We had a health scare with Dad this last Friday, and for the first time in my life I booked a day-of flight and took an unplanned trip home. Everything's all right, and though I'm shaken I'm thankful for that. My goal is to "make the good times good." To that end, I cooked up the idea of having a Meyer Family Book Club, which is to say we're all supposed to read the new David Mitchell book Bone Clocks to discuss on T-giving. I've been looking forward to the novel, as had Dad who has been hoovering up the reviews, and if Mitchell's previous work is any indication, it should be eminently readable. That's part of the marvel of the man--he reminds me of Joyce with his rollicking creativity and general feeling of expansiveness, and of Nabokov with his architectural trickiness and just walloping brilliance, but he is also a bonafide page-turner-producer. And he's such a relevant and such a moral writer. The final line of Cloud Atlas has been one of my brain refrains since I read the book--"Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?" It actually gives me goosebumps. Anyway, why this entry? When I was home I'd made Dad a thankless sandwich, and when I gave him shit he hit me with, "O what a rogue and peasant slave am I?!" and I got to give myself a titillating little litquiz IDing it (I'm the worst), and thought, gah, I want to read and re-read Shakespeare! I've really missed writing (sloppy sporadic journaling aside), and I miss writing about what I'm reading, which isn't enough by the way. So here's me trying to be ever so slightly more disciplined. And man boy howdy am I rusty. Now I have to make sure none of the ladies have made a break for it, especially Lola, my little sun-warmed pudding.

This Morning

Coffee's a-brewin' and I am still in my nightgown, out back enjoying the roses' second bloom. Need to refresh the vases, which will please Nina the petal-eater.

JoNew West Coast Tour Commences

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iB4WLc3xG6g&feature=search

The strings subbing in for the kora at the end are of my dreams. Monday!

Ma's Day

Peter's out of town, and I haven't been sleeping terribly peacefully. I woke up at 5:30 this morning and laid there for a while panicking about my life, particularly about my relationship with time, characterized by cuckoo denial and terrified avoidance. So I was making myself crazy by acknowledging the craziness of my behavior. O and I fell asleep last night visualizing over and over how I would try to jump out the window if the Big One hit, worrying about if I would have time to grab my glasses, my cellphone, and if the cats would understand if I screamed at them to go outside in case the house collapsed, also thinking about all my clothes buried under rubble forever. And would I have to worry about electrical wires collapsing and snaking about like lightning whips leaving gashes in the cement. And if I would be cold in my nightgown.
I have the Beast again tonight and am dreading it--it's been an awful work week.
Anyway, I am flabbergasted by the beauty of this:



Marc Jacobs Spring. Sigh. Like a pencil drawing.

Reminiscent of Rodarte's magicalnessossity:





Dreamy. Anyway, I haven't eaten yet and might set about toasting some bread and buttering it.

Day Off

So, I have another girl's name I love a lot--Fionnula, which means "white shoulder" in Gaelic. Lovely. Unfortunately it kind of cancels out Finnegan, as Fionnula is pronounced "fin-oo-luh," so we'll see...in about ten years, if'n I have my shite together enough at that point to contemplate motherhood.
But aside from the crucial business of baby names, I need a space to try to become verbal again. Maybe I'll slack off less here than in my journal (how I miss the days of wildly journaling during boring lectures), or at least need to make a little more sense.
It's my day off, and I've been feeling uneasy about all kinds of crap (no pun), most worrisomely Lola's pooping very runnily in and around her box. Poor little munch. Going to the vet tomorrow, which will undoubtedly cost an arm and a leg. On the money-saving side of medical care, I am getting a call this evening from a Kaiser MD who will listen to me describe my symptoms (a cold that just won't go away), and either recommend an office visit or prescribe me medication over the phone. Very strange. The scheduling receptionist was very defensive about the whole business, which makes me wonder if it's new.
Peter and I went for a jog at the aquatic park, and I pussied out halfway through and opted to walk right along the water, very soothing to be by the water as always, aside from the infestation of creepy mo-fos lurking around in the bushes and sitting in their parked cars. It's breezy and sunny and kind of chilly in here as I have a bunch of windows open and the door. The cats keep coming in, either to check up on me or receive reassuring pets when they're feeling agoraphobic. Anyway, I've got to go wash the dishes and make the bed and as well as a big mess searching for a missing credit card.

Big News

After many years of nada, I finally figured out my baby names (though I need one more girl one for my ideal offspring order of girl, girl, then boy). For the boy: Finnegan, Finn (as in Huck) for short. And for the daughter: Grendel. I'm so thrilled about this I can hardly take it. Gren!
In the monster department, this utterly beastly sweater was returned to my work and it was o so big 'n' ugly and I o so dearly wanted it. Too poor though. In memoriam: it weighed about fifty pounds, all thick-knit ugly gray-brown wool with an insane bustle/cape like chubby dragon spines. Wearing it (I tried it on more than a couple times) made me feel pleasingly like a monster skulking around in its lair. I've been consoling myself by wearing eye disease red eye shadow. It's very nice.
I finished The Grass is Singing by Doris Lessing. It was a short and strange book, written from a distance, sort of Henry James-ish but more female. It seemed like she was tired of it by the end. Made me want to go to Africa though, despite my fear of catching horrible latent diseases. God, I want to go anywhere. Well, not really Europe. Reading A Room with a View now. Why? Dunno.