20 Years

The other day I looked at Howard as he was gazing out of window. The light was hitting his face at one of those photographically perfect angles to highlight all the best features and I wished for a camera so I could capture in an image exactly what I see when I look at him. He was quite handsome, despite the fact that he was wearing a green shirt I’d made the mistake of buying for him without quite realizing that it exactly matches his car.

Oops. All day he wore that shirt and I kept feeling like he was wearing his car around the house. But I watched him anyway because I often do even though I don’t say anything about it.

This is us together 20 years ago today.

I can’t say that our wedding was the best day of my life, because it was far too full of various agendas, rejoicings, and stresses to be peaceful. I can say that choosing to marry Howard was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It is one I keep making over and over as we muck our way through the various stresses and joys of sharing life, household, children, and a business.
As you can see, Howard took this wedding business quite seriously.

Very seriously indeed.

At least I had some inkling of what I was in for.

I have a smattering of photographs in between those wedding pictures and the green shirt picture above. I thought about digging out an array of them and creating a (probably cheesy) Howard-through-the-years montage, but the albums are currently buried behind boxes of merchandise which I had to move out of our storage room because the air conditioner repair guys needed to have more that two square feet of work space. Then I thought about drawing forth some larger meaning from the pictures being buried by work, but really that is just life. Things get shifted around to take care of problems and then they pass through organized before being jumbled up again for some other reason.

The important thing is that twenty years in, I don’t regret it. Not a bit of it. Not any of the dumb mistakes (see green shirt above), or the grievous mistakes (investing in real estate in early 2007), not having four kids, or buying this house, or planting all those trees half of which died. (Okay I regret planting that one maple in that one spot, but it is nothing that a saw can’t fix when we find some time.) Most importantly I don’t regret sharing all of it with Howard. I’m glad that we leaped together into creative work. I’m glad for all of the things I’ve had to become (stronger, less afraid, an accountant, a graphic designer). I say all of this even though this past weekend has been one of Howard’s worst-ever depressive episodes. For a little bit things were heart-wrenchingly, achingly hard. I don’t regret that either. He makes me laugh even when I want to cry, or even when I’ve already been crying. He’s brilliant and clever. He just keeps getting better. We keep getting better together.

Twenty years, that’s a good start.

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Before the Beginning of School Anxieties

My children look to me to create the rhythms of their lives. They do not watch clocks, they wait for Mom to call them for lunch. Sometimes they pay attention to calendars, but usually only when there is a holiday or birthday to anticipate. In the summer they are even cast free of the school schedule, each day shaped very much like all the rest. I watch clocks and calendars. I track appointments and set alarms. Which is why I am very aware that school starts in only two weeks. On August 19th the changes that have been roiling and causing anxiety since last February will solidify. We will have things to deal with instead of things to worry about. But we are not quite there yet and I’m not looking forward to the moment when the kids figure out how close we are to that day. When they do, there will be emotional reactions and I don’t know what shape those emotional reactions will take. In fact part of my brain is convinced that one or more of the kids will melt down into major anxiety which will snowball causing stress and emotional upheaval for all of us that won’t resolve until sometime in October.

It is possible that the kids aren’t the ones I need to worry about with the before school anxiety. In fact all current evidence suggests that I am the one who is going to be stressed and fretting during the next two weeks. I’m already there. And I am trying very hard not to signal any of my anxiety to the kids. We’re not going school shopping. I haven’t scheduled before-school-starts haircuts. I’m not trying to do a few last outings before the summer is gone. As much as possible I would like this week to be summer-as-normal. Next week is soon enough for all the other things.

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Taking Care of People and Things

The people come first. They should always come first, but sometimes I get enmeshed in all the things to do that I forget to focus on the people. That reversal never lasts very long because people in need of care tend to draw attention. They request attention even if they are not aware that this is what they are doing. On a day like today I have very little temptation to care for things first.

Howard is working on the sketch editions. Sketching season is always a time when I rearrange my schedule to support Howard’s efforts, because doing 1000 sketches is really a marathon effort. Marathon runners could not accomplish what they do without a crew. Howard can’t do the sketches without the other members of his household providing support. This time the onset of sketching coincided with one of Howard’s depressive “I can’t do all of this” swings, which increased the level of support necessary.

Kiki had four wisdom teeth removed today. We made the appointment two weeks ago and then did all in our power to forget about it, because the thought of surgery made both Kiki and I very nervous. Today she was as jittery as a junebug, which I assume is really jittery since I’ve never actually seen a junebug. I watched her walk away with a nurse and remembered the last time that I’d seen her walk away with a nurse for anesthesia. She was two back then and needed ear tubes. This time it was a removal not an addition. Everything was routine and I rejoined her in the recovery room where I learned that recovering-from-anesthesia Kiki is very chatty. Most of the thoughts that came through her head were spoken, but short term memory was not being written into long term. She was awake and alert, asked reasonable questions, but she repeated them about every five minutes because she didn’t remember the answers. That effect wore off about half way home. Now we’re helping Kiki through post surgical recovery. So far the pain has not been particularly bad for her, which I’m glad about. Hopefully in another day or so she’ll be back to normal.

I’ve taken to hovering over Gleek’s shoulder as she plays online games. She’s on public servers and has made some friends there. Making friends is good, but it is my job to make sure that Gleek learns how to stay safe. Also, I’ve realized that at twelve she does not have a comprehension that just because someone has always been nice does not mean they’re safe. So I am hovering, and mostly being bored by it, because the chatter is primarily about blocks, building, swords, monsters, and giving instructions to new players. Yet I’m getting a feel for the social context of the game so that I can offer advice for when a player seems dodgy to me. Bit by bit my kids gather experience for normal online interactions so that they are able to spot the ones that are out of the ordinary, like someone being too nice because they want something later.

My mailbox is full. Three of them actually, since I manage my mail, the Schlock box, and the box for the Jay Wake Book. Each of those messages represents a person. It is easy to think of email as things to do, but on the other end of my replies are people. Today the email people are going to have to wait an extra day, because the in-my-house people get my attention first.

Patch spent most of today at cub scout day camp, so he missed the return of loopy Kiki. But he doesn’t mind because there were boat wars, pringles, cookies, rabbit fur, slingshots, and hours in the sun. All he needs from me today is for me to listen to his adventures for a bit.

Link spent the afternoon playing Metroid Prime Corruption for Kiki’s entertainment. He beat the game with 100%. Apparently my son has gotten quite good at video games. Naturally he started playing all over again on a harder difficulty setting.

Monday is the twentieth anniversary of when Howard and I got married. Sometime between now and then I’d like to find some deep and important thoughts on the topic. At the moment I just see the date coming and know nothing in particular is planned other than postage printing. Monday will be a work day, which is in keeping with our family tradition I suppose.

Dishes, laundry, clutter, bathroom grunge, these are all things, though they are things which affect the moods of people. I wish I had the energy to solve them today. Or rather, I wish I’d had the energy to take care of them yesterday so that they would already be done today. Instead I see them and feel a measure of defeat. Another day I will find laundry victory.

One thing I did succeed at doing today: I kept refined sugar and white flour out of my diet. I’m not going to be rigid, but those things need to be the occasional treat not daily fare. So that is a success. I also ordered banners for GenCon, made some arrangements for WorldCon, re-ordered the Writing Excuses DVDs, approved TOH for reprint, accepted delivery of shipping supplies, began accounting, and communicated with several people about Jay Wake. So I did some of the things today, I just wish I’d done all of them.

People before things.

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Taking Care of Business

Today I am uploading the Tub of Happiness reprint files. There are 1377 images in the book, so it is going to take most of the day. Fortunately uploading is mostly a process I can walk away from. So I walk to where the sketch pages need to be trimmed and I work on that. We’re just about ready for Howard to start the process of signing and sketching copies of The Body Politic. We’ll be shipping these next week. I still need to pin down the exact days, but it’ll be Tuesday-ish through Friday-ish. Once I know the days for certain, I’ll have to put out the call for volunteers. Fortunately this shipping process is much smaller and simpler than that for the coins. The vast majority of the orders are one book into one box. we won’t have to assign people to stare at rows of coins and check them against an invoice. A few days of work and it will be done.

More of it would be done already except getting our furnace and AC replaced has proved to be distracting. I spent part of yesterday dismantling my shipping room so that they would have room to work. Today I have three men traipsing through my house carrying large things and making banging, clattering, and drilling noises. Also the house is stuffy because no AC. This afternoon or tomorrow I’ll get to reassemble my storage room. That process will be complicated by the fact that I need to sort merchandise into things that need to go to WorldCon and things that need to go to our storage unit rather than taking up space in my storage room.

Also distracting is the fact that this looks to be one of our most expensive weeks ever. The HVAC system replacement is not cheap and this morning Kiki came and showed me the amount due for her tuition, meal plan, and dorm fees. That number was not unexpected, but staring at it the same day as the other bill made the math portions of my brain kind of unhappy. Looming on Friday is the consultation with an oral surgeon about Kiki’s wisdom teeth, which very probably need to come out. It all adds up. The good news is that, as the boss of my company, I can decide that the Taylers did a really good job shipping all of those coins and perhaps they deserve a bonus. Thus money flows from the business account to the family accounts. But before I can do that, I have to sit down and do math on all the things which the business needs to pay in the next few months. I’m pretty sure it will all work out. I just need to sit down with the accounts and crunch all the numbers. This would be easier to accomplish if my work computer were not busy uploading and my house were not full of construction noise.

Three weeks until our lives shift from summer schedule into school schedule. Two weeks to GenCon. Four weeks to WorldCon. Book shipping next week. It is a lot to track and one of the reasons that I don’t actually attend any of the events. Me leaving the house adds significant layers of complication to everything. For this year I’m glad to stay home.

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Contemplating My Angry Mode

Yesterday I enjoyed a twitter conversation with John Scalzi because we’re convention friends and we were frustrated about a similar problem with WorldCon memberships. Fortunately the good WorldCon volunteers resolved the problem and my last tweet was a comment that John’s situation was fixed more quickly than mine because he had the might of Krissy (his wife) on his side. John responded with:

Krissy is a mighty weapon. Mind you, I don’t want to see you in angry mode. I bet it is AWESOMELY TERRIFYING

You can read the whole conversation thread here if you wish.

I wanted to say something clever in response to John, something that would make him laugh. So I almost answered
“Very few people see me in angry mode. It usually hits them from behind.”
I even typed the words into the tweet box, but then I deleted them. Because that would be funny for those who know me. But for those who know me less well, it makes me sound like a sneaky and vengeful person, which is not who I want to be. I don’t get angry and seek to hurt other people in order to make myself feel better, even if they have already hurt me. However I will absolutely, unequivocally do everything I can to remove a malicious person’s ability to hurt me and mine. I am unlikely to accomplish that goal with a confrontational assault. Instead I would stand back, figure out where their power comes from and then undermine it just enough that me and mine are safe. I picture this like the underground water which is invisible until it creates a sinkhole under the enemy’s defensive wall.

To this point in my life I’ve never really had to do this. I am perhaps fortunate in that no one has harmed me with malice. I’ve been sideswiped by malice, but not pursued by it. If malice is moving away from me, I just let it keep going rather than drawing its full attention with my response. For accidental damage, clear communication leads to apologies and healing for all parties. I’ve dealt with that plenty. Most people do not intentionally offend or harm others. I avoid the kind of people who do. They are not worth my emotional energy. This morning I followed a link to Theodora Goss’ post about The Best Revenge. In which she says:

1. Live a fabulous life. This step is absolutely crucial. When you feel vengeful, ask yourself, am I doing something fabulous? And if you’re not, go do something! It doesn’t have to be something extravagant. It can involve getting ice cream, or buying flowers, or walking by a river.
2. Write about it. Or take pictures! Share that fabulous life, share your story. The purpose of sharing your life is not to make anyone else envious, but to allow other people to participate in it. And of course you should participate in their stories and lives as well . . . I love it when my friends are living fabulous lives too. (But Step 1 is absolutely crucial: the point is not to post pictures, but to actually have a fabulous life. The pictures come afterward.)

I recommend the whole article, but the primary point I took from it is to turn away from pain and seek out joy. This is very wise and my usual approach. I would only go angry mode on those who actively pursue and seek to interfere with my attempts to move on.

I’m actually glad to have an angry mode. I didn’t for a long time and it made me very vulnerable to getting stepped on.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

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Returning Home

“So what is the plan for this evening?” Howard asked as we drove home from the airport. My answer was simple. Assess the state of the house, assess the state of the kids, clean up the messes both physical and otherwise, put everyone to bed on time. After three days and two nights with no parents in the house, I knew that we would be coming home to some mess. I also knew that the mess would be trivial. Kiki did a wonderful job as adult-in-residence, though it took an hour of talking for her to feel like it wasn’t an utter disaster.

The kids were very glad to have us home. I knew that they would be. The tightness of their hugs was a good first measure for how unsettled they were. Kiki is not the only one who will need to talk this through. Our absence ties into the other changes that are coming. Though I’m really hoping that we can stay focused on summer things for a few more weeks. Stressing about changes ahead of time is not particularly beneficial.

One of the things that surprised me most was the lack of anxiety on my part. I kept expecting it to be there, but it wasn’t. Rather like the way that my left foot stomps for a foot break because the van had one and I drove it for twelve years. My new car does not, so that foot reaches to find air where the habit portion of my brain expects resistance. I’ve always been anxious about leaving the kids. This time I was leaving them with newly-adult Kiki instead of an adult who has parenting experience. Surely I should have been more nervous, but I was less. I knew it would all be okay even though I knew some of it would feel quite hard.

For now we are all home. Nothing is broken. Tonight we rest, tomorrow there is work to do.

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Jay Wake

Jay walked in and there was applause. I heard from where I stood in the reception area despite the fact that Jay had entered at up a flight of stairs and across a lounge area. I was among the bustle of those who were setting up tables and arraying the t-shirts on them. There was an hour until the official beginning of the event, but with Jay’s arrival the show had already begun. All of us turned, aware of the arrival of Jay.

People began to accumulate as the start hour approached. Friends greeted each other and clustered in little groups, none of us quite sure how we were supposed to be feeling about this event. A wake is a strange thing when the object of it has just smiled and hugged you. We were there to celebrate and to grieve, yet the largest portion of the grief is still incoming, we all know this. We hear it like the whistle of a WWII bomb that we know will cause damage, but we’re not sure yet where or when it will land. The urge is to duck and cover, instead these friends of Jay gathered, smiled, laughed, and admitted to each other that this thing we were doing was kind of weird. None of us doubted that it was right. Jay needed a party and that was borne out as he ended the evening as energetic as he’d arrived.

Food makes many things better. After we all sat in the banquet room, after six friends bore Jay into the room in a casket to tumultuous laughter and applause, after Jay jumped out and made us laugh again, then we all filed through the buffet lines. Just the act of selecting seats had settled some uncertainty, the food resolved more. We all know how dinners go. It was familiar and we knew our roles. I watched everyone settle in to conversations. Some of them were about Jay or about the event, but mostly people spoke of other things. Various groups broke out into laughter. We did a fair amount of laughing and storytelling ourselves.

Most of the people were unfamiliar to me with the exception of a few people I’ve met at other events. Then there were the other familiar faces, people I’ve never met, but whom I’ve seen in photographs while assembling the Jay Wake Book. I sometimes tracked their progress through the crowd, wondering how they are doing, because I know that Jay means much to them. I’ve read their stories. After most of the dinner was gone, there were announcements. I stood in front of the crowd of strangers and friends. I explained the Jay Wake Book and expressed hope that everyone would send me something. (Please do. jaylakememory@gmail.com) I’m sure I didn’t say it right, that some other arrangement of words would have been better. Howard tells me that I said what was necessary, but I can’t even remember what words I used. This frustrates the part of my brain that would like to analyze and figure out what they ought to have been. I did not rehearse them ahead of time as is my usual habit. I wonder why I did not. I was distracted perhaps.

When my plea for submissions was finished, I presented the first iteration book to Jay. It is a proof of concept, incomplete and imperfect. Each submission is there in full, but I know which stories are waiting in email, and I have list of people who have told me they want to send something. I will do better on the final version, make sure that the cover is better placed and centered. Jay thanked me and I handed the microphone to the master of ceremonies. Howard waited for me and we sat together to listen to the next portion of the program. There were other gifts, many of them cause for laughter.

I understand how a good roast can be wonderful and cathartic. Laughter is healing. Yet they are uncomfortable for me. As the evening started switching gears into the roast of Jay, Howard and I quietly exited. We visited with some friends in the reception area to the occasional sound of uproarious laughter that came from behind the doors of the banquet hall. The speakers were doing their jobs well. I think Jay laughed loudest.

It was late when the doors opened and the crowds emerged. They all smiled, some looked a little teary. A part of me regrets that I did not stay to hear all the words, but I know my limits. This event was an emotional ride for everyone involved, probably most especially for Jay. In fact many of Jay’s nearest and dearest did not attend at all or left early. Grief is complicated and individualized. Two people may have the same cause for grief, but they travel very different paths through the landscape it creates. What heals and enlivens one person can be wounding knives to another. One of the wonderful things about Jay is that he understands this. Most of his close friends do too, because Jay draws amazing people to him. Or maybe he teaches it to them.

I wandered the banquet hall as groups of people paused in their departure. I perused the tables to see if anyone had filled out submission forms that I needed to pick up. A few had been delivered to me. Mostly they were pocketed and people would likely email me later. I hope. I want the Jay Wake Book to be quite thick. I collected the “Things I Learned from Jay” notes off of the wall and folded them to be put in the book later. There is much work for me to do in the weeks to come in order to follow through on that project. But for the evening my job was complete.

Howard and I wandered the reception area. Often at Howard and I circulate separately during public events, but we stayed together for this. It was not a part of a plan, just what happened, perhaps because Howard did not need additional space to wear his public event face. Or maybe we wanted to stay close. We were sitting together when Jay came to say goodnight. He thanked us for all we did for the event. Jay was not the first, nor the last, to thank us. These thanks felt strange, because Howard and I feel like we did not do that much, not compared to others. We just did a few things that obviously needed skills we have. We feel honored that we could be of use on this occasion.

We lingered as the crowds dispersed, the individual participants in this event scattered out into the night and Jay Wake was completed. Yet each person carried a piece of the event with them, so perhaps it has not ended, but rather become diffused and will spread like a meme. We went to bed tired both physically and emotionally.

We sat with Jay and Lisa as they ate breakfast the next morning. It was the first chance I’ve ever had to visit with Lisa. I am now quite certain that Jay’s heart and health are in excellent hands. Howard and I were glad to have that quiet hour to visit without interruption. We felt a little selfish in taking it, because there are many others who would like an hour with Jay. Yet the hour was there and we did not waste it. The conversation was likely the same sort of conversation that Jay has often, we talked much about the current state of Jay. I suspect these conversations can be wearying. Though I hope we traded some good company and laughter for the life review.

Then we collected our things, tucked our memories of Jay Wake into our hearts, and departed for the airport. This was a wonderful difficult trip and I’m so very glad we were able to go.

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Gatecrashing and Guest Posting

Yesterday and today we’ve been gatecrashing the Cascade Writer’s Conference. I suppose it is not technically gatecrashing, when the conference organizer is so kindly giving us badges and anything else that we need. Mostly we’ve been dividing our time between fantastic conversations and writing words. Howard hopes to finish this weekend with a full draft of his next Rune Wright story. I’ll be happy with some progress on the Amelia outline. We’ve already had some very useful business conversations, which is not at all what we expected from the weekend. This evening is Jay Wake at which I expect to both laugh and cry.

In the meantime, I have an essay up on Segullah as a guest post. 100% is Not Available in which I talk about parenting, weariness, and grace.

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A Quick Rant About Things Broken

I am very grateful that all of the things continued to work during the years when we were constantly terrified that we would run out of money. I am glad that we have the necessary money this year when all of the things are breaking.

But I am tired of surprise expenses.
Teeth are expensive, air conditioning is expensive; furnaces, doctor’s appointments, diagnostic appointments, vehicles, furniture, vacuum cleaners, computer repair, and dishwashers–all expensive.

That is all.

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Evaluating My Summer

There are days when it is very easy for me to identify all the places in my life where I could be doing better. This would seem like a good thing, not being blind to the need to improve. It would surely be worse if I woke after my kids, let them play on computers all day, expected them to forage through (well-stocked) cupboards for their own meals, and did not realize that this pattern of behavior counted as sub-par parenting. As a short-term rest from Mom always being in their faces expecting chores and homework, my kids welcome this laissez faire style, but over the long haul it is not good for them. They need structure, regular bedtimes, meals, or it can get perilously Lord-of-the-flies-ish around here. So I was noticing the need to improve my parenting game. I opted to take the kids on an outing. We went to a “Fun Arcade” to which we have passes. The kids did have fun there, playing laser tag, driving go carts, steering bumper boats. I had a sort of fun too while I watched them and took some pictures. Yet we all came home cranky and in dire need to be far away from crowds of people and noise. I brought home a lovely headache. Mission accomplished. Sort of.

The plan was for the outing to occupy the morning and I would get business tasks done in the afternoon. Yet I had real difficulty re-engaging my business brain. I’d opened up my long parenting thoughts, spent a morning thinking of the other outings and things we’d like to do this summer. I mused upon ways that I could spend time with my kids and enrich their lives. Those thoughts filled my brain and did not want to be tucked away so that I could answer emails. I was stressfully aware of all work waiting on my attention, but unable to focus on a particular task enough to complete it. This, of course, sent me into an existential despair. obviously I can not possibly be a good mother and a good business owner simultaneously. The best I can manage is a haphazard rotation. I would long for the return of school, when there was more separation between the parenting and the business management, but I quite clearly remember how much I was looking forward to having less schedule for the summer.

I spoke today with a friend about the state of publishing and her current strategy for revising and submitting books. Her assessment of how the business of publishing is currently running was sound to me, but rather discouraging considering the types of things that I write and the speed at which I write them. I don’t write best-seller material, or at least I haven’t yet. My publishing career may never take of because of a hundred factors out of my control. Yet only a few days ago I spilled angst on these subjects and decided to write anyway because I have stories that I want to tell whether or not they ever gain a wide audience. The size of the audience is not how to measure the worth of a story. So I focus on the work itself, not where I think the work will take me, or what public appraisal of the work will bring to me. It is me and the words, me and the story. Those are the things that matter.

After my friend left, I looked over to my kids who were wearing headphones and clicking with their computer mouses. I walked over and kissed the tops of their heads. They didn’t even flinch, because that is a normal thing for me to do. They live in confidence that they are loved, that the cupboards will have food, that we’ll all attend church together, that if they have a problem, or a scratch, or a random thought, they can find Mom or Dad and tell us about it. They usually have to dig in baskets for clean clothes to wear, but the clothes are clean, the dishes get done (mostly), and our floors are clear in the middles where people need to walk. All of this stuff is the work of parenting. It is the moments when I fit grocery shopping and laundry in between the business email and shipping. These things are done with out expectation of accolades, and certainly not because I expect my kids to remember it. The outings (which I’ve been feeling guilty for not doing) are the times that get the photographs and are chronicled as family stories. The true work of parenting is listening when a child wants to tell every detail of her dream. The dream itself is unimportant, but the listening is very important.

The heart of creation, whether it be a family, a story, a business, or a household, is in the quiet work done almost out of sight. When I readjust my vision to focus on those things, I think I may not be doing so badly this summer after all.

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