Bookends

I have thirty minutes until my husband comes home.  Let's see if I can write anything.  Not that he would mind me writing--in fact, he encourages it, daily. "When's the last time you worked on your book?" he asks, noticing me on Facebook, or the Reds homepage. "Why don't you write?" he says, when I suggest watching an episode of Homeland or The Wire.

"I know. I should," I reply.  But then I don't.  I don't open up my book, I don't open up blogger.  I just can't do it when he's around--when anyone's around, really--unless they're, separately, working on their own tasks.

But I don't want to write about my lack of writing.

This has been an exciting summer, with my wedding and then my brother's wedding providing the bookends.  My dad flew in from Kenya at the start of May, and returned after Jonah's wedding in the middle of September.  It was nice having him home such an extended period -- and the day he returned to Nairobi was the same day the mall was attacked by terrorists from Somalia.  He's safe and was nowhere near it, he assures us.

Anyway, the bookends: my brother's wedding was beautiful, and I can't believe he's married.  They had an ice cream truck, and it was as awesome as it sounds.  His wife is actually our real estate agent, and helped us buy a house.  We close at the end of October.  So I guess this is my excuse (an excuse) for not writing.  Searching for houses, getting approved for loans, these things take time and energy.  When I wasn't doing that, all I wanted to do was watch TV or look at Facebook.  I knew there was something better I could do with my time, but I just didn't have it in me.

I always feel like such a dork, standing next to my handsome brothers.  But here we are, looking very related.  (My mom is awesome, and I love her dearly, but I don't have a similar picture with my brothers and her!)

"The Hardest Part of Marriage"

I haven't found time to write here.  Between work and family commitments, I haven't made the space.  Luckily, I was asked to participate in George Rede's Voices of August series again, giving me a chance to craft an essay for the Rough and Rede blog.  Check out my contribution here, and then check back the rest of the month to read insights on a variety of topics from a wide range of perspectives.

It made sense to write about married life, as a new wife.  But it took a few false starts before I found an angle that (I hope) added something new to the discussion and that didn't disparage me or my husband.

Anyway, thanks again George for inviting me to participate.  I feel honored to be included among such intelligent and insightful voices.

In Brief

Time goes so quickly at my new job.  Before, at the public branch, the day was divided into hour-long increments: checking in bookdrop, one hour; looking for holds, one hour; being on the desk, one hour; eating lunch, one (half-) hour; back on the desk, one hour--and your day still isn't over.  Have a long-term project you want to work on?  Good luck, squeezing it into all your other hours.  The longer I worked there, the better I got at accomplishing my day-to-day goals while still making progress on larger ones, but it wasn't easy.  The immediate demands of working directly with the public necessarily took precedent over any other ideas.  It seemed like there was never enough time to do what I wanted, yet the day could drag.

I still don't feel like I have enough time to do everything I want, but because I can dedicate two or three consecutive hours to a task, I make substantial progress.  It feels extremely rewarding.  Fulfilling -- that's the word.

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.