Monthly Archives: July 2007

Wistful

I find myself wishing that the boy was just a year or so older, so that we could creep into his room around ten o’clock on Friday night, wake him up, and whisper to him that we were going out for a midnight adventure to the bookstore. This is the last Potter book, and I’ve never attended a midnight launch party for various reasons. I’m a bit wistful; this particular event will never happen again. Liam would love this sort of thing, with people in costume, and music, and really just his favourite bookstore at midnight would be enough to be the coolest thing ever for him.

I would even let him bring his broom, to which he can say “Up!”. He could meet Fearsclave, and Cymry, and Meallanmouse, and whoever else will be there of our acquaintance. His sleep schedule would be off for a couple of days, but I think it would have been worth it. But he is not a couple of years older, and so, alas, it will not happen. And I’m more wistful on his account than my own. (Because let’s be realistic, the reason I’ve never gone to a midnight launch is because I’m paralyzingly shy, as well as mildly enochlophobic and agoraphobic [in the true sense of the word].)

Ah, well. We will go out to our local bookstore together on Saturday morning and get a copy of book seven. I intend to drop off a treat or something for the employees on shift, too, probably mini cinnamon rolls from the Saint-Cinnamon counter or a bag of Ghirardelli chocolate. Their day is going to be mildly insane, and I so appreciate them; they’re always cheerful and smiling and they never brush me off or pressure me when we browse. And having worked events in bookstores I know that things can start to grate, and one feels as if one has become somewhat invisible or non-human to the attendees. So kudos and thanks in advance to all bookshop employees; hang in there Friday night and over the weekend. You are all stars.

Love

This morning we were getting Sparky ready to head over to his caregiver’s place as usual. Every day he chooses a beloved toy to take with him, usually just something to snuggle with when he goes down for his nap, but sometimes he wants a car or a train to play with during the ride too. Today he had two engines for car play, one in each hand, and I had him up on my hip in preparation for carrying him down to the car. (Yes, of course he can get down the stairs and walk to the car himself, but he is also two, and there is an entire exciting world of grass and trees and flowers and dirt and spiders between the door and the vehicle, and a schedule that must be kept.)

A: Who do you want to take with you today? Buzz? Bun-Bun?

BOY: Take Mama.

He patted my shoulder and I held him pretty tightly, thinking about how much I love this kid. He waved and blew me kisses as he and HRH drove away, and I was still choked up.

He came home with us two years and five days ago, the day after my birthday. That night the Preston-LeBlancs brought us excellent take-away Szechwan and a whole delicious bakery chocolate cake, and we all sat in the living room and marveled at him and at how precious life is.

I am thankful for family, chosen and otherwise, and the miracle of children, and for the opportunity to watch my son grow and learn and laugh and run, and love.

Sigh…

Just sent in the first part of the project, and I’m all wibbly because I don’t think it’s as reduced as they hoped it would be. The problem is these characters talk to one another a lot — the dialogue is kind of the point of playing, as in many social simulation games. It’s been incredibly difficult to rewrite the dialogue so that it says the same thing in fewer words, while keeping the age of the characters and the age of the audience in mind. I effectively lost the last two days of work too, because there was a miscommunication between us and I’d been cutting out entire useless scenes, only to discover two days later that everything had to remain intact: there had to be the exact same number of lines in the final product. So Friday, yesterday, and today were spent restoring and rewriting those deleted scenes to use the fewest possible words.

Argh.

If I could have deleted scenes that don’t affect the action, I could have reduced the script by a fifth! They would have loved it!

Now I shall mope until I hear back from the client. And maybe eat lunch, as I’ve been working since five this morning to meet this deadline, with only a pancake and a cup of tea to keep me going.

[LATER: Yup. They’re disappointed. My hands are tied! Tell me I can delete entire lines — nay, entire unnecessary scenes! — and it will work!]

Excellent ritual last night, lovely and grounding and introspective (which is what we all needed). It ended up coming to me remarkably easily in plenty of time, thank goodness. An excellent meeting all in all, actually. I’m excited about studying something again, which is nice. It’s draining to constantly provide something for others to do, and for everyone’s good intentions about holding workshops or presenting research it rarely seems to actually happen. It’s a relief to have a topic to cover the next few months’ worth of meetings, and a topic I can learn about too.

Monday

Well, it’s officially a stereotypical Monday. My desktop won’t/can’t connect to the Internet, no matter what I unplug/replug/switch on/switch off/restart; the laptop (connected to the emergency upstairs in-house wireless) conks out every so often with a “no bootable device found” message when I try to restart four times out of five.

A headache should not be this severe, this early in the morning.

The Internet isn’t exactly required for work, it just makes it a heck of a lot easier when I have to check facts for which I have no hard copy references. Also, I can’t check my email for answers to the questions I asked last Friday, or ask new ones via that medium if they arise. I could call, but the questions are kind of niggly and not really worth that.

Much with the grr. And HRH has gone and double-booked himself for the evening, telling the neighbours he’d finish painting their bathroom tonight (as usual it’s taking longer than originally expected, because the people who installed the ceiling vent didn’t properly finish or sand the plastering, so what should have been a two-hour job has already taken four and will take another one). Also, I’m fairly certain he’s forgotten he said he’d create and lead tonight’s coven ritual (if he’s even going to be there), which means it falls into my lap.

I’m not a happy girl at the moment. And I should log off before the laptop decides to crash again.

(I did have an excellent weekend, however, which began Friday night celebrating my birthday with the Preston-LeBlancs at a pub dinner and a (3D IMAX!) showing of Order of the Phoenix, continued through Saturday with a delicious birthday dinner made by my in-laws, and culminating in a nice lazy Sunday. Also? Presents! Hurrah!)

Happy Anniversary!

My family’s always had a lot to celebrate on this particular date. Today is my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary!

They’re currently enjoying a lovely dinner out. I, of course, while remembering it was their anniversary, completely forgot to send them a card. This lack of postal awareness goes right along with the baby gift I’ve had sitting here for about a month that needs to be packed and mailed out east to friends. I’ve told myself to do it every day for four weeks now. It’s still sitting here.

Happy anniversary, Mum and Dad.

Happy Birthday To Me, And Introducing…

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has communicated birthday wishes via phone message, email, or on their journals! You are a wonderful and loving bunch of people, and I am honoured to call you all my friends.

The weather is lovely, which is a gift in and of itself. My birthday celebration began a wee bit early; last night, in fact, when t! and I went to to hang out with Jes, the bassist of local Celtic band Squidjigger, and I came home with a new friend. Almost exactly thirteen years to the day after I bought my cello, a new bass instrument has entered my life.

She is a Vantage fretless bass, model number 330b (we think), with a lovely grained rosewood fingerboard, satin-finished neck, and a deep emerald-green stained body. She hasn’t told me her name yet, although I suspect one. She’s about ten years old but has only been played a handful of times, and never gigged, so she is in almost original condition. The jack is a bit finicky and she needs a tune-up, but that’s standard maintenance.

There is an entire subculture of basses with cello tuning, called tenor basses. Bet you didn’t know that. I didn’t until I started researching it idly a couple of weeks ago, because I can’t even conceive of finding the time or brain space with which to learn new fingering and scale system on an instrument with different strings. I knew that if I was ever to play an electric bass, I would want to up- or downtune it to cello tuning, because then all my fingering would be the same. And then… a fretless bass showed up on Craiglist at a really excellent price. (I didn’t even know there were such things as fretless basses. Shows how much attention I paid at the instrument and lutherie exhibit downtown last year. Although to be fair, I was searching for electric cellos to test, not looking at basses.) The idea of fretless appealed to me because I can’t stand the idea, sound, or feel of frets under a string when I play. It’s not like I was actively seeking a bass. It was just a vague if-ever thing sitting in the back of my mind that put up its hand and cleared its throat diffidently when I saw the listing.

I tested it with a clear mind, ready to say no if it felt wrong or if I was at all uncomfortable with the instrument or the situation, but from the moment Jes handed it to me and I put it on my lap it felt balanced. Usually when people hand me guitars I feel awkward and as if I have to hold them in place or keep them from falling. t! says the moment he saw me holding it he knew it was going home with me, but I don’t know when I decided it was actually mine. I think I slowly grew into it over the evening, as I explored the feel and sound of it, and talked with t! and Jes about basses and styles and makes and music in general. Aside from acquiring the new instrument I made a new friend, because Jes is a freelance writer-theatre-music person like I am, and we intend to stay in touch. I knew things were going well when no one made noises about wrapping things up once I’d sat with the bass for a little bit. We ended up spending two and a half hours there. He has handsome cats, and lovebirds too.

Also, the bass is pretty. I wouldn’t have even looked twice at the ad if the pictures had shown it to be a loud colour, a strange shape, or painted oddly. I wish the picture did her more justice; she has a pretty glow thanks to the varnish, and the flash seems to have pointed out fingerprints that I was certain I’d polished away. She is pretty, and she feels good in my hands. And she was astonishingly inexpensive. Anything is cheap in comparison to the price scale of the cello, but this was half the price of what decent quality fretless basses start at in store, and certainly more than acceptable for an instrument that will be experimental, never my primary focus, and may be played twice a month. t! sent me home with a practice amp, too, so I don’t need to invest in anything more.

Adele feels very kindly towards her new younger sister; no scraps or arguments or snits. All is well.