this is old

Chase turned 20 today. Hmmmm... I think I have a problem with this. Puffy pancakes for breakfast and toasts of orange juice for a fine transition from teenager to 20's. No one wants to look at the camera early in the morning, except apparently Darren. Isn't that cake atrocious? Rot your insides much.

He recieved a slackline for his birthday. Tried it between trees in the back yard. Now I'm hoping that once they get the hang of it I don't find videos on the internet of them scaling across some canyon thousands of feet up.

Happy Day Chase. Life is always an adventure with you.

ho hum

I have been jogging a lot. And doing pilates. And lifting weights. Can't say it has changed me much visibly, but I feel better and stronger. I am stuck on Ani DiFranco on my ipod when I work out, especially this song:

HOSM?

Hands On Social Media. I decided to attend a free workshop in Salt Lake last night sponsored by Microsoft Office Live and Kirtsy. I am now on Twitter [@anndeo] and am bookmarking with Delicious. Now to sign up with Kirtsy and use Office Live -- wishing I had known about this when I was working with an editor on my paper. The event was at Les Madeleines bakery and their mini cupcakes are as good as in my dreams [funny, I had dreamt of eating loads and loads of cupcakes piled with creamy frosting the night before]. Lots of creative and curious ladies were in attendance and there was a lot of learning going on thanks to our host Liz Stanley. There are more workshops scheduled, check here for one in your town.

independence

Land received his driver's license yesterday and promptly drove himself to the skatepark to fly. I hope he doesn't try this with the car.

time since... thirteen months

That unlucky number. Teenagers begin. Dangerous territory. But there are those who are always there to navigate through those treacherous times. They seem untouchable, impervious to the pain and struggles that some of us are tumbled into. Saturday, I met up with my next door neighbor growing up. It's always good to have a next door best friend. Someone to get in trouble with... someone to get out of trouble with... someone to tell your troubles to. We had a particular lady in our neighborhood who guided us through those turbulent years. She was our youth leader at church, but came to be so much more. She is ethereal, magical, moves through this world with grace. We babysat her beloved children. When she made cookies she always shared, said they didn't taste as good unless you sent a portion on to someone else. She had these kissing angels on the coffee table. When she was upset at her husband she would turn them away from each other a signal that they needed to "talk" and turn once again toward. She organized the playroom, something I was particularly fascinated by -- all the fisher price people in one colored can, the animals in another and so on, I looked forward to cleaning up after the kids so I could see those colored cans all in rainbow rows on the shelf. Her family became instrumental in some of the big decision in my and my husband's life. She is in my heart always. And Saturday, my next door best friend and I went to the funeral of her oldest son who had taken his own life. A wife and three children left lingering. But, oh my, the mother. I held on to her tight and stroked her hair. I recognized that tin-foil shell, a protection barely enough to get you through the worst moments. So painful to see her struggle and not be able to take any of it away. Her husband in the only word I can think of... shock. Saying to me, you know how this is, isn't this horrible, just horrible. I ponder often of our life stories, we just never know how it will be finished. Unimaginable. Mothers are so intertwined in our narrative. The strongest and yet the most vulnerable. I thought back to over the past year and how I have grieved -- for my mother, gone. And now I grieve for this mother. Facing that wall of uncertainty and questions never answered; why?

Second Sowing by Anne Morrow Lindbergh

For whom

The milk ungiven in the breast 

When the child is gone?

For whom

The love locked up in the heart

That is left alone?

That golden yeild

Split sod once, overflowed an August field,

Threshed out in pain upon September's floor 

Now boarded high in barns a sterile store.

Break down the bolted door;

Rip open, spread and pour

The grain upon the barren ground 

Wherever crack in clod is found. 

There is no harvest for the heart alone;

The seed of love must be 

Eternally

Resown.

HD vision

I used to see like this

And now I have HD vision.

Wow... the wonder of lasers.

multiball

look at Carol the pinball wizard

Last week I had a little get together with everyone from work. You see, Dusty, pictured in the blurry cellphone pic is broke down in Boise at the moment on his way to his new home in Portland and this marks the end of an unlikely, but productive office partnership. I am really going to miss him... you get to know someone over the course of three plus years sharing a 10 by 10 workspace. That was one of my favorite things about going back to grad school and teaching. I felt young again... intimidated, competitive, creative. I was awestruck by the crazy talent of these young folk, Dusty especially. I will miss his playlists, and for that matter his lists, his tidiness, his advice for how to handle teenaged boys, his work ethic, his integrity, and his view on life. We overlooked our individual idiosyncrasies and respected and teased each other relentlessly. We have some incredible shared memories that cannot be replaced, notably the night at the Green Mill in Chicago with Motoki and especially the day we picked up Karim Rashid in Salt Lake and drove him to Logan for his presentation. We were both extremely nervous. We had studied everything about him... how to pronounce his name, his design biography. I knew about his tatoos and their secret language meaning, I bought some of his O chairs off of Craiglist and put them in the office. Dusty knew he was a DJ. We talked the entire way. Karim thought Dusty was amazing, he kept forgetting my name (he did say my face was familiar). Not many people can say they have driven for a couple hours with the designer of the Dirt Devil Kone.

Anyway, back to the get together. We all came with a presentation of advice for Dusty. I showed him how to fold a t-shirt like they do at the Gap and then we autographed it jr. high style with Sharpies. We had a great dinner and then played a heated round of pinball. I reprimand my son's for participating in "imature" guy talk. Well, it disinegrated into "imature" jokes... mostly about balls. I laughed hard. Good Riddance Dusty (in the good green day time of your life way, "not in a creepy weird way").