All the Best

Two weeks ago, the rain held off long enough to have a wedding.  The ceremony was lovely, and I was honored to have so many friends and family celebrating with us.  There is much I'll cherish and remember from that day, moments not captured by our photographer--my best friend, chauffeuring me from home, to the mall where I had my makeup done (because I'm clueless when it comes to makeup), to my mom's, and then to the ceremony site, on her birthday, in good spirits; my dad, sitting with me as I hid in the back of the venue, waiting for it to be time to walk down the aisle; both my grandparents, ages 91 and 97, respectively, being there to cheer me on...

But my youngest brother stole the show.  Shy, like me, and with a dry sense of humor, Jonah gave a toast that had people crying tears of laughter.  It was clever and teasing, but never embarrassing.  He's getting married this fall, so hopefully we'll be able to return the favor.

10 Days and Counting...

So in ten days I'm getting married.

I've ignored the part of me that wanted to be a counter-cultural hippie, getting married in the woods with a dozen friends and family, wearing a flowing dress (maybe white, maybe not) that I found at a thrift store.  But that hippie wasn't loud enough.  Instead, I've rented a banquet center in a park.  They'll be serving a buffet dinner, and I'll be paying an extra $65 for them to cut my cake.   My dress was bought online, but it's still white.  It's still wedding-dressy.

I guess I decided that, more important than having an inexpensive, quiet ceremony was having something that all the people I love, and whom my fiancé loves, can attend.  They can celebrate with us.  By coming, they are showing support for us and our marriage.

Starting a new job just as the wedding date is approaching has been interesting.  Because I'm new and shy, I don't really talk about it with my new colleagues beyond superficial conversation.  They don't know me, yet, and they don't know my fiancé.  I'm not sure how to jump forward besides wait it out.

This wedding, this marriage, feels strange and ordinary, unexpected and fated, and scary and exciting all at the same time.  The closer I get to the date, the more sure I am that I made the right decision.  After all, marriage is a choice.  Commitment is a choice.  And I know this is a good one: I don't have an ounce of doubt.

I can't wait.

Buslife

For the first time in years, I'm working a job with a regular schedule.  I work 8-5, Monday through Friday, and have every single weekend off.  While a part of me misses having Thursday mornings off, and the occasional Friday all to myself, the larger part of me loves the routine.

Before, my days were bookended by stressful drives through traffic, creeping along the interstate at 30 mph and silently cursing the car that peels into the curb lane in order to get 50 feet ahead of where it would have been.  When I came in my door after driving home, I felt spent.  I was frazzled and didn't want to do anything.

I started my third week of taking the metro downtown.  Now, instead of becoming annoyed by other drivers, I read.  Instead of looking at my gas gauge, thinking about how much money I'm spending and how much pollution my car is creating, I read.  I'm on my third book, George Saunder's marvelous collection, "Tenth of December."

In a strange way, I feel like my daily commute as a passenger has given me the gift of time.  I have home life, which is great, work life, which is challenging and interesting, and bus life: bus life is when I don't have to think about anything but passing time, and I feel so lucky that I get to spend 45 minutes, two times a day, reading.

Ch- Ch- Changes

I mentioned in my last post that I'll be starting a new job next week.  I'll be working in a basement, literally, helping to bring library books to schools, nursing homes, and home-bound readers.  Part of my job will be selecting these books, part of it will be office manager, which entails a host of duties.  This week I've been telling some of my favorite patrons--those friendly men and women who regularly visit my branch, who know me by name (and vice versa), who chat with me after checking out their books--that Saturday is my last day there.   There's a sense of finality with most of these good-byes.  I'll keep in touch with my coworkers, I'll go to their parties, I'll like their Facebook posts.  But for the families who come into the branch, whose faces and book tastes are so familiar to me, the library is the only context we share.  It's easy to imagine I'll never see them again.  Not everyone was nice or friendly.  But many were.  And that's all I remember.  That's all I'll carry with me.

One woman, after I described my new position, how I'll be working less with the public, said, "That's too bad.  You're such a people person." It was the type of brief conversation where I couldn't protest and say, "But I'm an introvert!  People drain me!"Because, to her, I am a people person.  In that context, I'm friendly and outgoing.  I love finding the books and music patrons want.  I love helping people with using a computer, downloading onto their Kindles, etc, or finding library books.  I enjoy my brief chats.

I'm always so tired in the evenings.  I feel empty, like I have no energy left, having spent everything I have being friendly and outgoing for hours on end.  So that's my hope with this new position: that it will be more challenging intellectually while not taxing my emotional reserves.

The Gift of Time

The wedding is in less than two months and, fortunately, I've become only more confident that we're making the right decision.  I was never uncertain, really, but planning a wedding is stressful: it had the potential to cause conflict or to bring us closer.  It's done the latter.  Neither of us wanted it to be a big event.  Neither wanted something very expensive.  Both wanted it to be secular.  And we're achieving all of those goals without argument.

In just over a week I start a new job.  It's still within our library system, but in a new capacity.  I'm very excited--I think my previous experience in the branch and in education will make me a good fit--but I'm also sad about leaving my current location.  My coworkers are kind, considerate, and hilarious.  I'll miss them terribly.

Planning the wedding and preparing for the job interview have dominated the past few weeks of my life; writing has taken a back seat.  I'll be able to take public transportation to the new job, which will be  over 30 minutes each way, and I feel like I've been given the gift of time: time to read, to write, or simply to stare out the window!

A Scalpel Won't Do

I've been listening to an audiobook in my car, San Miguel by T. C. Boyle.  It's set on a small, fictional island off the coast of California.  The closest city is Santa Barbara.  The first two-thirds of the story take place in the late 1800s and focus on a woman and her adopted daughter who, against their wishes, move to this small island where there are none of the comforts of civilization.  There's an outhouse, no indoor plumbing, and few protections against the elements.  The woman suffers from consumption, and the girl struggles with being a teenager, far from peers or any excitement.  The last third of the book jumps forward in time, to the 1930s, as two young newlyweds become caretakers of the island.  The island has modernized, somewhat, and they're thrilled to be on their own.

The writing is good, the characters are interesting, but throughout the narrative I find myself surprised that the story doesn't go deeper.  That plots are neatly resolved.  That minor conflicts don't carry over from one chapter to the next.  I still have a couple of discs left, so I may be surprised still, but right now I judge it as a good story, not a great novel.


That's a bit harsh.  But so much of what I read, now, I analyze what works and what doesn't in order to apply what I learn to my own work.  In revisions, I'm up to the clunky last third of my book.  I say "clunky" because, rereading it, the story feels forced, and the descriptions redundant.  Maybe it's not horrible for a person writing her first novel, but it's not great.  With all my procrastination and with all my distractions the past couple of months, I can look at it more objectively.  I'm not as attached to leaving things as they are, to tinkering at the edges.  A scalpel won't do--I need a hacksaw.    

Skydiving GIF

This is me jumping out of the plane -- I love how my cheeks and forehead wrinkle as I fall!