August 20th is a good day

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I have some very exciting news!

Monday morning at 5:10 a.m. my husband and I received a phone call from my daughter. She was going to have her baby.

We rushed over to her house. Her 3-year-old son was still sound asleep, so we assured my daughter and her husband that we could take good care of him while they were busy at the hospital. They left, and we sat on the couch and twiddled our thumbs for a while.

Five in the morning is NOT my normal time to wake up. So after about 30 minutes of thumb-twiddling my husband volunteered to run out to Starbucks for a cup of perk-me-up. I was tired of fighting with my eyelids to stay open, so I agreed.

He was only gone about 10 minutes when the 3-year-old decided it was time to start his day. As soon as the little sweetie saw me peeking into his room he burst into tears.

“I want my mommy and daddy!” he cried, throwing himself dramatically down on the bed. (If you’ve never been around small children you’ve probably never experienced real, true drama. They do it very well because for them, everything is very, very important.)

“Your mommy and daddy have gone to the hospital. They’ll be back a little later.” I kept my voice calm.

“I want my mommy and daddy!” he cried, tears streaming down his little face.

I reassured him again. And again. And again. I spent about 5 minutes reassuring until I finally realized that it wasn’t working. He was just too worried about the changes he knew were coming. A new baby sister is a very big thing.

So I switched tactics. I asked him if he remembered how big his mommy’s stomach had grown. He tearfully nodded that he did. I then asked if he remembered before his mommy’s stomach had gotten big. He thought a moment, but then nodded yes.

I could tell I now had his interest. He wondered where I was going with this.

I then pretended that I was his baby sister, growing, kicking, and stretching in the confined space of her mommy’s tummy.

He smiled.

I knocked on the pretend tummy and asked in a silly voice, “Hello, I’m ready. Can I come out now? Hello, I’m ready to meet my brother.”

He laughed.

The rest of the day went well, with no further tears.

The baby was born around 7:30 p.m., but my husband and I didn’t get to return home until closer to 11.

It was a very long day, but very worth it!

Welcome, little one!

 

Breathe

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I can now breathe again.

I submitted my thesis yesterday (Thursday) morning even though it is not due until Sunday.

I thought about hanging onto it a few days longer. I asked myself, “Wouldn’t one more pass make it stronger? Wouldn’t a few more days of work bring it that much closer to perfection?”

But every change is a double-edged sword. It might make the script better, but then again, it might not. That little glimmer of goodness in the script could be lost with one stroke of the delete button, or overshadowed by an added clutter of words.

Besides, every change increased the odds that I would incorporate a mistake that I might not find to correct.

Still, I almost caved. Until I realized that I could no longer see the script!

Oh, my eyes haven’t given out. I can see other things fine. It is only the script that is blurry.

I’m too close to it. I need to back off and give that little script time to grow and mature.

And I need to breathe.

Ah. Breathing is nice. It feels good to breathe!

I’ll have to try it more often.

Walking the dog

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Even in the middle of rewrites the dog has to be walked.

Sometimes walking the dog can be very pleasant, with sunshine, fresh air, and chats with neighbors.

Sometimes it can be disgusting. (You can use your imagination for the disgusting aspects because I’m not going to expand on that.)

Today was a combination. It started as the former, but ended as the latter.

I don’t really want to talk about it. Let’s just let it go and move on.

Nerves of ice

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You’ve heard of people with nerves of steel? Well, it looks like I’ve got nerves of ice.

Sounds okay, doesn’t it? Ice is cool. Ice is strong. Ice grips and will not let go.
Until it melts.
Which is what my nerves did this weekend.
I need to devote quite a few hours to my thesis project to whip it into shape. I’m worried because the pace of the program has not allowed me to do rewrites like I normally do. I have yet to sit down and read the script all the way through, even once!
So what did I do when the time crunch turned up the heat?
I melted.
During a time I should have been reading and correcting, I have been on the brink of a migraine. For two days I have been unable to either read books or use my computer.
Thanks, body. Nice of you to choose this time to send my eyes and brain on a mandatory vacation.
I suppose it’s my own fault. They are my nerves, after all.
Sigh.
My nerves of ice couldn’t take the heat.

Just family life

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Let’s see…

One daughter is starting college next month.

One daughter just moved back home to save money for grad school.

One daughter is preparing for her wedding.

One daughter is due to have a baby this month.

My husband is remodeling our kitchen.

And my thesis is due in two and a half weeks.

No pressure. No stress.

Just family life.

(Okay, I’ll admit it. I am a little stressed about the thesis. It’ll be our secret.)

A name is a name is a name

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My name is Veronica, but some people don’t seem to know that.

You see, when I was a child I was given the nickname Vickie. Most people thought either that my name really was Vickie, or that it was short for Victoria. Neither is true.

I spent years confused about my name, since Vickie NEVER felt right. (Of course, neither did Victoria, for that matter.)

I was trapped a Twilight Zone without a name.

Until I turned 18 and graduated from high school. Then I took my destiny into my own hands. Kind of.

I started my new life as an adult by dropping Vickie down a sinkhole. (No, I didn’t jump into a pit, I just dumped the name.)

But then I had a problem. The name Veronica is four syllables long. Would anyone take the time to spit that many syllables out of their mouth when they wanted to get my attention?

So I compromised and told people that they could call me Roni for short. It at least had a connection to my real name. veRONIca. Get it?

I should have known better than to compromise with anything as important as a name.

I suffered through Roni until I finally realized that Veronica is actually an easy name to say. People could handle it.

From my early twenties on I was Veronica, and only Veronica, to everyone I met.

Yet the nickname of Roni persists. It sneaks out of the mouths of people who have known me forever and into the brains of people I’ve just met. It spreads like a virus. There is no vaccine.

I try to let it go. But I don’t like being called a name that is not mine. It feels all wrong. It shocks me almost every time someone calls be by that name. A jolt of electricity shoots through my body and my heart skips a beat. And not in a good way.

You probably think I’m overdramatizing, but I’m not. My heart really does jump erratically when someone calls me by that abhorrent name.

I have a perfectly good name, a name that actually feels like me, and I want everyone to use it.

I’m taking a stand.

I am Veronica.

Joys of Summer

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Ah. The joys of summer.

The satisfaction of tearing out cabinets and old tile, followed by the surprise of frayed wiring and uncovered holes in the walls.

That indefinable smell of old house that is proof positive that the house was built in the early 1920s.

Yes, the joys of summer renovations. This year, our renovation is our kitchen.

Just so you know, we don’t hire, we work. Long hours, heavy lifting, and little food (our stove is disconnected).

The kitchen was small–

–but attached to a room that we could never figure out what to do with.

So we decided to turn our peninsula into an island and make it into one big room. The first stage was to rip out a few old cabinets.
How were we supposed to know the previous owners hadn’t plugged up all the holes! 

 

Then we disconnected the peninsula and pulled up the old kitchen floor.

After seeing the floor our plan to refinish it changed. We’ll be putting in a new floor to go with some of our new walls.

 

 

 

 

This picture represents the two week mark, which was Friday, the 20th. Wish us luck!

Drive-In mystery

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About once a year, when weather permits and the movie choice is okay,  we take the more than 30 mile drive down to our local drive-in theater.

This year, since we chose a Monday night and the last movie wouldn’t be over until almost 3 a.m., we didn’t have a lot of fellow viewers around.

Which is probably why we noticed him.

He was walking past our car about 20 feet away.

One of my daughters was the first to see him and she shouted. “Hey, there’s ——! What’s he doing here?”

We craned our necks to look in the direction she pointed.

Sure enough, there he was. One of our family members. There was no doubt about it, it was ——‘s build, beard, and gait.

The only problem was that as far as we knew —— did not have a job at the drive-in. And this guy, who is either —— or his doppelganger, was wearing the uniform of the theater and patrolling the grounds.

And so began our search for the truth. We found every excuse possible to walk nearer to the mystery man, only to have him turn and walk in the opposite direction each and every time. Time and time again we approached only to have him retreat.

He almost seemed to be avoiding us.

Finally, just when dusk had almost arrived and the movie was about to begin, his rounds took him again within 20 feet of our car. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery I decided to take a picture with my phone for future study.

To avoid being accused of stalker activity I was sneaky about it. I whipped my phone up, snapped a shot, and whipped it back down again.

The next day I was eager to look at the pic, sure that I had caught ——‘s image. I wanted to know for sure that the mystery man was not a mystery, but my relative.

But it was not meant to be.

In the rush to be quick my timing was off. I snapped the shot at the exact moment the mystery man lined up with the pole. He might as well have been invisible. (You can’t see it very well here, but on my phone his legs and the back of his head are visible.)
So the identity of the mystery man will remain a mystery. His secret is safe.
I guess I wouldn’t make a very good spy.

 

The Fourth in Seattle – 2012

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Sure, you can sit at home and watch the fireworks on your television. But the experience will not be the same.

So this year three of us–my husband, one of my daughters, and I–decided to brave the traffic to get an up close view of the fireworks. My husband plotted and calculated for days, finally coming up with a reasonable plan.

We drove to the U District, found a parking place, and began to walk.

The entire event, including the walk, took about 3 hours, but I’ve condensed it into a video that is a little over 3 minutes.

This will give you a taste of the experience, but only a taste. To get the full flavor you have to experience it yourself!

Giving and getting feedback

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This week we are on break, kind of. Which really means that we still have loads of work, but more time than normal to do it in. Which I must be honest, IS a break!

I am rather nervous right now.

This past Wednesday each student sent the instructor a copy of his or her script.

You see, we have reached the point where we’ll be reading each other’s scripts and giving feedback. To make things manageable we’ve been split up into groups, and each week each group will receive a script to critique.

Thursday four scripts were distributed to be read. Mine was one of the four.

I’ll try to not think about my script being read by my fellow students. Instead, I’ll read the script I’ve been assigned to critique, and I’ll give the most helpful comments I can think up.

Then I will bit the bullet and see what comments my fellow students have about what I wrote. GULP! For some reason having my fellow students read my script makes me more nervous than having the instructors read it.

Wish me luck!