debating whether I would rather have shaved legs or warm leg hair while modeling in the cold art building. I compromised by shaving one leg. Sat in the dark early morning and listened to the downpour of rain while I drank my tea. Gavin and I body slammed Mike awake as the sun came up. Mike hugged me. I pulled at his curls and patted his stubbly cheeks. His flight leaves on Monday afternoon.

Oh damn. 4 hours until showtime.

Wound up

Macy's says it is Christmas. It is September. Shopping for a wedding present for Mike to bring next week to New York, I walked through the giant Christmas tree displays with Gavin, admiring the ornaments. I seriously considered buying the happy couple a heart-shaped silver platter covered with ugly fruit and vines, but settled on a kitchen thing instead. At least I can drag out the awful crystal wedding frames we received at our wedding and re-gift them. Ha ha ha. (Um, the frames are beautiful, thank you so much, we just never got photos printed.)

Marketing works again. I chucked the Diet Dr. Pepper back into the case and snatched up a Diet Coke because of a sign that said, "1 in 6 wins a free 1 liter Coke product!" Once, in high school, I won a free Sprite, won another free Sprite from that one, won yet another from that one, and got kicked out of the grocery store by the manager (which was ok, since I was about to throw up a gallon of Sprite by that time anyway). I twisted off the cap and did a happy dance in the car. I'm a winner! So special.

But I was cold in class. I ran down to the vending machine at break time and bought a cup of brown swill with boiled ants instead of a cup of hot cocoa. I was prepared to drink it anyway, but after fishing out the 28th ant I gave up and dumped it in the bushes. I begged nickels off my classmates until I had enough for a cappuccino, threw that down on top of the coke, and shook like a leaf through the rest of the evening.

Thursdays. I didn't write a proper cover letter, as my assignment is due today, so I ran off the simpering cover letter I actually used for a job I applied for last week instead. I hope he doesn't mark it all up with red ink, as this will dash my feeble hopes of landing the job, seeing as I already mailed it in. I buttoned up my librarian shirt, slipped on my sneaky new black shoes, put on my jacket, and listened to my mother fret the whole way to the university. I hope she has a better morning.

a bunch of nothing

I hate hearing about other people's dreams, unless they involve me.

Lucky thing all my own dreams are about me. Last night I had a dream that I got stabbed in the library. Pissed off, I grabbed the crazy drama student who had done it (because of a chat session gone awry), who  blamed one of the library hobos, and I became confused and hauled them both down to the police station (in my car, still bleeding from the shoulder). While the police officers shackled them to the walls, I broke into the donut vending machine. 

I'll have to find a dream interpreter to explain the symbolism of getting stabbed by hobos (or cops and donuts - wtf is that wacky combination all about?).

I watched the Discovery Channel again. It said, "A woman wants one man to fill her every need. A man wants every woman to fill his one need." Thinking about that today.

In other news, the Devil Car has sabotaged itself. After locking us into and then out of itself, rolling our arms up in the windows, and setting off the alarm just for fun, the car has inadvertently re-activated the broken automatic key - which Mike had cracked in half and put through the washing machine. Ha. We are back in control.

Hand massage

Turned to help C. with a patron. The man over the counter looked like the average Bahai hippie I grew up with on Molokai, so I smiled and gave him my hand when he asked me for it. "I have a gift for you," he said, rubbing my hands vigorously and murmuring about the virtues of meditation and oxygen to counter the toxins in our systems. I humored him and breathed deeply when prompted, with C. only inches away to rescue me if the hobo tried to pull off my arm. "You bless me with your smile, thank you," he said quietly as I took back my hands. C. smirked. Y. came out to check on us, wheeled around on her heel, and called security. "That's the same fucker who has been petting our female workers all week," she hissed at me when I slipped into the back room. That would explain why poor C. was never offered any special hand therapy.

"Don't touch me with your hobo cooties!" Y. said.
"Oh, come on, I've had way skeezier massages than that."

A Story

I was an art model at the university for 5 years. During my first year, nobody thought to ask me how old I was, and I was too dumb to know that 17 was a bit young (read: illegal) for the job. There were about 30 regulars who came to draw every week. As I stiffly unwound myself from an excruciating pose after 25 minutes, one of the the 30-something guys offered to rub out my shoulder. Not wanting to be rude (and unable to escape on my numb legs), I let him, consoled by the crowd of witnesses while I let the blood back into my limbs. He was a bit brisk, and seemed honest enough. So when he offered to give me a better back rub during lunch break, I shrugged and said "ok".

So it was that I found myself in an empty classroom with the fellow. "It would be better if you took off your shirt," he said matter-of-factly. I hesitated, but, well, hadn't I been naked all morning anyway? I pulled off my top and lay on my belly in only a wrap-around skirt. As soon as he straddled my back, I knew that somehow things had gone very wrong. He began stroking my back calmly, then with increasing pressure. Soon he became rough, grunting slightly and breathing heavily. I felt his growing erection through his shorts, and suddenly exclaimed, "My, that feels better! Thanks so much, I have to eat lunch now before it's time to get back to work!" and I forcefully shouldered him off me, grabbing up my shirt. He was flushed and unrepentant, smirking at some goggle-eyed students who had peeked into the room seconds earlier. I went into the bathroom and scratched my back against the wall like a bear on a tree, somehow hoping to scrape off some of his germs.


and so...

Y. made a face. "Don't tell me your gross pervert stories! Hey, did I ever show you that picture of a lady breastfeeding a monkey?"

I swiveled on my seat and watched security haul away the cuddly homeless guy. C. cruised by on his way downstairs, "How are your ankles? Need them rubbed too? I like how he slapped you a bit at the end," he said.

Shut up.

Pas de shitkickers?

I went on a hunt for shoes. Shit-kicker boots, specifically, so that I could ride on the motorcycle without Yuri breaking a vein in her forehead about me getting my feet chewed off. I found boots, yes, but less suited to kicking shit than skewering turds. Who buys boots with pointy heels? If I wore those back on the reservation I would have gotten myself pegged into the mud and been left there to windmill my arms while everyone took pictures. The hunt continues.

Sometimes you hear hilariously tragic stories about sex that required medical separation. This is what happened to my car key as I locked the car last night; the door seized it and refused to let go, stranding Mike at home and costing him $45 in locksmith fees. Meanwhile, in class, I was shaking with silent pink-eared laughter with Yuri prodding me as our professor went on a 15 minute rant about the stupidity of bloggers. "Zese people are sooooo stupid, zey are spending 95 percent of zer time blah-de-blah on zer computer, using it as a surrogate for human interaction, all ze time *mwah mwah mwah* kissing up to eachozzer and writing - with tears in zer eyes - about the latest person to criticize zer blogging." At last he noticed Yuri's grin and my purple face and called for a show of hands to see how many of us had not yet started a blog. All hands shot up but mine and two others (all of us sinking in our seats), and he stared over his glasses at me, a look of evil delight on his face. " 'Sooooo stupid,' " whispered Yuri. Yes, and remorselessly so.

Mike was still stuck at home when we went down to our Scottish dance group. I hit the natural food store while my mother danced, garnering only a few suspicious looks for my fake-leather jacket as picked up tea and chocolate. "Intensely dark chocolate with cocoa nibs", said the wrapper. "Cocoa nibs", as it turned out, are ground up bean hulls that lodge between your teeth, not the sweet little nuggets I had envisioned. Bah. I hope the Amazonian fruit bats appreciate the $2 I threw their way for that lesson in flossing.

dirty laundry

"I feel like we're going backwards pretty fast," said Mike as he drove me to work. I had a lump in my throat as I opened the library, sliding back the rusted glass doors and looking out at the city. I tried not to over analyze it, whatever It was, but the more I tried to shrug it off, the more it felt like impending doom. "Counseling is the most fun you can have on insurance," Yuri insisted. I have a bad attitude about counseling. I don't even know what the problem is. Mike said he wanted to get back to a place where we could just be comfortable around each other again. I didn't even bother asking, You're not comfortable around me?

It is easier to get angry than to feel sad or scared. I'll buy a ticket to Arizona, run away, start over. Screw everyone, I can take care of myself, I don't need to answer to anyone. As if I wouldn't remember, or love, or still have sore joints every morning. Like it would be easier to start a new life than have an uncomfortable conversation.

Besides, dammit, I've actually been happy. Weighed down, under pressure, stressed out, and fighting panic attacks, but I actually love what I do, love my family, and have a few friends. Not too bad, really.

Now if I could just tell that to the lump in my throat and the pain in my heart.

stfu

Hobbled. After 6 hours on my feet, my hip joints turned into nubby balls of pain and I found myself sitting downstairs by myself. Suddenly patrons began setting off my librarian alarms left and right: some asshole yelling into a cellphone got shushed by guard before I could hobble over; 2nd Floor Masturbator crept up the stairs and the guards went missing with me unable to abandon post; same asshole cellphone guy crouched down in front of my counter and whispered into phone until I leaned over and stared at him; man with strange hat slowly fed dollar into card machine, then turned and sprinted across library before I could hobble after him to find out what he was up to; tampon thief headed to women's bathroom, still no guard. Something is on fire. Must limp to the rescue on my own. Goddamn hip!

I hear WD-40 is a good joint remedy.

Brownies of Spite

The funny thing about Brownies of Spite is that they can quickly turn into Brownies of Karma. I thought I would make a lovely pan of Ghirardelli brownies, post pictures, and eat them with the thought, "ha ha, so-and-so can't have a brownie". But I burned the shit out of the brownies - ate them anyway - and sobbed, "wah, so-and-so should be eating these brownies". Serves me right. At first I had dubbed them the Brownies of Despair, because I figured I was so despondent over my online and real-life communities falling apart, but they were, in fact, just me being spiteful. "You wanna hear about real Brownies of Despair?" Yuri said, "I have a recipe for flour-free brownies that are made with black beans and Splenda." Well that does sound worse.

I woke with sleep in my eyes and an uncomfortably fluttering chest. Fighting off light-headedness, I rolled out of bed at 5am to deposit my feverish son on the toilet before he got diarrhea in the bed. This is the start of a long day, I predict. At 7am I sat in the student service center with my mother's computer and drank a cup of chai as I checked my email. Now, organizing my thoughts for my internship work and impending Management of Libraries class, I wish I had brought more to snack on than a burned lump of brownie and a squashed banana.

A long day, I say. Mike at least went to a bar last night with our dance group to enjoy live celtic music, fielding a pass from a drunk girl who wanted to know what was under his kilt. Now he suffers from 4 hours of sleep as he watches a sick baby at home. I feel bad for these long Thursdays.

Off to gaze at my inbox again...


edited to add: My knees are killing me! I'm too damn young to have my arthritis act up every time it rains. Ri-goddam-diculous. Someone fetch me my glucosamine! 

Ice cream social

Still shocked by Mike's sneaky purchase of a more expensive motorcycle than I thought we could afford, I found myself milling through a small crowd of library students with a bowl of melting ice cream. Gavin used Mat as a playground while I chatted with my colleagues. We gathered up the gruesome foursome, grabbed a couple others (we really need to become a fivesome by adding Marie), and headed out for Chinese food. Imagine that - out on a Friday night with a group of friends! The earth will crack in two any time now. We ate, we laughed, we did impersonations, and Adnan promised not to grow a beard.

But the working weekend is here again. Gavin tucked into bed soundly, I tried to read while watching Indonesian soap operas. Oh, Raj, how will you get the girl with a haircut like that? I am mad that Battlestar Galactica isn't on tonight. .

Cheering up.

Cookies of shame

Cookies of shame are better than cookies of revenge. Gavin helped me measure the ingredients (shaving off a few slices of butter for himself), got me an egg, and helped me mix in the chocolate chips (eating a handful). While they baked, we listened to classical music and Mike helped me work on my web design job while Gavin lined up his cars on the rug. This was the perfect batch.

Why did I make these cookies? Well, I applied online for a job as a librarian at an art institute in Arizona - but sent them a cover letter and resume for New Mexico. I quickly sent along a humble-pie email and a new resume with the right state on it. What a great first impression. Very professional. I even signed it:

eek,
Holly McIntosh
 

Maybe I'll win points for trying. Maybe they'll roll their eyes and throw out my resume. Either way, I got cookies out of the deal.

Other news

Mat bravely came out last night, joining us at the cafe with beer. Mike sang better with a slight buzz. Now we know why rock stars are all alcoholics. There was a newbie last night, a local guy with big dark eyes, a buzzed head and armfuls of tattoos. His voice was too soft to hear, but he played his guitar with all the "diddly diddlies" that I like, so he's okay in my book. Mike excited and angered the crowd by starting a System of a Down song, then laughing,"just kidding".

Mike was also very brave this week, going to the DMV and getting both a new Hawaii license and a motorcycle permit, earning the respect/pity of the civil servants for taking two exams at once.

I am getting annoyed about this whole long bike process, but I just remind myself how cool I'll look in leather and shit-kicker boots. Maybe.

Party

I put on the leather jacket that I accidentally stole from my high school boyfriend's sister and discovered that it was like wearing an oversized cardboard tube. Miss December was an Amazon, but just being 6'1" would not make up for the girth of this garment. She must have stolen it from an actual biker herself. At any rate, it is stiff from disuse, and I think I might have to buy myself a graduation present of a nice fitted leather jacket at Christmas and let Mike break in this roll of cardboard.

Speaking of graduation - party! Mat is also graduating, and instead of fighting over our small group of mutual friends, I suggested we have one big party. Must brainstorm venue and theme. The head of the department also told us that celebration would be due to mark the passing of oral exams, so I'm thinking there's a doomed lobster with my name on it come October.

My working weekends are long this semester. Mike has agreed to meet a guy about a motorcycle outside my library this afternoon, and I will be glad to come out on my break to check it out. Maybe make "vroom" noises, because we can't actually test drive it, since neither of us have licenses. Maybe the guy will give us rides.

big plans

We are busy making preparations for our newest addition... a motorcycle. And believe it or not, this was not my idea. We are facing transportation issues between 3 adults with 3 agendas, so I jumped on Mike early yesterday morning and suggested we buy a moped for him (since he doesn't have to use the highway to go to work and it requires no extra licensing). He said that if we're going that direction we might as well do it right the first time and just get a motorcycle. Ok.

Mike has already read the state manual, and is looking to register for a surprisingly inexpensive state-sponsored training program. I have ripped "for sale" flyers off the bulletin boards on campus, and we've circled a few possibilities in the newspaper. We rode around town checking out bike dealers just for fun, and Gavin was so excited. "Oh mom," he says, "I need a motorcycle. We buy one now." He ran around patting all the silver and yellow bikes affectionately. He likes the sporty crotch rockets. He will learn.

Even if we do just get an affordable Honda instead of an Indian, I'm only a few weeks away from busting out my stolen Playboy model's leather jacket. Ha.

And it begins...

The first day of school came down around my ears with a crash. I pushed my way through the crowds of undergrads, looking at all the colorful self-conscious, flirting students. I realized that I was the only person in black and felt weirdly smug.

I bought my overpriced textbooks and tossed a few extra supplies on the counter while the cashier made fun of my last name. With 30 pounds of books hanging off my arm, I walked up to the LIS offices to pick up an application for the state library, as 22 positions have opened up and I am suddenly eligible. This application requires speedy action, lots of paperwork, written consent, arguments with the summer office over a problem with my credits, and the ordering of official transcripts. On top of my first week's worth of homework and 4 meetings for work, oral exams, and internships. Ah, well, armed with my trusty daily planner, I should make it through the semester with most of my remaining hair.

Fresh Meat

Children's lit doesn't attract many men, so we're all waiting to see whether the incoming group of new library students has brought in a new Class Hottie to bump Tim and Mat from their competing positions. Yuri and my mother both have their fingers crossed for an older gentleman to appear. Meanwhile, my obnoxious vegan co-worker has reportedly been replaced by a cute tubby rocker guy. We will see on Friday how he shapes up. If he can take some friendly insults and work 5 minutes without complaining or fucking up, he's gold in my book.

Vacation from hell

(technical blog problems cured!)

I am so tired of fighting with my mom all the time.
 

Gavin helped me rip tape and bend wire to build my armature, looked from the finished figure of Mike to the one I was working on and said, "Mom make baby statue?" He then sat on a stool and posed for me. He's a natural.

After a harrowing few days, Mike sat with a beer and regaled us with Tales of the Lifeguards while I modeled a clay figure of Gavin. How cup-of-chips Chris had his hair lit on fire; toilet paper thrown from a plane; Mike's toe skin flapping in the wind as he tumbled down the deck for a rescue; games of Assball and Dicktag. I spent a bit of time reminiscing about tiny lifeguard shorts. I think both of us miss having a group of friends to hang out with. Heck, we miss just hanging out with each other. It's funny how lonely you can get by not having any time to yourself.

But some day we will have a house, and a yard, and a bathtub with claw feet. I'll hang drawings of my family along the wall, and watch them age as the years go by. We'll have cats dozing in sunlight, and we'll eat enchiladas and play cards with friends every Thursday.

Yes we will.

"Did anyone ever tell you..."

"... you look like Red Sonja?"

I narrowed my eyes at my soon-to-be-ex vegan coworker. "Are you saying I look like Brigitte Nielsen?"

"No, I just mean, you're, like, in great shape and you look like you could kick my butt."
 

Okay. Works for me.

book signing

asshole: So, how big is your run?
me: Oh, I'm not sure.
asshole (with sneer): did you even sign a contract?
me: yeah
asshole: did you read it?
me: yes. I'm sure I could look it up.
asshole: you'll just sign anything? Doesn't matter? You should know your book run, your royalties, you know, important things. Did you even bother looking?
me: Nope, I just sign what they give me.

Idiot.

Today I was the literal kid in the candy store, taking a plastic baggie for the first time and hopping from bin to bin in the candy kiosk across from the bookstore in the mall, scooping up malt balls, red licorice, mint candies, and chocolate covered gummy bears. It was great. It's important to celebrate things, and I make a point to treat myself on book signing days. One of my library school colleagues dropped by and gave us leis, took our picture, and bought a book to show support. It was our happiest signing yet.

Only a week left of school. I walked into class last night and gave Adnan a bump, he turned and grabbed me gently by the neck with a weird smile. He had hit the campus bar before class. I had forgotten such things existed. He wasn't impaired, and I was jealous about how relaxed he was during the difficult first half of class (library students: a 5 minute presentation means 5 MINUTES, not 15, not 20, and definitely not 30! I know we can't count, but sheesh). Yuri had prepared herself for this with half a pan of brownies. This is how other people avoid going apeshit under the grind of summer school. All I had was a pack of gum. Mike, however, had me covered. I returned home to a mindless movie (Hitch), a bowl of popcorn, and a recording of Battlestar Galactica. I'm back in business now.

Several days ago I had a close look at my face in Mike's shaving mirror and decided that the blonde fuzz on my face was actually a mustache and beard. So I shaved. This seemed harmless enough until this morning, when I woke up with the invisible itchy torture of hundreds of sharp blades of blonde stubble. This was bad enough, and then I was exposed at work to the naked horror that is GG Allin. The joys of working with the public.

run Holly run

After making me strip down and put on a flimsy hospital gown, the nurses had me lay down on the exam table, then pulled blankets up to my chin and tucked me in like a little kid. I felt cozy and secure. Then they shooed away the old man in the next stall, pulled down my blankets, and stuck cold jelly and electrodes all over my torso, breaking the spell. The treadmill was an awkward speed; my legs were just slightly too short to manage it at a fast walk, and it was too slow for a jog, so I sort of lurched around on it, not fooled at all by the faded poster of a country lane that they had tacked to the wall in front of the machine. I almost lost my footing and smacked my chin off the hand rail when the doctor grabbed my arm and made me run like an Olympic torch bearer while he took my blood pressure. I took a bit longer than the old man ahead of me to get my heart rate up to speed, so that's good, I guess. I was finally able to flop down, out of breath, and watch the technician examine my heart with the ultrasound. I am totally healthy, it seems. This morning I told my professor why I had been absent, and she laughed, saying, "Oh, I had that same thing happen when I was in library school, turns out it was panic attacks!" Oh good.

1st class

I headed out early this morning to test the traffic, and arrived an hour before class. I don't know if it was the 6 hours of sleep or what, but it was hard to keep my eyes focused on the road, and my head felt like it was a balloon on a string, making it hard not to panic and crash. I've been particularly sleepy lately; maybe I'm fighting a form of narcolepsy or something.

There needs to be a paperback in my purse. I miss reading for pleasure. I still haven't found the fiction section in this massive research library, although I know it exists. Maybe I will go looking while I wait for class to start, even though I am muzzy-headed and sleepy, weak in the chest and slightly queasy from my pills and empty stomach. I am not grumpy, at least. Yesterday was great, the smells of pie and brownies filled the house. We listened to classical music and sat around all day, watching Gavin play and catching a few episodes of Carnivale while he napped, snacking on chips, dip, and shrimp cocktail. We broke out the kebabs and barbecue grill while Gavin splashed in his baby pool, blended up some Kahlua, Irish cream, and ice cream, and rented a movie. Very American of us, even if we did opt for grilled veggies and steak instead of cheddar brats. At least Mike did his part to empty the beer drawer in the fridge.

But I do feel slightly grey today. This class isn't something I'm very interested in: Pacific Island Resources. But as long as I am not expected to turn out a 15 page paper in 4 days, I will probably stay out of the hospital this go-around (it's a lie, I have an appointment for heart tests in a week). I lost a bit of my pep somewhere in the past few weeks; to take a page from Bilbo, I feel thin, like butter scraped over too much bread. In every area of my life. I don't know how to get my stride back.

New girl

Yuri sniggered at me as she got off the phone. "Looks like we're going to have another Holly Mac working here, you're not special anymore." The new girl arrived a bit later for her interview, accompanied by her brother-in-law, the guy who sits next to me in class (who also works at our library). He was immediately suckered into working the desk while Yuri took the new Holly down to meet the head of circulation, and we stood around being very cool and making fun of people. After they left, I asked Yuri if we should warn the new girl that our mild-mannered vegan co-worker is a horndog on the prowl. He might try out his new interpersonal skills on her, as I have been doing my best to teach him how to be a hussy after he sulked at me about being a loser with women. I'm not really the best person to teach him about flirting, but I told him everything I know from the Discovery channel, since he wasn't buying my spiel on serendipity. Poor lonely little vegan.

I'm hungry, with another 3 hours until quitting time, but at 6pm I'll head over to the cafe for some dinner with Yuri while I wait for my mom to get back from her performance at the state fair. Hummus! Fresh pita! Chai!

sleepy time

Mike managed to revive me a bit as he drove me to work this morning, giving me the chance to sing along loudly with Tenacious D ("... I'm not gonna cook it, but I'll order it from ZANZIBAR!") and we stopped at the cafe for tea and cheesecake before I headed across the street to the library. I'm feeling more myself today, despite the fact that I fell asleep on the couch this morning (I don't like naps). Yuri insisted that my problem was hunger-based, and spread out an array of snacks to join my sad carrot sticks and Altoids (but I just had cheesecake!). She warned me about the bean dip, but we decided that a case of food poisoning would at least give my doctors something concrete to work with.


This had better pass in a hurry, though, because tomorrow will be a hectic day, with Father's Day, the State Fair dance performance, and work. Monday promises adventure, as well, as I have an early doctor's appointment to discuss my blood work, followed by my mother's birthday celebration, class, a group homework session, and open mic night. If I have survived to Tuesday, I might have a few moments to put my head on straight and get focused for my presentation on Friday.

In the meantime, I will be manning the desk, on guard for reporters who might come snooping around to investigate the identity-theft ring that was just uncovered - involving the person who used to have Yuri's job. Our under-rated library is getting some press. Yes, it's not all perverts and smelly salami guys, we have organized criminals here, too!

librarian rant

My professor handed out an article about the detrimental effects of "info-mania", claiming that excessive e-mail and cell phone use drop our IQ by 10 points per session, compared to 3 points with marijuana use. My discussion group questioned the validity of the sources, and I argued that people never like to work, and would just be playing hangman on paper during meetings if they didn't have their text messaging, so what's the difference? All three of us assumed this was a hypothetical corporate scenario. It wasn't, it was about public library users. My professor wanted us to talk about ways to protect library users from their own stupidity and to educate them on the harmful effects of their personal interests. I stared at him. Some of our class threw out suggestions about time limits except for scholarly research (whatever means they judge THAT by) and monitoring systems to prevent "misuse". I noticed that it was those of us with "bad attitudes" who were horrified by this conversation, sitting with our mouths open. "And then, after they enter their personal information, they can enter their IQ, too, and that would determine how much time they get," said Mat. The class laughed and then went straight back at it. Oh, for the sake of the children! Give me a fucking break. If you catch someone breaking the law by looking up porn in front of children, or masturbating in public, you toss them out or call the cops, you don't deny access for everyone else! But it goes beyond porn, they were asserting that personal email and web surfing should be limited and discouraged. How about we get rid of the fiction section, too? Or how about those naughty romance novels? Ban them all! "So what should we do?" concluded our professor. "Distribute marijuana?" suggested Mat.

I was so upset by this anti-information conversation amongst librarians that I pried my fingernails out of the table after class and went home to administer myself a bit of liquor. This class is going to cost a fortune in booze if it keeps up like this.

Field trip

I have slandered Hotel Street; we only saw two hookers, and there were only seedy bars, no strip clubs. I apologize, downtown Honolulu.

After feeling very invigorated by listening to loud music on the ride over, I parked in the scariest parking garage ever and browsed Chinatown with a classmate until the rest of our group had arrived. We set off, pointing and gawking with our little maps like a group of tourists. A man yelled at us that we had no right to be happy, we are at WAR! But we ignored him. Two of our librarians clapped their hands over their eyes at the sight of a bikini poster as though their faces were being burned off. "Old married ladies," Yuri winked at me.

Yuri herself:



A gaggle of librarians:



Wo Fat and Christmas tree in window:



The lovely downtown police station:



Dead lizards can cure anything:



My professor:



My reflection, because nobody would take a picture of me:

promotion material

Yuri and I met at the cafe to drink tea over a group homework project. We examined a detailed 1832 map of Molokai to identify the cartographer's symbols and develop a legend against three other early maps, to figure out similarities. With our brain-boosting beverages, we finished the job in no time, and walked down to Yuri's place to waste a few hours before my appointment with my new internship director. We stopped at 7-11 for snacks, and walked around back to Yuri's studio apartment, waving at all the stray cats. Yuri poured us a couple of rum & cokes, and introduced me to DVR. I sometimes have a bit of Kahlua and milk before bed, and it has never done anything except relax me a bit, but rum turns out to be a sledgehammer to the head. Halfway through my glass, I turned my head and discovered that my brain hadn't followed. Yuri saw me sloshing my head back and forth in a telling manner, said that my face had turned red, and took away my cup. An hour later, I stood up to use the bathroom and the floor slipped sideways, smacking me with a wall.

"How am I supposed to go meet with L. about the internship like this?"

Yuri, who works with L., waved her hand dismissively, "She'll never notice. Just tell her I gave you a rum & coke, she'll understand."

I was fully prepared to cancel my appointment, but another hour passed and I found my feet again. We walked back up to campus, and I actually managed to have a really good interview with L. As I fetched Yuri from her office in the library, the head of circulation looked at me and said, "What about her, then?" It seems there was some question about who to train for the next promotion, and I volunteered by showing up. Yuri said it would be done, and we flounced off to class (ordinarily I find the term "flounce" offensive, but it is, in fact, what we did). We studied maps for the next 3 hours, and I came home to discover that, in my absence, Gavin had sat through the entire showing of Madagascar at the theater with my mom. Every time I take Gavin to the movies, he claps his hands over his ears and cries until I take him home, and we had just attempted to see this very movie only 3 days ago. Apparently, this is an act he reserves for me, and he enjoyed the dancing animals very much with his grandma. Annoying. At least Mike has promised that he will watch Gavin while I see the dancing lemurs one of these days. At some point, I'll get to see a whole movie in one sitting.

False start

My mother dropped me off at work and drove away with Gavin. I sat in front of the library and ate my sandwich, waiting for Yuri to open the doors for me. I read the weekly paper. I waited. Finally, I got up to examine the summer hours and discovered that the library is closed this weekend! After banging my head against the glass doors a few times, I ran across the street to see if my mother had stopped for lunch at the cafe. She had not. I headed for the campus bookstore, wondering what I should do with a whole day to myself. I was dressed for air conditioning, and the afternoon was steamy and hot, so I picked up a discount University of Hawaii tee shirt and a notebook, then called Mike to rescue me. 

I made myself comfortable on the comfy couch at the cafe and pulled out my notebook, sucking on a large iced chai. I had almost an hour to unwind and enjoy time alone, listening to classic rock on the radio and watching the students drinking their coffees. I bought Mike a brownie when he arrived, and spent the rest of the afternoon at home painting the bathroom.

My mother has not returned home, as she had promised she would. She gets caught up with shopping and spends the whole day out instead of coming home and letting Mike see Gavin before he goes to work. It looks like I might have to drive Mike to work and then meet my mother at the university (since I can't get hold of her, and I know that's where she will go at the end of my usual work shift), then have her follow me back to Aikahi and drop the car off for Mike. That is a lot of driving. If that's the case, I'm going to insist we eat dinner on the town to make up for the inconvenience that today has been for everyone.

Mostly Harmless

My mother and I went to see The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I liked it a lot. I must re-read the books. Zaphod Beeblebrox is a living caricature of my father. Right down to the two heads. The books are such a familiar part of my family history, it was just like going home for 2 hours.

 

I bought Gavin a pack of "water soluble" markers, and our walls, staircase, cupboards, and sinks are now indelibly decorated with scribbles, all in the time it took me to look up and say, "Mike, where did Gavin go?" Yay for Clorox in a spray bottle. This was all a plot to make me clean up, I know it!

Mike insists that he no longer has a crush on Hot Redhead, and that he would like to take her to a bar some time. Hmm. I'm so convinced. I'll ask him to take along other friends if he's going anywhere with her, but I trust him not to do anything. That won't stop me from teasing him, though.

Mother's Day in the Library

The undergrad students are buzzing around the library like bees this week, studying for their final exams. This means more action for us employees, as we are bombarded with book returns, xerox jams, reference questions, phone calls, and complaints. I had to see a man at the computer terminals about a salami, my first ever disciplinary move. No salami in the library for you! My newly budding librarian antennae are all a-quiver. I have abandoned last week's hypothetical job and house in South Carolina and have found a hypothetical job and house in Newport News, instead. Although I only browse the librarian job ads for fun, it makes me happy to think that I can start applying in the fall.

Mike left bouquets of flowers on the table for my mother and I. We admired them, then started in with our usual Mother's Day fight. This year: when my mom started doing the dishes after breakfast, I started cleaning the living room instead of helping her in the kitchen. Damn. Can't win for losing.

What lies in store

Mother's Day. For a few hours before and after work, I get to be a lazy queen... assuming I can drag Mike out of bed and force him to pamper me. My mother is preparing some preemptive fudge to ward off the disappointment that is synonymous with Mother's Day. We will win this time. In fact, I just got very excited watching a preview of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. With the release of the new Harry Potter book this summer, the 4th Harry Potter movie at my birthday, and Narnia at Christmas (not to mention graduation), I'll be in dork heaven.

Here's a first: I told Yuri I wanted to lose another 10 pounds, and she said I would be too skinny. Huh. Maybe I should just knock down another 5 and kick up the weight lifting.

A-flutter

I started the morning with the first of my final 3 classes. After Wednesday, I will be free for all of two weeks before summer sessions begin.

After class, I pushed through a crowd of sulky teenagers and bought a sandwich for lunch at Subway. I clocked into work, checked my e-mail, and spent the next two hours distracted, trying to scan the stacks for mis-shelved reference books. My professor ran into me and gave me feedback on the book review I had submitted last night. As it turns out, I'm not too bad at writing reviews, and he encouraged me to pursue it. Librarian, children's book illustrator, and book reviewer. Sounds ok to me.

Praise from my professors makes me happy. Even happy and distracted, I managed to pull 8 mis-shelved books and keep my title of champion book-finder. I ate mentos, argued with my co-workers about who was going to answer the phone, laughed at Yuri as she pantomimed an unfortunate encounter with her cat, and found myself a hypothetical job and house in South Carolina. (It feels as though we will be forced to move to the mainland next year due to absolutely insane inflation in the housing market - $350,000 for a 2 bedroom house in a crappy neighborhood? Nuh-uh.)

One thing I like about library work are the funny patron names. Today: Peter B. Hung.

no news

I like being a librarian. I like opening the library, putting the newspapers on sticks, turning on the computers and xerox machines, wiping down the counters, and making the place orderly and presentable for everyone. I have registered for my fall classes, the last classes I will be taking. Between 4 classes, studying for my oral exams, work, and a toddler, I'm going to be bald in patches and suffering nervous twitches by the time my birthday rolls around, but it will be worth it.

My mother swore she saw three ninjas dart by the back window this morning, but I assured her that ninjas were too stealthy to be seen in broad daylight. She ran outside with my camera and caught them in the act: the neighbor boys, actually dressed as ninjas. She printed out the pictures for them, and they were happy about how cool they looked. We scored points with the neighbors, I think.

Meanwhile, I had been suspecting that Gavin was a bit too happy to drop me off at work and say goodbye. Today I woke him with a kiss as I climbed out of the car and he mumbled sleepily not the word "bye", but the word "pie". Turns out his grandmother has been taking him across the street for cheesecake at the cafe every time she drops me off. Hows that for a little Pavlovian training?

One of my co-workers is an undergrad in a philosophy course. His professor gave them a self-diagnostic quiz to determine their philosophical standpoints. He didn't tell me what my answers meant about myself, but it was fun considering them:

You have to choose between the lives of a baby or a convict - who do you kill?
The convict, of course. I think a better question would be, "You have to choose between the lives of a 70-year old scientific genius and a baby, who do you kill?" (in which case, I say the baby.)

You're on a sinking ship full of men, women, and children, without enough live boats, who do you throw in the water?
The single men first, then the other men. If preserving life is the ultimate goal, it would make no sense to throw the wombs overboard. But if the swimmers were going to be rescued imminently, then I'd throw the women in, because women have been shown to have higher endurance against hypothermia. Of course, much depends on age, physical condition, etc, either way.

Death penalty? What about the innocent that get executed?
Yes. If the courts are sending anyone to death row for anything other than DNA-linked murders and ones with credible witnesses, then that's a problem with the courts.

Euthanasia?
Yes.

If you were a mother, and your village was invaded and you had to hide, and your baby started crying, would you smother your baby to save lives of the villagers?
I decided this wasn't a fair question, because it wouldn't be a conscious decision. You would either be so terrified that you pressed the baby harder and harder into your bosom until it died, or you wouldn't, and you'd be discovered and killed. Besides, this actually happened during the holocaust. The babies died. Not a happy thing.

I don't know, these questions sounded more moral than ethical. Ethical questions are much harder to answer, because they can be so subtle.
 

I obviously have no news today. I ate pita chips and hummus and strawberries. I took cold medicine. My nose is runny. I have a term paper due in a week. I'm still not in the mood. I have imaginary arguments with my neighbors. I'm brainstorming. I'm doodling. I'm just poking along as usual.

:)

Disclaimer

The really cool teenagers who hang out at the library (oh yeah, they're such rebels) elbowed each other and sniggered while I rummaged through the graphic novel racks for my next YA assignment. Because, as we all know, graphic novels are written and illustrated by acne-pocked 14 year olds, not grody old losers in their 20s who still live with their mom. Not at all.


I have been reading Lois Ann Yamanaka's Heads by Harry, and it has been making me think a lot about growing up on Molokai (the novel takes place on the Big Island, but it's about the same). I thought about my giggly Japanese friend who's father had two walls full of rifles and stuffed heads. About the cute boy she was in love with who came to hunt with her dad, the boy who shot our cats, and who drowned and died in her arms while spearfishing one night. I remembered standing with her in our underwear in her backyard at 3am while our friends played poker around the foil-covered pans of food in the garage. The book hit home, and I haven't decided if that is a fact in its favor yet. Probably. I should take a day trip to Molokai and walk through town, I haven't been there in 7 years.

Soft, 'eh me?

notes from work

The continuing wallpaper project has to wait for tomorrow; my work days are all on the weekend. The library system crashed yesterday, leaving us with several hundred items to back-date and re-shelve. The circulation desk moved upstairs, leaving one person downstairs to man the book return, fix copier machines, and keep people from masturbating on the carpets. Today, that person is me. A long day with no food or water or toilet breaks, punctuated intermittently by patron emergencies. Plenty of time to people watch, one of my more favored activities.

"Don't do anything you wouldn't want to be caught doing," is my motto, and it keeps my life clean and simple (and boring, sorry). I've recently come to the obvious realization that there are just things you can't help doing, that happen to you, that you don't want to be caught at. I don't know how to reconcile that. It goes hand in hand with my other motto, "Let it be", but the two just don't gel into one cohesive motto. "Don't do anything on purpose that you don't want to be caught doing, and just let the rest be"? Not very catchy.

caff-amphetamine

I accidentally started the long day with a jolt of caffeine that made me hyper throughout class and caused my voice to tremble when I delivered my article critique. My hands shook badly as I tried to ink my current illustration before work. This is exactly why I don't do drugs.

My hands evened themselves out after a few hours, and I huddled over my drawing in the cold A/V center all afternoon. The system was down, so I only needed to console patrons and answer phones. At one point, I jumped up to help a student and my reference photos scattered across the table in front of one of my co-workers. I was pretty sure that half-naked photographs of myself* would be against the rules, but she didn't care. Hurray for liberal university folk. I did a bit of research into starting my next Master's degree, and it looks like I'll have to wait until the fall after next to start up my art studies again, if I decide to.

After work, we had dinner at the cafe across the street. Their staff of eerily tanned kids with blonde hair are a bit slow, but they sure make good food. On the way out, Gavin swung happily from my hand, tripped, and I dropped him on his face on the pavement. I think I was more upset than he was as I wiped the blood off his lips.


*I really would prefer having different models for my drawings.

Self pity

After the games, Mike stayed with the group to break down the tea tent while my mother and Gavin went to pick me up from work. I looked forward to an evening with Mike, but the hours ticked away with no sign of him. At last, I heard the car beep as he locked it and I climbed out of bed to say hi to him. Instead I sat on the couch in the dark and talked to him about my recent feelings of loneliness and neglect. The band comes first, work comes first, the RSCDS comes first, while I'm left behind with the baby with not even a backwards glance. Mike hugged me and told me I was wrong, and we went to bed disgruntled.

I dreamed that I was sitting on the couch with an old friend. I put my head on his shoulder as we watched tv, and he shrugged me off. "What are you trying to do? You know I'm married," he said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. I felt completely lost and rejected.

This was made worse by the realization when I woke up that I don't have a friend on hand at all. As much as I like Yuri, I don't know her well enough to horse around, let alone rest my head against her when I feel alone.

I rolled over and hugged Gavin, who squeezed me back, "Ahhh, mama!" He's not much for adult conversation, but I'm not really alone, am I?

Bad Mood

Fuck.

I shoved my belongings into a locker and indulged in a temper tantrum, jumping up and down angrily until I felt foolish enough to stomp into the library office to get a diet soda. Yuri swiveled at her desk and said "Hi!", surprising me enough to spit cola down my front. She got to be my victim to unload my problems on:

Mike was supposed to drive me to work from the Highland Games, but hadn't been bothered to get out of bed in time (he works nights and sleeps during the day).

My mother had to abandon the tea tent and lose her nice parking spot in order to drop me off (and no, I couldn't take her car, she needed it for loading purposes later on).

I decided it was foolish to abandon my yearly fish-and-chips tradition and made myself sick with an entire day's worth of grease in one sitting; furthermore, I was unable to throw up even though I felt nauseous because I have an iron stomach and a fear of slipping down the slope into an eating disorder.

I brought my notebook and current illustration to work; but forgot my textbook and pencils, rendering them useless.

I forgot my nice fuzzy jacket in the tea tent and forgot to pack a change of clothes, so I had to freeze in my inappropriate work attire.

Rar.

The Games

My mother was running around the living room, looking for her purse and fussing because she was late. I took glance around the room, and Gavin looked up from his morning episode of Thomas the Tank Engine. "Purse?" he said, and scrambled up. He fetched the case to his Thomas DVDs, pulled off the cover, opened it up, and pointed to a picture of a green train engine. "Purse!" he said helpfully, offering it to my mother. The engine's name was Percy. I must now live with the fact that my 2-year old can't say his own name, but can identify the cast of Thomas and Friends. (In my defense, he also knows the names of all the characters in his collection of award-winning bedtime books.)


In other Gavin news, he has officially started talking in sentences. Why, just yesterday, he said, "Ow! Mama hit baby in the head!" (it was an accident!)

Strolling through the week

I spent Wednesday morning interviewing the woman who handles the video collection at our library. The politics involved in wrangling funds and support from the administration was as fascinating as it was terrifying. At this point, I'm not confidant about my ability to stand up to opposition in the professional field, which will be inevitable as a librarian. I can only trust that I will survive my green years and turn into a tough old stick that can bludgeon people into agreeing with me.

After lunch at BaLe, I battled the Honlulu traffic and found a parking spot only two blocks away from the public library. 20 minutes later, holding the only copy of Dance on my Grave on the island, I argued and feigned stupidity until the parking attendant let me back into the structure without paying another fee (ok, I actually was too stupid to figure out the fee schedule and she finally wanted to get rid of me). By the time class rolled around, I had been locked in the computer lab for 4 hours doing homework. I was twitchy and exhausted. The student presentation for the evening was delivered by a woman with a slow, soothing voice that made me sleepy and then repeatedly jabbed me awake with the word "liberry". Yuri passed me a note. Gee, I hope I can work at a LIE-BERRY when I grow up. I wish I had pencils to jam in my ears.

This weekend kicks off the Highland Games. There will be dancing, music, celtic stuff, and fish & chips. Too bad I'll be working.

Easter 05

Gavin dragged his basket out from its feeble hiding place and got very excited about the present behind his chocolate bunny: a new DVD collection of classic Thomas the Tank Engine episodes (I bought it in self defense, to stop us from having to rent the Thomas the Tank Engine movie every week). The early episodes of this little British kiddie show are really very charming.

Mike missed the early morning baskets and creamed Easter eggs on toast, but groggily helped himself to leftovers and located his own basket before calling his family. The smells of roasted lamb and casserole filled the house as we sat our chocolate-laden bodies around the living room to the soft chatter of Thomas the Tank Engine.

Just as we were to meet my aunt for a picnic lunch, Gavin fell asleep and the sky filled with rain clouds. It was decided that we would meet at my aunt's house in an hour for dinner, instead.

An hour later, we phoned ahead and got no answer. We loaded up the food and headed over. The door was open, with no signs of life within. We knocked, called, and rang the doorbell with no answer, until finally my mother went inside and found my aunt, her husband, and their son asleep in the bedroom. The living room was covered in debris, toys, and candy, and the dining table was covered with junk mail. There was no sign of food preparation, but we cleared the mess and laid out the lamb, casserole, potato salad, spinach salad, coconut shrimp, dip, sodas, pie, and cheesecake. My aunt shuffled into the kitchen and pulled out a small plate of cold sliced ham, and set it on the table without heating it. I thought for a minute my mother's head would explode, so I hurried to the living room and put on some classical music in an attempt to create an illusion of festivity in the otherwise cheerless house.

When she realized that we wanted to eat while the food was still warm (except the ham), my aunt woke up her husband and son. It looked grim, but we pulled together and organized an egg hunt for the kids. My cousin stopped tormenting Gavin long enough to run around the lawn for eggs. The dads showed slight competitiveness as they goaded the boys on, helping just a bit too much. Loaded with eggs, the boys ate as much chocolate as they could hold, until Chris was reeling around at top speed, screaming and throwing everything he could get hold of as hard as he could. Gavin hid. I wished I could, too.

Later on my mother and I salvaged the day over hot tea and dark chocolate after Gavin was in bed and Mike had left for work. Well. That was an Easter.