you may now call me Master Nerd

Last night, I sat at a big conference table with three of my amazing professors and talked about the classes I've taken and the stories I've written.

Of course, they didn't ask any of the questions I thought they might. And I didn't get to say most of the things I had hoped I would be able to. And when they asked how my reading influenced my writing, the mental list I'd made of books I wanted to talk about went entirely blank. But we had an interesting conversation, and they didn't hesitate to tell me that I passed my thesis defense. Perhaps they were swayed by the muhammara that I made them.

the depth of our gratitude equals the depth of our understanding

All growing up, I knew my dad was a good guy. He encouraged my writing, came to my ballet recitals, and on and on. But I don't think I really appreciated who he was until I grew up enough to move to another hemisphere by myself for a while.

For the first 21 years of my life, my dad was just my dad. He was just a guy who dropped anything to help me with my math and Spanish homework. And after high school, he was just a guy willing to stay up half the night to talk me out of marrying boys who weren't good for me (without letting on that he was doing just that).

Before I went away, I didn't know that so few men are as smart and dedicated and thoughtful as my dad. All the distance I got when I left helped me to understand.

Sometimes, after we leave my parents' house, C. teases me: "It really took you 21 years?" Yeah, I think it did. I'm glad I finally figured it out. Thanks, Dad, for being born and for being so much better than I understood you were for so long.

Fortune Cookie

We can't wait for our little girl to come. With baby on the brain, guess how we interpreted this fortune cookie—
K is well, though she worries whether she's doing anything wrong. I asked her if she was drinking, smoking, or shooting up heroin.

"No." She said.

"Then you're probably not doing anything wrong."
Here's to 22 weeks.

out of the woods

Whew! Gummi Bear gave us a little scare this past week—appropriately timed for Halloween. We got a little worried that she was already trying to join us, and it's far too soon.

I went to the doctor, took my medicine, stayed in bed, flaked out on my classes, and told my students to not even think about asking me when I would finish grading their papers. I talked Baby Gummi into waiting until March. She seems cool with it.

I think she's just excited to get here. Let's hope she's equally excited to embrace sleeping through the night and potty training.

Classical Music ROCKS

After reading about the ignored violinist, I decided to dedicate some of my time to show my appreciation for those who devote their lives to music. I made this:
It's sad that our system respects money over art. As Thomas Geoghegan of Harper's wrote:
"It's chilling to think that some young woman is putting down her viola and enrolling as a student trader even as I sip my Starbucks and listen to Vivaldi."


Our house doesn't have art on the walls typical of Mormon homes. There's a picture of me picking my nose next to K. There's a photo of two cupie dolls crossing the street, holding hands. I've printed some melancholy poetry and excerpts from anti-war essays to tack up next to engagement pictures and a map of Hawaii. And today this joined the collection:
Feel free to print one out for your kitchen.

I've thought that since "the sabbath was made for man," it is a great time for dusting off my atrophied creativity muscles.

Though the things I create will not likely end up in the Louvre, I sure do enjoy it. I hope K soon posts some of the things she's created lately. She's incroyable.

Happy Halloween

K sewed my costume. Our awesome cousin sent K hers.
I took my nephew trick-or-treating. His pa had to work :(
The Potters showed up to our party.