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.)
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.
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.
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| 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!
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.
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!
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!
My head is in such a whirl that I don’t know whether I am standing or sitting.
I guess it’s normal. I’ve had 10 different instructors with 10 different opinions about how a screenplay should be written. (Mirrors real life, don’t you think?)
Oh, the major things all match. They all agree on how to format the script, how long it should be, how the story should be structured and the characters developed.
The disagreement comes when they get down to the real brass tacks of writing.
My problem is that I always try to use whatever suggestions arise as soon as possible. I don’t wait to see how it all plays out. No, not me, I jump right in with both feet.
One instructor, several weeks ago, suggested that good screenplays do not always use complete sentences. I, being the good little student that I am, combed through my script and made changes throughout. Whenever it seemed I could do so, I utilized sentence fragments to “create a sense of speed.”
This month, the instructor informed us that incomplete sentences will not be tolerated, and that we were expected to turn in a draft of our script by tomorrow. Gulp!
As you might imagine I spent most of yesterday and part of today combing through my script trying to undo the work I had done earlier. I got slightly past the halfway point when I realized my brain was no longer working properly.
Rather than take a chance on incorporating a whole new set of mistakes into the script, I sent it off. Sometimes, you just have to let things go.
Did I really just say that, or is it the whirl talking?
Congratulations to the 2012 graduating class of the University of Washington! I am very happy to say that one of my daughters is one of them.
I attended two separate ceremonies. The first was the convocation for the Communications department. There were about 400 graduates attending so the decision was made to hold it outside.
I’ve been so busy lately that I’ve totally forgotten one of the handy little gadgets I carry around with me everywhere, my smart phone.
I love gadgets!
So even though I really don’t like being filmed, I’ll step out on a limb for the sake of progressing technology. I created a message and I’ll post it here. Just for the fun of it!
I guess the next thing I should do is learn how to edit video. Sorry about the beginning and the end!
A dérive (or drift) is a journey, purposely unplanned, through what is usually an urban landscape. The purpose of it is to open the traveler’s eyes to the patterns that exist; patterns that we usually miss because we are so caught up in a rush to get from point A to point B.
Here are my results:
I walk through my neighborhood every day with my Schnoodle,
pulling her away from flower gardens, avoiding houses with cats, and keeping a
sharp eye out for delivery drivers since the sight of one will send her into a
frenzy of high-pitched barking.
