Self destruct activated

2 weeks and counting. We decided to ship the car back home, and then waited to see if it would spontaneously explode as a result. Indeed; no sooner had we arranged the loading date and paid the deposit than the driver's side window fell thunk! into the inner workings of the door. Great.

 Mike tore off layers of door, located the snapped pieces of window guts, drove across town to get the replacement part, spent all day drilling it in, discovered it was the wrong part, couldn't get the right one from any of the auto stores in town, ordered one online, and we resigned ourselves to a few weeks of tempting thieves with our open window. All of this distracted us from noticing that the car was up to something worse; when she ran out of gas in record time we chalked it up to the auto parts scavenger hunt, when she took longer starting on ignition we were too busy talking about the window to really notice. Just as we ordered the part and settled into the wait (a time we might have then noticed these underlying developments), Gavin began vomiting and running a fever, I began having contractions 15 minutes apart, and Mike got a cold. No problem; we smothered the ailments with fresh cookies, laid up in front of crap movies, and were back up and running the next day. As I returned to work and Mike took the still-recovering child on errands with him to mail the prodigal guitar (an ebay fiasco unto itself), the car seized its moment. With a farewell bing of the fuel light, it died in mid-intersection. Mike, while graced with physical dexterity and manly fix-it-ness, is not so skilled in crisis management. Although I sent in reinforcements and issued motherly decrees on negotiating the situation with a sick child, he showed up almost an hour later with none other than Dance Class Girl. I had a dog once who made little squeak-growfing noises when she was unhappy (say, after a 5 year old had trussed her up in play doctor bandages or she had eaten all the chocolate bunnies from the easter baskets). This is the same noise I make whenever Dance Class Girl appears. She is a sweet, good-hearted, pretty girl. The kind of girl you want to push off a ledge. Mike looked like I had his balls in my fist the whole way home, although truth be told I am too fat and sleepy these days to be fussed much with any of this. Cascading disasters are entertainment unto themselves. It's nothing if not a sign that change is truly underway, at last!

I wrangled a ride to work today, only to realize I had not brought any lunch. Boss offered use of car, which I am too stupids to drive because it is stick (in the zombie apocalypse I am sure I could dig up my high school stick skills and make a run for it, but I'd rather not practice on my boss's car in lunch traffic, however similar to zombies the doctors milling around Starbucks may be) so I found myself waddling to the Marketplace in the 98 degree afternoon, sticking to the shady side of the street and admiring the glimpses of red craggy mountain in the distance. Applebees was the closest food source, so I decided to luxuriate in the a/c with my book and an overpriced Weight Watcher entree. The waiters seemed stumped by my presence, staring first at my stomach, then at my book, and repeating, "One?" long enough that I had to laugh. The singleton restaurant experience isn't the mythical movie moment I supposed it to be. I sent Mike a message to assure him I had survived the walk. A bit later I was enjoying the murmur of afternoon lunch chatter (relationships, money, food) and finishing off the tilapia, when a familiar voice made me look up from my book. Gavin stood in front of me, and for a minute I couldn't understand what I was seeing. Mike grinned behind him, catching my knee-jerk expression of guilt as I determined whether or not I had been caught doing something bad. (I had not.) "We fixed the car!" Gavin exclaimed; climbing into the seat next to me, accepting a piece of broccoli, and ordering apple juice from the startled waitress. "It was a fooooose. Fa-yoose." "Fuse?" "Yep." Brilliant! Very pleased with Mike, and with $40 fuse, and with happily heat-flushed little boy with apple juice. They dropped me back off at work, and now we have just to cruise into the weekend - to poolside barbeques, Battlestar, and lazy knitting (am presently mangling a stuffed snail).

Eye of the storm? Who cares! We have ribs!

Questions du Jour

 "I need a wordless picture book... in Spanish." 

 "Do you have an English-to-English dictionary?" 

 "Do you have Like Water for Elephants?" 

 "How long is a sentence?" 

"I know I can't check out this reference book, but can I print it? Do you have all your books online?" 

[VERY non-excited voice] "Do you have any biographies of famous accountants?" 

"I don't know the title or author or what it's about, but what's that book written by that guy that was on oprah? It had something to do with Anne Frank or something." [Night, by Eli Wiesel] 

"Does the library have an email address? I want to order some catalogs and stuff online." 

"Do you have a printed list I could have of all your nonfiction books? could you make one?" 

"What's that poem about mothers and tea bags?" 

"Who is a person who changed the world in some way? I have to dress up as them." [... me?] 

"Where are the fucking books on fucking spain, spanish, like, fucking history and shit?" 

 "Where are the books about ligers?" 

"My son needs five books about the lady who invented washing machines." 

 "I need a book, I can't remember the name or who wrote it... it had "the" in it." 

"I want a book with lots of photos of STDs. I'm doing a unit and want to scare the bejeebers out of my students."

no showers for April

All the cars are brown. There is no rain, no wind, just layers of dust that settle in dime-sized blotches over every surface. My belly rubbed a clean spot on the back of the car as I squeegied off the rear window at the gas station this morning, a bright green splotch in a sepia world.
 

The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave.

Oh no, even Modest Mouse has turned against me. I need to bring home the stack of Hap Palmer discs that are sitting beside my work computer and spend my time listening to jangling banjo music instead of wringing the juice out of my steering wheel every morning.


Friday

Our small group of children's librarians shivered around a county van outside headquarters before the sun came up, waiting for our coordinator to drive us up to Fresno for the day. I huddled in the middle. When the van door swung open everyone suddenly stepped to the sides, leaving me alone in front of the empty vehicle. This is the same thing that happens at buffets. I took the back corner, leaving everyone else to climb into place according to their window and legroom preference. We drove silently for two hours as the sky brightened, heads lolling sleepily. There was nothing to see. The wind had died down and the smog was a thick streak of yellow across the horizon from one end of the valley to the other. Fresno looked like New Jersey, rows and rows of brick buildings with huge yards of shipping containers and trucks, dotted with scrawny trees and the odd attempt at modern architecture. The GPS gave directions in an Australian accent, eventually devolving into a chant of "recalibrating... recalibrating..." as we turned randomly down side streets toward the library. We filed out in the parking lot, slapped our name stickers on in the meeting room, and went in for lessons on infant story times.

At break I hopped a wall with one of my colleagues and headed for the much-praised corner bakery. We stared at the $6.50 loaves of bread before buying an overpriced cinnamon bun and a scone. Two of our party fell asleep in the second half of the morning session, making a great impression on the sniggering Fresno librarians. At lunch we went out as a group into a nearby Mexican restaurant, where we all agreed that the enchiladas tasted liked burning tires, which took some kind of skill. On the way back I was excited to buy a fancy candle in the stationary store that was labeled "DIRT" and stank like potting soil.

We spent the afternoon wagging puppets at each other and squealing nursery rhymes, then climbed back into the van, angered the Australian GPS, got lost heading toward Oregon, turned around to ask for directions from a startled (and suspiciously guilty-looking and sailor-hatted) man on a dirt road, and managed to get 20 minutes in the correct direction before I made them pull over to use the bathroom. We finally got home just before dark. All in all, not a terrible adventure. The boys were happy with their souvenirs (floppy frisbees and lip balm) and I dropped like a rock into bed, cursing my twitchy limbs. Why can't I develop Restless Leg Syndrome in the middle of the work day, when it might kick me into action instead of falling asleep over my summer reading press releases? Bananas and milk have failed me.

 
Not a lot of  adventures these days, except for moving plans and taxes. I am a bit sad as the summer comes around again. Raise your drinking glass, here's to yesterday.

Bubble

Another ride down to Headquarters. Like many libraries, it is seated on government property next to the court house and police station. As I pulled up to a red light, four motorcycle cops stopped alongside me, identical in their white helmets, bulky blue jackets, and knee-high boots. As their bikes rocked gently to a stop, they all stuck out their right legs and shook their feet in perfect unison, then tucked them back in and drove away with the green light. A boot ballet.

The meeting was a demonstration of cheap bug crafts presented in monotone, causing us all to sag into our donuts and hunch up self-consciously when a video camera swung at us. At lunch, I ate a manapua and napped across the chairs in the staff lounge. The afternoon was better, with sing-alongs, magicians, puppeteers, live reptiles, and 6-foot bubbles. At 4pm, I walked across the cold, grey parking lot and drove back toward the library. High, feathered clouds broke up the orange light into thin beams above the distant purple mountains. This time my feelings of affection were matched by feelings of homesickness.

Mike surprised me by popping into the staff lounge as I was stuffing broccoli into my mouth. "You need to check your phone, and your email," he said, shoving my phone into my hand. "Hawaii called and you forgot your phone at home, I told them you'd call back." I threw him out the door and slammed myself into my office to make the call.

Next week things will be decided. Maui! Kauai! Waterfalls and sticky rice! It's all so close.
 

Coming home.

Christmas 2007

My mother arrived for the holidays.

On Christmas morning, Gavin was excited by the stockings when I turned on the tree. He had to pull up the feet on his slightly too-big Christmas footie pajamas so he could get to them. We tore open our gifts, we made a huge mess, we put on fancy aprons and made eggs Benedict, we piled on the couch and cheered for Gavin while he attacked virtual bad guys with his electronic light saber. The man brought over his cat to terrorize Po the Porkchop. Neither of the cats appreciated the stinky dehydrated shrimp treats Santa brought them. In the evening we ate roast beef, lamb, Yorkshire pudding, artichokes, carrots and potatoes, baked apples and rhubarb pie. We toasted with wine and sparkling blueberry juice, clinking each time Gavin cried, "To Santa! To Christmas! Cheers!"

Good holiday. Made it through another one.

2007 fades out

Another year. I've been looking back at my pictures since last November and realized that my smile doesn't reach my eyes in any of them. I spent a lot of time this year keeping busy, trying not to be alone in my head, trying not to look sad. As a kid, when I imagined this sort of thing, I thought it would be like a sad romantic movie, where the heartbroken woman stares out windows and withdraws from everyone. It didn't happen that way. I turned into a live nerve ending, instead. I tried to escape myself, grasping at anything to make it stop. I kept myself distracted enough that it only caught up with me in the moments I was alone; driving in the car, late after bedtime, the long nights Gavin was away. Eventually I got tired and gave up, let it catch me, and that's when I finally went numb, grieving the wasted years and the lies and love I thought I had. Day to day life is okay, I work with wonderful people. But I'm just moving on, going through the motions of the Rest of my Life and hoping I feel it again someday. I need to, considering where things are headed these days.

Time wounds all heels.

Five

Gavin walked out of the bedroom and went sleepily to the advent calendar to pull out the candy for number 16. "Happy Birthday, baby boy!" I yelled, putting down my book. He climbed under the couch blanket with me to lay beside the Christmas tree. "I'm FIVE, mom!" "I know! You're huge! What do you want to do today?" "Umm... you know, I always play on the computer when I turn five."

And so the boy played Lego Star Wars while I made banana pancakes shaped like teddy bears. When the sun was up, we stuffed into the car with his dad and went to the toy store for toppers for his cake, then took in a matinee of Alvin and the Chipmunks before returning home for foods and presents. Mike and I ate the leftovers of our traditional pre-birthday Thai takeout while Gavin ate pizza. I jammed Luke Skywalker up to his knees in the top of Gavin's cake, set R-2 by his side, and lit five candles around them. Gavin blew them out and opened his presents, carefully pulling off bows and trying not to tear the paper. He thanked the people who weren't there for his presents.

Love him.

Conquering Heroes

The garden center at Target was close to closing when we showed up looking for a tree last night. Our Christmas boxes disappeared in the move, resting somewhere in the Land of Things Put in Safe Places, so we picked up a few boxes of ornaments and lights. I gravitated toward the smaller trees. Mike made a sad face.  "Okay," I compromised, "How about one my height, then?" "How about one my height?" he said. "It would be your height once it was in the stand," I said. He shook a big tree gently by the trunk, waving the branches to tempt me. It worked on Gavin. "Mom, can we get one that goes all the way up to the ceiling?" I was outnumbered.

And so an hour later we were home, Mike's legs sticking out from beneath a huge tree that swallowed up my entire living room. The top bobbled while he wrestled it onto the stand. The cat ran under the bed. Gavin watched. "Is it supposed to be crooked, dad?" "No." "Well it is." "Thank you." "You're welcome." By the time the tree was up it was past 10pm, so we left it naked, brushed our teeth, read a book, and said goodbye to dad for the night.

In the morning I sat knitting, listening to A Breath of Snow and Ashes on cd, when Gavin stumbled out of the bedroom. Po (now dubbed "Fat Fat Porkchop") meowed for treats, and he gave her some in the kitchen. "Wow, mom," he said, climbing onto my lap atop my knitting, "I was listening all night for the tree to fall over, and it's still up!" "Amazing!"

Gavin helped me string lights until his dad arrived, shivering from the cold. We ripped open our packages of new ornaments like early presents and covered the poor tree in sugared pine cones, snowflakes, and plastic icicles. We patted ourselves on the back for general fantasticness and opened the traditional box of tree chocolates while Gavin pulled out the first day of his advent calendar.

And after all this - do I get to stay at home baking cookies and listening to sappy holiday music with the boys? No. I am at work, typing on my lunch break with a cup of decaf tea, after dealing with grouchy patrons all morning. The Christmas Spirit is upon us again, like wolves at our throats.

But the tree is up, the presents are stashed, the cocoa is well stocked, and I am feeling kind of happy.

Birthday a la Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving weekend was pretty good. The crew from Valencia drove up in the early afternoon, packing into my kitchen to steal my aprons and pour brandied eggnogs. We feasted on turkey, fatty fat fat tomato pie, broccoli casserole, sausage-stuffed pumpkin, chestnut dressing, and mashed coconut sweet potatoes. Gavin and Mat zoned in on the computer, battling lego droids for hours while the rest of us ate pie with our fingers. At this point Gavin starting calling Mat "dad". We converted the ex-husband's apartment into a hotel for the night. Friday was a day of snacking, ice skating, and battling through the Christmas Spirit to beat our way [unsuccessfully] to a Wii. Yuri had no shame scooting around the ice rink in a walker, while Gavin enjoyed falling spectacularly as often as possible. Marc joined us for a couple turns around the rink, only crashing to the ice once or twice after some amazing accidental triple-axles.

When all the guests were packed with leftovers, stuffed with pie, and kissed goodbye, we piled up cat food in our kitchens and drove up to the Bay. I've only ever visited San Francisco in the chilly months, and it was really nice walking through the brisk air into Union Square to meet Mr. HS. We threw ourselves across the couches in Anthropologie, we laughed at terrible break dancers, we ate really good Thai food and bought chocolate at the Ghirardelli shop. As the sun went down into the fog, we drove over the mountain into Santa Cruz, imposing ourselves on Mr. HS and fiance to allow Gavin a go at the overrated Wii until we were all mouse-eyed with exhaustion and went to our hotel.

Sunday morning we went into town and ate fresh scones, brie omelette, and eggs Benedict on hot sourdough. Walked through the downtown streets and dropped a dollar into the case of a street bag piper; drove to the seaside to take in the seals and salty air. We said goodbye to our friends over semi-authentic Hawaiian plate lunch, and left with a sense that we had found a backup town to think about moving to. Santa Cruz is really nice.

screaming skulls

Mike and I stood on our doorsteps, phones to our ears. I watched Gavin run down the sidewalk to the corner. "I see him," said Mike. Gavin disappeared around the corner and I heard his voice in the background over the phone. "Got him!" And so the boy has earned the relative independence of going to his dad's by himself. Apartment to myself, I took up my knitting, put on some tea, and turned on the tv. The Sad Sad Housewife channel was doing its best to contribute the the holiday suicide statistics by playing marathons of winter romantic comedies. When Harry Met Sally was followed by Serendipity, and I watched from under my eyebrows as my needles clicked until I finally shut it off, gathered my stuff, and went to visit the boys. Mike was baking a pie while Gavin lay quietly on the bed, penitent for having punted the cat. "You in trouble?" He nodded, sniffing miserably. I laid down beside him and pushed his hair out of his face and he whispered that he hoped he hadn't hurt her. At that moment, the cat scrambled up onto the bed, across my leg and onto his face, all four paws wrapped around his head and tongue tangling in his hair. He made a muffled noise and flapped his arms to fend her off, causing her to leap in a cartwheel down his torso, hug his leg, and attack it with her hind claws. "She doesn't look very hurt, does she?" Gavin laughed and curled against me as I shooed her off. After going through the bedside bookshelf, Gavin climbed under the covers and cozied up to listen to the Cavern of Screaming Skulls until he fell asleep. I snuck out and sat on the couch in front of Oz with the alpaca arm warmers I'm making to match my new knitted capelet that I'm never going to wear.

The dancers arrived on time, and I made myself busy in the kitchen making fudge while they practiced dancing to bagpipe music. Fudge used to be my specialty, but all my attempts have puddled since moving here. I finally bought a jar of marshmallow fluff, followed the recipe on the back, and was annoyed when it set perfectly. I suppose anything will set if you choke it with marshmallows. Including myself, because I did just that.

After stumbling out from his nap, Gavin and I gathered up our goods and walked back home. We wound down the evening by watching Japanese commercials and snowboarding videos. "Wow!" said Gavin, watching a body whirl through the air, "That's so cooool! And I would never do that." I kissed his head.