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.

a good autumn weekend

Saturday morning smelled like winter, the ground was cold and wet. We bundled into the car and drove into the fog up the grapevine, out between the mountains to Fillmore. Yuri met us at IHOP for a late breakfast. I pulled tea bags and packets of splenda from my purse; she pulled vegetarian sausages from hers. Purses are magic. We ate a caramel apple at the train station, swapping library horror stories until the Pumpkinliner chuffed up and we waved goodbye until Thanksgiving. Gavin chose seats in the open-air car, looking over the railing at the pomegranate and orange orchards while all the dads in the car twisted open bottles of pumpkin ale. At the 'Ichabog' pumpkin patch, Gavin kicked off his sneakers and dove into the jumpy castle while Mike and I walked through the pumpkins under the trees. A musician played Grateful Dead songs on a stage with a dozen dancing toddlers and mothers. Mike reached up and picked an orange. We chased Gavin through the dark, musty hay maze. Older kids ran through screaming, pretending to be scared of the latex corpses in the dead ends. Gavin stood in a shaft of light from a tear in the ceiling tarp, blowing the dust motes into swirls and looking at how the light was broken up by the shadows of his fingers. He looked around the bales of hay at each turn, avoiding the rubber spiders and rats, and then ran out into the light to find a pumpkin. We finally settled on a tiny round one and a huge pear-shaped one just as the train rattled back into the patch. Gavin chose an outdoor seat with a table by the engine, put his head down on his arms, and fell asleep before we reached the station. He woke up an hour and a half later as we pulled into our driveway, and the boys went to the video store for the Battle for Endor while I took off my boots and sorted through the day's photos.


On Sunday I found myself on the floor, shivering under wet plaster and trying to make my Valkyrie armor for Halloween. Gavin put on a movie for us and sat by my head feeding me peanut M&Ms while I dried out. I realized I had forgotten to spray down with PAM, and had to tear off all my body hair and a layer of skin to get the damn thing off. Not sure about it, but maybe it'll look more like armor with some paint.
 

Sat my plaster torso on the lanai and knitted while Gavin built spaceships out of his magnetic building blocks. Made a chicken and broccoli cream soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, and the boys washed dishes and baked a loaf of Irish soda bread. I threw in a batch of cupcakes while the oven was hot. Gavin licked the beaters and ate a steaming slice of buttered bread. Everything was okay.

Fall again

Winter is coming. I woke up this morning with Gavin's feet in my face. Covering him with my side of the comforter and easing the door shut, I ate my cereal in front of the computer until he shuffled out and rolled under the couch blanket. We sat together and watched cartoons, my hands feeding fuzzy orange yarn onto my circular needles. Po spread herself gingerly across our laps, subdued by her girly-bit surgery earlier this week and chilled by the air on the lanai. Today was the first day of long pants, long sleeves, cozy socks and covered shoes. Gavin led the way down the hall to his preschool classroom, pausing to say hi to the lizards and stare at the sullen picture day kids being dressed as chefs and tennis players by squealing puppet-shaking photographers. I knelt down to hug him goodbye, and he gave me his usual farewell speech as he inched nearer to the kids playing blocks, "Bye, mom! Have a good day at work! Don't forget to bring me a nice book - and tell me if the Snack Man comes [Marc] - and do everything I want you to do! Bye!"

At the library, it was a tour day. It wasn't until all the students bunched in that I discovered "special ed class" meant "30 children in wheelchairs", and found myself in the middle of a crowded sea of expectant, parked little faces. I wondered how many I could cram vertically into the elevator before deciding that a stationary point-and-yell tour would have to do. I hollered and waved my arms, then mustered my best Scary Voice to read Neil Gaiman's The Wolves in the Walls despite the bored slump of the younger teachers. Had an irritated Tea-Drinking Knitting Cat Lady Librarian moment where I wanted to yell at them about their posture before remembering, yet again, that I was their age. Feeling older these days. I have discovered myself seriously thinking about buying horrifying seasonal cardigans and fake hand-carved reindeer sculptures. It starts as a joke, and ends with people piling cardigans and figurines under your Christmas tree. This will not do.

Speaking of cardigans, fashion rant: why does nothing look good on me this season? Who are these people designing for? Why am I being asked to pay $90 for a Vera Wang skirt that makes my butt look like it flaps around my knees? Why are potato sacks with drawstrings around the neck back in fashion? WHY?! I need clothing!



In other news, have successfully dumped Johnny the Coffee Pot and am no longer forking over $7 a bag for dark roasted panic attacks. I made peach jam. Gavin is featured in a full-page ad in Black Belt Magazine this month, because his dad makes the ads. Have knit 2 more hats and started a third, as well as beginning my first [toddler-sized] sweater.

overheard at the library

me: Does anyone actually say 'o-possum'?
marc: only if they're singing an anthem.

J: Russia has dissolved its government.
S: wow, really? Huh.
K: The kindergardeners didn't know who Maisy was.
S: *gasp* That is truly a tragic commentary on today's society. It really is.