over

So they're married. I have a brother-in-law. (My first.) I caught the bouquet, ripping it from my little sister Christin's hands. She managed to behead one of the roses. I told her that means she'll be the next one to have a steady boyfriend.

The wedding itself was lovely. Liz looked overjoyed, and Colin was so excited when he got to our house that morning, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. They're a cute couple. We had the reception last night. All this running around was worth it--the food was excellent and the party was rockin' awesome, as Chrissie would say. There were floating candles, fourteen dozen roses, torches, barbecue, and massive amounts of whipping cream. The corsages etc were made by my mother's friends, and the cake by an acquaintance living uptown. I have decided that I'm spending the summer learning to make corsages and wedding cake. I need some useful Relief Society skills, and it's got to be easier than learning the organ.

Jon shaved his head today, in preparation for West Point. He leaves next week.

Joseph is packing for a week-long canoeing trip. He brought back his breakfast and lunch supplies this afternoon. He's packed instant oatmeal and applesauce for breakfast, and baggies of Lucky Charms and root beer for lunch. Thank goodness someone else is responsible for supper.

family time

We have the fiance's family here. They're a bunch of fun and entertaining people, and they make it very hard for us to do the final pre-wedding scrubdown. This is good news for those of us who are naturally lazy, but rather stressful for my mother. She'll be up until midnight. My sister gets her hair done at 06:00. I'm feeling sympathy fatigue.

On other gossipy family notes, my sister Gwyn seems to be getting along with the fiance's brother. I'm sure she'd say that it's based on their mutual love of cross-country running. So I won't imply otherwise.

I spent the day traveling like a Dutchman. We've driven almost 500 miles in my car since I arrived on Sunday night, and I expect that we'll be well over 650 before I leave. And when I say "we," I mean my mother. She's a nervous passenger, so she drives when we go places together. Yes, even though it's my (brand new) car. I don't mind. She's very apologetic, and I get a lot of guilt Diet Cokes out of her.

turning heads

I've noticed that the new vehicle has a certain head-turning quotient. It seems to affect men, in trucks, with the windows open. I wasn't sure whether it was admiration or only confusion--why does that little SUV sound like it's eating something? Is the engine going? But now I know. I'm pretty sure it's admiration.

I went to Jiffy Lube today for my first oil change. The guy who checked me in at the computer asked a host of questions about the car--make, model, style. When he asked, "Four or six cylinder?" I hedged. I didn't know. It's the cute diesel kind. "Diesel," I told him, figuring that the cute business might just as well be omitted. He looked at me. "Oh," he said. "The turbo." The note of reverence in his voice startled me somewhat. But that was only the beginning. I heard the mechanics behind me: "I think it's a diesel." "No way, man." "No, just listen to that engine." The hood opened and I heard an intake of breath. "It's a dream."

Ten minutes later, the manager waved me outside. Every mechanic in the shop was standing around my car, looking at the engine. The manager explained that he had no oil filters for me. "Jeep hasn't released them to our suppliers. I'm sorry, miss. But we topped everything off, and added oil, and vacuumed. And--if you wanted to get an oil filter from the dealership, we would be happy to change your oil. We really would." A murmur of assent rose from the assembly.

I have no doubt that he was speaking the truth. This car is definitely a hit with the Mechanic-American community.

preparation

Today we are immersed in Wedding Prep. I am cleaning the front hall and stringing lights on the trees. (I am also slacking as much as possible, but my mother's used to that.) Mom is making vast amounts of stew and pies. She's planting rosebushes, ironing tablecloths, and preparing wedding clothes. Lizzie is getting her nails done. You will have to imagine me rolling my eyes, since I don't have emoticons in this program.

There's an enormous amount to do here. The more I see, the more impressed I am. I'd just give it up four weeks out, order pizza and pick up a sheetcake at the grocery store.

the food just appears

So here I am at home. I woke up this morning to the scent of cooking chicken. (We eat dinner in the morning. I know, gross. But that's the way we grew up. Pizza is my favorite, but we have to make our own, since no one delivers at 05:45.) For a girl who's been cooking for herself for the past nine years, this is a great luxury.

This morning I took everyone everywhere--work, school, seminary, etc. They all wanted to see the new car. As I dropped Eddie off this morning, he announced, "I've gotten twice as cute since you saw me last." Weeeeell. I suppose. I'd never admit it to him, though; he's spoiled enough.

home

I got here, I got here, I got here! Not that it's a complicated drive or anything. It's long--almost eleven hours of talking to myself and critiquing other people's driving skills. Slower than me = timid and half-blind. Faster than me = maniac.

There was a beautiful sunset over Abiquiu as I drove in, and the moon is full, or not far off. Joseph has already reset the ring-tone on my phone and supplied it with a new background picture (Edward picking his nose.) Dad wanted to drive my new car up a mountain. I wrestled Chrissie to the ground. I must be home.

hi, weekend

The populace has finally realized it's the weekend. They're partying. We're busy. It's a nice night to cause trouble, warm and clear. Although the liquor store isn't open again until Monday.

The crochety old people have also realized this. They've pulled out the phone books and called us en masse, insisting that music be turned off, guests return home, and blessed silence descend on their neighborhoods. I'd have more sympathy if they weren't so demanding. I have to explain that the cops turn their attention to the people with drugs and knives first. The people with subwoofers are somewhat further down on the list.

I also had the very unpleasant experience of looking at a 9-1-1 screen this evening and realizing I knew the people calling. I hate that.

dim sum

I had just enough time between waking up and going to work to go out to lunch. We ate dim sum. There isn't much else to report, really. I'm twitchy and anxious to go home. I drive back to New Mexico tomorrow. I want to go now. Back when I was young and reckless, I'd leave after a late shift and drive all night. But showing up at noon, while dramatic, caused my mother ulcers. Besides, I spent the rest of the day in a half-asleep haze. Not fun.

More blogging next week. It's one of the benefits of having wifi at home.

the real work

Chapter 14 is coming along nicely, thank you. I may add kissing for Christie's benefit. (I do make occasional personalized versions; Grandmother's omitted any and all swearing, and Alden's featured a couple named Steve and Ann. He knows why.) It is moving slowly, though. It may end up slower still, since I was notified today that my laptop battery is a fire hazard and is being recalled.

Next week should be productive, if I can get some good sitting-by-the-fountain time. There is, of course, The Wedding to consider. I will be pressed into service in the mad rush to get everything ready by next Friday. I still need to lose fifteen pounds and find something to wear, too. I have the skirt. The trouble is finding a white shirt that doesn't make me look fat, matronly, or too informal. (Much as I liked it, the teeshirt silkscreened with Marilyn Monroe's face won't do.) The diet is much easier. If I stop eating entirely for the week, and maybe chop off a foot, making weight should be no problem.

I miss my family. I'll be home in two days, and it seems way too long.

exciting friday night

At work, again. I wrote a long post yesterday about the erosion of private space and the culture of victimhood, but the computer ate it. It'll probably transmigrate itself into something by a cranky male literary essayist--Jonathan Franzen or David Sedaris. Nothing against either; I actually have a postcard from Jonathan Franzen, and he has as much of my goodwill as you can purchase with a 23 cent stamp. But I felt myself crankifying as I wrote. The post slid inexorably into a why-I-hate-network-news-reality-television-loss-of-urban-space rant. Today I have a simpler answer to that eternal why: it's the commercials. I hate the commercials. Glad that's out there and taken care of. Back to your regularly scheduled light personal news.

As the astute observer of my moods will note (hi, Mom!), ranting about television means I'm not ranting about my job. That can only be good. I'm back on my beloved night shift. The supervisor's office is empty and the light turned off. The conversation here is primarily witty banter, rather than passive-aggressive suggestions for time management.

Someone has pieces of the Gettysburg address scrolling across our message board. I don't quite see the application, but I won't complain. It was stuck on Happy Thanksgiving until last week.

chapter 14

I sincerely hope to have chapter 14 readable by the end of the week. Maybe by Friday afternoon, so Heather can read it before her weekend.

back at work

Of course I'm back at work. I don't have internet access at home, and I'm far too lazy to go to the library to blog. I was here at noon, and it's been a nice day. This night shift thing is good for me. I know, because I woke up today, got a Diet Coke, and spent a peaceful two hours writing before coming to work. And now that I'm here, I'm bouncy and charming. (Really. Don't laugh. I can be both.)

I'm planning a monster road trip this summer. More later.

grrrrr

Hey, everyone! Guess what? I'm at work! Lucky me! For the sixth day in a row! For a grand total of 58 hours in the last six days! At work, and therefore not working on my book! How funny! *strained smile*

Seriously, this is my own fault. I agreed to trade on-call days with a coworker who was meeting with the dean of her program today. It stands to reason that I'd be called in. I will just look at it as train fare from Zurich to Geneva.

california dreaming

It's finally nice outside, and I remember why I've always wanted to move to California. I love hot weather. I love eighty-five degree summer days. I love driving down the street with the air conditioning blasting and the sun in my eyes. I really love driving at night, with the heat of the day still heavy on the breeze. I love the smell of boxwood hedges, and water. I love city streets and beaches and overly air-conditioned restaurants. Why isn't it like this all year?

relief from an unexpected quarter

There isn't much at work that I dislike more than our quarterly meetings. They always seem to dissolve into snarky and poorly refereed quarrels between coworkers. We seldom get anything done, and there is always a person or two so offended or upset that the supervisors have to spend a few hours after the meeting smoothing ruffled feathers. And the treats are lame.

But yesterday, we had Hersheys kisses with almonds (the only good kind) and the upshot of the senior meeting was that I would be moved back to night shift. You can only imagine my badly-concealed glee. I actually have mixed feelings about the shift. I like being home in the evenings. I like being home in the mornings better, though, and I work much better when I write early. And the only way I'll ever be eligible to stay home morning and evening is to sell the book, so the sooner I do it, the better.

My plans have reshifted. Maybe I shouldn't dignify them with the title "plans." They're more like "vague ideas." The vague idea of the moment is to go to Switzerland at the end of June to see my niece and nephew and new addition. Yay! More vague ideas will doubtless be forthcoming in the next few weeks.

book update

I crawled into bed at 8:37 last night and went straight to sleep. I only mention this because I need an excuse for the fact I didn't do any work on the book. Current status is as follows: Heather has the ms. through chapter 13 (revised) and Christie has chapter 11 in the mail and the other two sitting on my desk, waiting for a trip to the post office. Sorry, Christie.

I am rewriting chapter 14, which means I sit at my desk with my feet up and a lot of ms. paper around me, trying to decide exactly what happens in chapter 14. This is contrary to the way I actually write. I should probably can the planning and just sit down and put something on paper, huh?

more whining

The other day, I said, "You know, I'm feeling hostile . . . ." I paused, probably to drink some more Diet Coke, and Sharon supplied, "To your work?" Um, yeah. Sorry. Am I getting a little repetitive? I am feeling hostile to my work. Hostile hostile hostile. The 4:30 am wakeup is only the tip of the iceburg. And so it is time (drumroll please) for a new job! Since I'm not yet eligible for retirement benefits.

So I am soliciting assistance. What do you think would be fun to do for a living? Don't worry about qualifications; I'm a liberal arts graduate and therefore not qualified for anything. I'll give you a few guidelines: I don't like stinky animals (zookeeper is out) and I have to pay for this new car of mine (so actor / poet / philosopher / etc are all out.) Other than that, I'll take any suggestions, great or small.

much better

So sorry for the last few posts. I haven't been a well of cheerfulness, have I? But I'm walking around work today with a face like the Cheshire Cat. I have finally decided what I'm doing with my life.

I'll get back to you with details.

Meanwhile, I'm crunching away on Saltines and leaving crumbs in the keyboard. Don't tell my boss. I eat them in the car, too, and it's only a week and a half old. I may be a slob, but I'm just as careful with other people's stuff as with my own!

weekend

I finished chapters eleven and twelve, and I'm nearly done with thirteen. I'm da bomb.

sunday afternoon

I am at work for a few hours, covering for a coworker who had to go home. No fun. It's another rainy day (Utah becomes Seattle for about two weeks at the end of April) and the fun, unpractical raincoat I bought two months ago has risen to the top of my list of favorite clothes.

I slept fifteen hours last night--from the time I got home until 9:30 this morning. It was a great relief. I'm a little ashamed I'm such an inveterate night owl. There's something disreputable about it.