I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve lost touch too many friends over the years, so I’m taking the plunge and will start today with one of my 2006 resolutions: Find and stay in touch with the people I care about. It seems that either I move away from my friends or they move away from me, or I stop writing or they stop or life gets busy or the habit just stops. What hasn’t stopped, ever, is my desire to stay connected.
So, if you got an email directing you here, that’s why. If you think of this as an imperfect idea, ah well. If you write to me, I’ll write back. If I fall behind, you can write again or at least get updates here. I’m just hoping my email box fills up. Where are you and what are you doing?
I could go back a few weeks or months or years or (in some cases) decades to tell you my story. But since that thought is daunting, I’ll start where I am. I live in Silicon Valley. I have a wonderful family that includes the world’s three finest children and a job I like in the world of words. I’m still a woman of a thousand hobbies, my car is still about a foot deep in the debris of life and though I’ve wholeheartedly embraced the digital age my desk is mysteriously still awash in paper.
Tomorrow I will have a cataract removed from my right eye. Yes, I’m much too young for this and yes, I’m a little nervous. The up side, if there is one, is that I shouldn’t have to wear glasses for the first time in over four decades. In fact, I won’t be able to wear glasses because my right eye will have vision in the 20/30 to 20/40 range and correcting the left eye (which will still be something like 20/200) with glasses will throw me off severely. The temporary solution will be a contact lens in the left eye. If all goes well I will keep this up. If the contact proves unsatisfactory, I will have the lens in the left eye replaced in six to eight weeks.
(I remember the trip to Standard Optical in downtown Salt Lake City to get my first glasses, a pair of light blue cat-eye frames. Upon my return to kindergarten, I was not self-conscious until the teacher made an impassioned plea to the rest of the class not to tease me. I don’t think I cared –- I was so happy to be able to see individual leaves on trees, and I laughed at the realization there were wires strung between telephone poles.)
Granger is my shaggy-haired teenager, and he’ll be able to apply for a learner’s permit sometime in the next few months. He won’t be 16 until September, and will have to take driver’s ed before then. He’s a funny, fun kid with an attitude. He loves baseball and the Beatles, writes a blog I’m not allowed to read and has a best friend who Kayla and Walter think is their brother. (They also think Jack, our schnauzer, is their brother so there’s a bit of confusion there.)
Kayla is seven going on 37. She knows more than she should and has a natural nurturing instinct that applies to everything except her younger brother. She is as likely to kiss him on the head and call him her angel baby as she is to pummel him and tell him he’s annoying her. People tell me it’s normal for them to fight, but I still alternate worrying about it and being driven berserk by it. Kayla wants to do everything by herself, and can, usually.
Walter is four but he’ll be five next month. He’s sporting a cast on his left arm right now from a very bad break caused by a mix-up between two bicycles and the road. He and his sister were racing down the cul de sac from what I’m told and when they crashed, he was on the bottom, his arm in the middle of the bikes and his sister on top. EMTs were called, Urgent Care was visited and surgery was required. He’s got a hard cast on now that he’ll have until the end of February, but it hasn’t slowed him down much. The prognosis is for a complete recovery despite the x-rays that showed a terrible sight: both bones in the forearm broken clean through. I was away from home when it happened and poor George suffered a father’s nightmare: seeing the kid’s wrist and hand flopping around with no apparent connection to the elbow. (No blood, thank heaven, or I think we would have had a fainting father for the firefighters to treat, too.)
George is a network guru, keeping one of the web’s busiest web sites up 100% of the time. There is Much Panic if the site falters for an instant, so he must keep ahead of the growth mania and does it with a patient style that always amazes me.
As for me, I write a business-to-business newsletter every week, and have started this year to have every Friday off. Ostensibly, this is to do Mom Stuff, but it has so far been a day to entertain Jack at the dog park, myself at the coffee shop and to do things like organize the pan cupboard and under the kitchen sink. This kind of thing is much easier to do than tackling the real issues related to my tendencies toward, um, clutter.
Drop me a line. You probably have my email address, but if not you can write to me at sillyvalley at ploop.net. (Change the word at to an @ sign and remove the spaces, of course … I typed it that way so spam-bots don’t attack me.)