Or my favorite...

If you want to start from the beginning, go here.

Candy and old women

If you want to start from the beginning, go here.

That's the thing about candy

The beginning

New! New! New!

Wow. It's been ages since I've posted. I'm afraid I've been cheating on my trusty friend blog, with the very intoxicating Facebook. Facebook, combined with Flickr are chewing up most of my online time these days.

Well, I did make my Praxis deadline, and "Thoughts about Candy" came out with its release in December. I'm still trying to figure out how to post the frames here, in a size that's readable. I have been getting all sorts of feedback from people who've read the print version--much more than my other stories have received. Maybe it's the images plus text that generates a strong reaction, but it's also the subject matter. I've been hearing lots of candy memories from people. And candy confessions.

One of my favorite x-mas gifts was a Bamboo tablet (thanks, T!). I plan to use it to do a revision of "Thoughts about Candy" digitally. Yay! I have had lots of thoughts already about little things I want to add. I am also considering self-publishing an extended version of it. I also have been thinking about making my four girls/River/Stand by Me piece into a graphic novel. So that's something I'll be experimenting with this year. I can imagine the Glowy Man part really coming to life in a graphic format. I'm itching to start.

WTF, indeed

This morning, we are ordering breakfast at Autentica. My father-in-law points to something on the menu and asks the waitress, "Can I get this with potatoes instead of eggs?"

"We don't have potatoes," she answers.

"Okay, well just give me this without the eggs."

Maybe she did a double-take, but I didn't notice. Twenty minutes or so later, she is back with our food. She places a plate with a thin slice of ham covered in red sauce in front of my father-in-law and says, "huevos rancheros," amazingly, with a straight face.

"You ordered huevos rancheros without the eggs?" I said. "But huevos means egg."

It was kind of funny, until I realized I was going to pay 12 dollars for his plate of sauce.

It's not his fault. I don't think he knew what he was going to get. But the waitress--she couldn't have asked "Are you sure you want that?" Had I known what he was pointing at, I would have stopped him. I consider it supremely bad service to fill ridiculous orders without at least asking, "You're sure about that?"

I felt really bad that he only had a slice of ham for breakfast, so I made sure we swung into the doughnut shop on the way home.

Morning walk

The day started early because of the time change. So we went for an early morning walk. D is big enough to sit in the Ergo now, which makes walking much more fun for the both of us. D can see more than just tree tops and sky, and we both get some snuggle time.

We got all the way to the park and back, and it was only 9:15. Sigh. It's going to be a long day. We will probably take another stroll before the day is done, as long as it's not pouring rain.

Another thing that makes it a long day--the election is only two days away. (You didn't need me to tell you that.) I can't wait for it to be over. I'm exhausted by waiting. At least there are moments like this that give me that hope:














Of course, this is Oregon, and there are many parts of the country where Republicans are going to vote the party line.

Oh, Oregon. How I love you. I wish the rest of the country were as great as you.

Work in progress

So there's a sneak-preview of my work in progress. The draft is on the left, and you can see what should be the final (or at least final for now) on the right. The goal is to have everything done before Thanksgiving, which is the deadline for this year's Praxis. I should just make it.

No tolerance for death

I've always really liked Halloween. That's partly because it's candy-centric (I like Valentine's day for the same reason. No boy in the picture? Who cares! There's always chocolate!). I also really like dressing up in costumes.

This year, I feel a little differently. Last night, as I was walking past a house all decked-out with ghosts and a fake graveyard, I thought "Egh. How morbid." My reaction took me by surprise. I usually love this stuff! The skeleton bones just seemed so sad. It was just for fun, but it reminded me too much of real bones resting in the cemetery.

I get the same sinking feeling whenever I see a really violent movie these days. I have no tolerance for gore and death. In Bruge was an excellent film, and thank goodness all the blood and guts came at the end, otherwise I would have never seen it.

I guess that now that I've brought life into the world, I just see no point in focusing on death. Not to get lecture-y or anything, but there's so much to appreciate about life, so much to live for, why do we have to have all this stuff where killing people is the focus?

Anyway, I hope that's not the end for Halloween for me. There are still the costumes, the pumpkins, the apple cider and the candy.

Guarding time

Now that I have much less of it, I've been extremely selective about how I spend my free time. Some of it's necessarily spent on things like shopping and cleaning (though my standards have gone waaaay down these days...the toilet doesn't get scrubbed until it gets that gross ring at the water line, and that would NEVER have happened in my pre-baby days). Beyond that, I get to choose, and sure as hell, I am not going to waste my time on mediocre movies or outings that aren't fun for me. A few weeks ago, I sat down to watch This is Spinal Tap, which I had never seen, and a third of the way through, I turned it off and headed to bed. Sorry...maybe it would haven been funny if I were 25, or a man, but it just wasn't doing it for me. Sleep was much more interesting.

Yesterday, I did haul 10 dead six-foot arborvitae out of the ground, which seems like it might be a waste of time, but I felt very satisfied afterward. My hard work means I get to plant something there next week. I have been itching to get my fingers into the soil, and all that shoveling did the trick.

That's the thing about motherhood...it makes you much more focused. I really do think about who I want to spend time with, and what I want to be doing. I want to take a walk in the autumn sunlight, I want to watch D. sleeping, I want to do a bit of writing, I want to pour myself a nice glass of wine then drink it while I cook Sunday dinner. All these things are worth it.

Plugs

My creative writing life has been subsumed by the creation of the second draft of my graphic story, which I can't show you just yet. But my professional writing life, I can share. Here are the highlights:

From time to time, I contribute to my company's blog, Shiny Green Button, which focuses on issues of brands, communications and sustainability. My recent contribution is titled Magritte's paper cup, which I think is a very clever title if I do say so myself.

I also have a new article in IN|UR. It's their "Happiness" issue, and this time I've written about my HypnoBirthing experience. I'm so glad they went with my original title, even though it's a little plain-jane. They had suggested "HypnoBirthing the Night Away," which I thought was corny. But whatever...it's their magazine.

Buh.

There's this scene in Overboard--that's right--Overboard with Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn, where Goldie's at home with the four out-of-control boys, doing wifely things like cleaning and cooking and ... using a chain saw to cut down a tree??? And then at the end of the scene she's shown sitting in a chair, sort of shell shocked, muttering "buh buh buh buh buh." I always laugh at that scene. And today I feel a little bit buh buh buh myself.

The weekend started out with a bout of food poisoning. I barfed midway through the presidental debate (highly apt) and spent the night tossing and turning with nausea. Then last night, D. awoke, just as I was about to go to bed, and he was burning like a hot potato. His temp was somewhere around 102, and he was inconsolable. I spent the night nursing him off and on, and then boing! 6 am he is better and ready to go and I am feeling fried. Then T. came down with some sort of bug, which meant that I was pretty much on my own taking care of D. today. Gah. And it was one of those days where I'm constantly changing my shirt because I get spit up on, except once it wasn't spit-up but poop.

I should be in bed, since D. is finally down for the night (let's hope his temp doesn't spike again) but I am insane enough to be staying up to watch Mad Men. But you know, I've been sleep deprived for the last three months, so what's a little more lost sleep?

Have you seen this?

Brilliant!

A room with a view

The view from my office.

I was wrong. I thought the first day leaving D. at daycare would be the hardest, and every day after that would get easier. But yesterday, I skipped out after leaving him in the arms of a caregiver, turned up the radio in my car and blissed out to a Pixies tune at full blast on the way to the office.

The first day was nothing. But every subsequent day, it's getting harder. I closed my eyes tight this morning to keep the tears from spilling out.

The view from my office is stunning. On sunny days, the light pocks the surface of the Columbia River with white. I watch trains pass over the bridge on their way to Seattle or Spokane. But it turns out the limited, never-changing view from D's room, is more interesting to me.

Danny Elfman lives here?

It looks like your average house. But every time I walk past this place--it doesn't matter what time of day it is--a very creepy music emanates from within. It's like someone has raided the silverware drawer and is using the spoons to tap glasses of water. Clink clink clink, in a random succession of notes. I've looked for some sort of metal mobile that's clinking in the wind, but in vain. So I've been imagining someone inside making a weird, Edward Scissorhands-tune all day and all night long.

Today is my last day before heading back to work. The last day to take long walks with D. past all sorts of creepy houses, and creepy mannequins, and pirate flags and countless lovely gardens. I guess we'll have weekends, but it won't be quite the same.

It's been such a good summer.

Good thing there's pumpkin picking, apple cider and Halloween to look forward to, otherwise I just couldn't bear it.

Polar pleasure

I watched a polar bear swimming yesterday during a trip to the Oregon Zoo. Absolutely massive--he pushed off one end of the pool and paddled to the other side, then pushed off like a Olympic backstroker, belly up, back to where he started. Back and forth he swam. From the other side of a wall of glass, I could see his powerful body move underwater. His white fur moved like waves of grain in the water. Giant air bubbles danced in his wake. He pushed off the glass with his enormous black paws and turned his snout to the sky, making it easy to see his long, yellowing incisors. God, he was beautiful.

Generations

There's a certain face that D. makes, where I can see my dad in him. It's usually when I'm pushing him in the stroller, and he gets really intense. His lips purse and his eyes go wide. I was surprised the first time I noticed it. I shouldn't have been though. I think D. looks a lot like my brother, and my brother looks a lot like my dad, so sure...it makes sense. I guess it wasn't something I wanted to see though.

I haven't spoken to my dad in more than ten years. In that time, I've only written him twice. The first time was to tell him I got married. He sent me a $150 check as a wedding present, and I shredded it. I didn't want his money in lieu of a relationship, and I didn't want him to think I was just writing him to get money either. More recently, I wrote to let him know he had a grandson.

This estrangement began after many years of my reaching out, having some sort of unfulfilling interaction with him where I came away feeling rejected and hurt. Now, as an adult, I can see he probably didn't mean any of it. He is a poor communicator, he's emotionally unavailable, but not a bad person. He had extraordinarily bad judgment when he got married without telling me, when he moved to Chicago without letting me know. The former probably happened because he didn't know how to tell me that he had a new wife. He felt he was sparing my feelings by not telling me. The latter? I have no idea. Maybe he justified it by telling himself he was busy, he'd get around to writing me, or perhaps he thought I didn't really care anyway. But as a newly independent 20-something, after many years of this tense dance, I told myself I couldn't take the rejection anymore, and I cut all ties.

Of course, I've wondered every now and then if I did the right thing. It's helped me heal a bit, but I always imagine my dad getting old and dying, this rift still between us. I don't want that. But I also don't want to start the old cycle of reaching out, feeling hurt, reaching out again. What I want is for him to reach out to me this time. But I don't know if that will ever happen.

And now I have this new little person in my life. He's a physical reminder of my dad. And a I can't help but think, in some superstitious way, that the resemblance is for a reason. Is the universe telling me I can't just turn away?

What I am is what I am

D. is blissfully asleep for the first time today--well, sort of if you don't count his passing out in the stroller during our morning walk. He's snuggled into the inside of my Boppy pillow on the couch next to me. It's not standard napping procedure, but I'll take it. And I feel like I don't have much to write, but still, I want to claim this time as my own and put some words on the page...any words will do!

I was telling T. last night that being a mom is one big mindfuck. You spend a lot of time craving the company of adults, wishing you could just have an hour of your old, unencumbered life back, and then when you do get a break all you want to do is go spend time with your kid. "Huh," he said, "I don't feel that way at all." I don't know whether he's lucky or I am.

I'm recovering from a weekend with a house guest. A old friend came all the way from New York to visit, and by the time she left I was totally drained for trying to balance everyone's needs, including my own need to be a good mom/host/friend/etc. Maybe that's it. I just have to give up the idea of being a good anything, and just be what I am.

Outside world

D. is getting interested in the outside world. Favorite things so far: windows, mirrors, faces and voices. AND the four paintings I created for him, which now hang above his changing table. He is most enamored of Cosmic Dog and Cat, and Space Bee.

Are you in there, god?

Just a few thoughts to post in a moment in between ...

Watching D's face is fascinating. I never get tired of it, even when he's cranky and showing all his gums in a wide-mouthed cry. It's like his face has all the pre-sets for emotions, even though he doesn't really know what those emotions are yet. His expressions cycle through happy, perplexed, disgusted, one after the other. I can't wait until he genuinely is smiling back at me.

And though I've never been a religious person (except when I was 12 and scared of Satan and ghosts, and so slept with a crucifix under my pillow), there are moments with D. that convince me god is really is some old guy sitting up on a cloud watching all us silly people. Like when I was rushing to get out of the house to run some errands the other day. D was full of breastmilk, and each time I tried to buckle him into his carseat, the pressure on his tummy made him projectile vomit all over himself. After two clothing changes, I decided I just needed to wait a few minutes. If god really is an old dude on a cloud, he really thinks projectile vomit stunts are hilarious.