Sooooo silly... We bought a webcam to talk to family across the country. I thought to test out video capture since I'm suffering insomnia. Posted about J. Always J.

We've already amassed a ridiculous collection of home videos. M and I talking about our "hotel." A loves to spend many minutes staring at the camera and making faces. The dog swimming across the screen.

I'll have to see if this works during the day, when I can speak in a normal tone. I never knew I rolled my eyes as often as I do. I'm in my pj's. I'm gonna be in pain tomorrow when I try to get up to take the kids to school.

Did I already say it? Sooooo silly.

So I posted something and immediately took it down. The sound was way off. I'm going to have to make several test runs.

R.I.P. Sassy

We lost our beloved girl today, doing what she loved...running like mad, down the street. Playing the jester just one too many times. We will miss you, doglet.

Vigil

The hardest part of sitting vigil while a person slowly retreats from this life is...sitting vigil. With both of my parents, I recall having to sleep, needing to finally go home and rest. I couldn't do it - I lay in my bed, tossing and turning, weeping, praying, waiting any second for the phone to ring. For some unknown cosmic reason, as if I willed it, the phone would ring and I would jump and grab the handset and there was this horror when I realized it was a wrong number at four in the morning.

This weekend we sit vigil for a beloved brother-in-law, the husband of D's older sister. BW is a strong man, a kind one, a truly giving Christian man. I point out his beliefs because he and I sometimes battled. In the end, I could not help but feel a slight envy at his faith.

Today, he is on our minds. We wait, we worry, we hope that some miracle will change the inevitable result of a long battle with diabetes.

School starts on Tuesday - there are things to be done. We've had a wonderful summer, visiting my brother-in-law's only son and family, D&A, in D.C., hanging out by our community pool, going to the beach, staying a week with my sister in Mammoth Lakes.

I have yet to write a thank-you note to D&A in D.C. for their great hospitality. The card waits on the table, the little gift to include. I don't know what to say now that D&A sit vigil in the hospital. I missed my opportunity to express that thanks and now my voice will seem like a drop of rain in the aching storm that for the moment, for now, is their life. Hopefully the words will come.

Godspeed, my dear friend.

The morning after...

Ahhh, now I see the articles analyzing Hillary and her accomplishments on behalf of the "gentler" sex.

Marie Wilson

Rebecca Walker

BBC News

Godspeed, Hillary...damn it!

Don't get me wrong, I truly respect and admire and am in awe of the meteoric rise of Barak Obama. But the woman in me who rallied like mad for Geraldine Ferraro back in college, who waited 22...nay, 28 years for another woman to even come close to the Presidency, the woman in me is deeply and, dare I say, bitterly disappointed that Hillary Clinton is not our nominee. We could taste the success and at the last moment, saw the end fly out of our reach.

Reviews of Hillary's speech last night were typically scathing. However, unlike the critics, I thought her speech was absolutely appropriate. DAMN it, she harnessed 18 million voters. As one of the CNN commentators said, Barak can still feel her breath on the back of his neck. This was no landslide. Not even close to one. So damn it, she owed those 18 million voters a speech and a speech she gave them on the eve of her post-primary departure that we all knew was coming. As a Hillary supporter, I liked hearing her accomplishments, I liked the reminder of the states she won, I liked hearing a reminder that DAMN IT, we as women are NOT finished, we are not conceding to anything. And if some people believed she was "defiant", well, she ought to be.

Critics railed that she should have acknowledged Barak's accomplishment in being the first Black to become a Presidential party nominee. And so many have. But Hillary...this was her night, too. No woman has gotten as far as she did in the process. Nobody commented on that accomplishment. That accomplishment has been virtually ignored in favor of criticism of her defiance.

My god, where would women be today if they weren't defiant? Where would most of this country be, if not for defiance?

Hillary Clinton will be gracious when the time is right - today at the American Israel Public Affairs Committee policy convention, for example, and Friday. But last night, was "her" night.

Damn it.

Happy Mother's Day!!

May the day be a blessed one for all!

Go Hillary!

You know, when it comes down to it, I have such a soft spot for Hillary Clinton. While there might not be much difference in policy between Barak Obama and Hil, I believe in her experience and woman-ness. YAY for Ohio!

First Post of the Year

Mid-February - such a delay for a first 2008 post. I've been distracted by family routines and drama and the new job. But I'm here now.

I lost my coat somewhere, sometime in January. The coat was a grey wool pea coat that my mother and I had purchased together at Nordstrom's, off the sale rack. The right-hand pocket was flawed in that one side of the satiny pocket had never been anchored to the thick outer shell of the coat. To use it, I always had to fish for the opening once my hand passed the slit in the coat. Every time I searched for the side pocket, I thought of my mom telling me, "We'll just sew it up. Easy." We never got around to doing that before she died. The coat got a lot of use. Whenever the temperature dipped below 60, I grabbed it out of the hall closet. For years that coat has been featured in family pictures. For years I've hidden in the coat, protected, comfortable. I thought of getting a new one, but new ones never felt as secure as the grey one with the big black buttons. My sister told me the coat was getting a bit...outdated. Sometimes when the house was particularly chilled, I cuddled beneath the coat. If I was unsure of the weather, I'd take it anyway. Even if the thing stayed draped across the back seat.

So, yeah, the coat is gone. For the life of me I can't remember where it could have been left behind.

I wonder if it got left at a faculty assembly, where I sat between my boss and a Psychology professor. Or maybe it was in a classroom, where I stood at the front of the room and spoke of outlining as a tool to improve writing. Maybe I left it in the room once I gathered my books and flash drive, before I headed out into the dark. Perhaps I simply shed the coat in the hallway outside my little office decorated with books and framed posters from my house. Perhaps I walked and shrugged off the drab grey coat, shrugged it right off my shoulders to show off the lacy blouse beneath, the light-colored slacks, and the platinum pendant swinging against my chest. It must have felt good to walk away from that heavy weight on me.

I know it must have felt good because I didn't even notice its absence for the longest while.

Today, I read homework and assignments and dialogued with students by e-mail. We're having a meeting on Monday afternoon to revive our department's student association. I'm working slowly on an accreditation report due in June. My boss is a lovely person, a former missionary, a lawyer, too. We have lunches together and she always smiles when I walk into her office. When she introduces me to people she knows, she says, "We're just thrilled to have her!"

During the winter intersession at the University I learned that a colleague knows my favorite professor from my alma mater. I realized in that moment that I was where I was always meant to be. In my senior year, I took a detour from my wish to get a doctorate in English. Law school. By walking away from graduate school, I knew I was walking away from an academic career. For many years I agonized about that decision. Dissatisfaction with practicing law grew and weighed down my spirit. The children came, the marriage dipped, I was lost in a fog of displacement. Writing wasn't good enough to quell the lasting ache of having missed what I thought was my long-lost opportunity.

When I heard that I was mere steps away from my English professor, I suddenly saw the full circle.

I shed a weight when I signed on to work at the College. I finally got to a place where I wanted to be. And it feels so good to be free.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

From the Bliss Family...

Have a wonderful holiday!

Happy Thanksgiving!!

May everyone have a beautiful and satisfying holiday!

Awakened

As if to smooth the non-touching wrinkle in our marriage, he brought potent creamed coffee to my classroom. I drank the large coffee in sips and slurps on and off throughout the lecture and now it's two in the morning and I'm wide awake. For hours it seemed I lay beneath thick covers unable to warm up. I started with few clothes on, a t-shirt, a pair of pajama shorts. I got up to get socks. I switched the shorts for pajama pants. I finally threw on a robe. Still the bed was cold, still my mind wouldn't stop. Last step was getting out of bed and hitting the keyboard.

Music haunts me, Mexican music. The tones have been following me, trailing my every move. A week ago or so on a Saturday night, in a similar vein of wakefulness I rose to the sound of Mexican music coming in through a cracked-open window. Near two-thirty in the morning I saw. I pushed the covers off and walked through the dark to poke my head out the sliding door of our room, listening for some minutes to the music. From next door, I realized. For the longest time I listened, so much like the musica my mother listened to when she felt homesick. The words, the meanings, I had no idea. My Spanish has never been good. I tended, I tend, to gather meaning from the tune, from the rises and dips in the melody. This...I couldn't quite read. I wasn't picking up joy. Reminded of her pain, I went to bed. The music was unusual. The music carried so far, it stayed with me until I fell asleep. I dreamt of my grandmother.

In the morning, my son came to me and said plainly, Mom, Robert is dead. Someone killed him. 23 years old. At a party. Somewhere. Around one in the morning.

Oh no, I said, oh no, his poor family. His poor parents. Their world has stopped cold. For a few weeks, for some months, their world will not be real. He was one son of five.

The music comes to me now. I wonder if they'd learned of it. If someone learned of the killing and played the music to soothe a heart in shock. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps it was a dream. I won't ever know because the family is private that way - the dad waved to me during the week, a wave that screamed of normality, of business as usual. I know that's not the case.

Writing hasn't put me to sleep yet. I hear a whispered voice carrying down the hall, "Mommy." No, that's D's rhythmic snoring. A kind of choked music, a soothing, grating, familiar noise which at once can lull me to sleep and keep me wide-eyed.

Tonight I asked a student if she'd be interested in a Law and Literature class. She said yes, but hoped music would be included as part of our literature. She'd love to research rap as a statement about law in our modern society. Yes, yes, that's wonderful, I said. Music. Music.

Driving-By, Shooting the Sh...

The University where I work is a small town compared to the community college - the streets are quaint, the buildings have character, and parking is a constant thorn in the sides of faculty and administration. I find that I miss the students off the city streets back at the community college. They didn't have to apply to get in so they were often rougher in their knowledge, in their recall of the last exam they took. Even the younger students had the cynicism and pallor of working folk, burnt out on traffic and too many hours in air-conditioned discomfort.

At the university, the students are well-invested in their education. They pay a lot of money for unit hours, read their text books, and are firmly headed towards their 4-year degrees. Community college students are much less confident on what will happen in the upcoming year. They might be there, they might not. They might transfer, they might not.

In my new position, in my little, over-air-conditioned office, I find myself un-confident of where I'll be in a year. Will I make the grade? Will I transfer? Will I be able to do all I said I could do?

At home, we're even less confident. Our eldest angel is maneuvering his way through high school, a treacherous path of incompetent teachers, temptations, and unmet needs. We're happy to see that his tics are quite manageable - quite reduced. We're happy to see him swimming in a huge school, but sad to see his grades bump back and forth between an A in English and an F in math. How funny that college used to be an automatic in my life, an unquestionable goal to attain. Today, I really have no idea if he'll ever get there, much less graduate from high school. I can't see him enlisting in the service (he hates taking orders from any kind of authority). Don't think he has the passion yet to be a professional musician...so...

Oh hell, it's probably too early to tell. Really.

My second son, A, has developed an interesting maturity about school. While he's still in "RSP", the modern "special ed", and he still struggles with completing "extra work", he also prides himself as being a "rule follower." He is a pleasure to have in class, his teacher assures us. He's attentive and always does his best even if it's not perfect. At home, he's just himself: liking to get under the skin of his brother and sister. He chuckles to himself, I can see, when he gets them to raise their voices. He still moves at his own speed, when he's good and ready.

The baby, M, not so baby. She's a peach at school, excited about everything, finicky about doing things correctly and in a pretty way. If she can make it sparkly, she will.

The man in my life: D. We continue in our comfortable co-existence, but I struggle with his reluctance to treat our oldest for his behavior problems. D doesn't like the label perhaps that J's problems put on him. Perhaps it's denial. I'm not sure.

Our weeks fly by, full and noisy. There's always a test to take, a class to prepare for, math facts and spelling words to memorize, a test to write. As always, I love the quiet of the house, late at night and right after I return from taking the three to school. Sassy and I walk the rooms and sip coffee and check e-mail. I'll shower before heading out to the University where there is much more to do, more meetings to attend, new classes to worry about, high-paying students to sell myself to.

M is singing now as I write, her new poem of the week, Five stinky pirates, as plump as can be... except the words grind down to a groan because she's aggravated, because she can't remember the rest. I'm hungry, she says, haughty and princess-like, while copying sentences, before reaching for the Cheez-Its. Can I do this later??

"No, M, do the sentences now. There is no later. Later there is dinner, baths and books to read. Do it now."

"Oh!!"

We miss summer, I realize.

Summer Reading

Venturing outside my normal topics of posting, I wanted to share a book with you that I'm reading called "Outlander" by Diana Gabaldon. No, it's not literature in the traditional sense of the word, but neither does it qualify as "romance" or "science fiction" or "historical fiction." Rather, it's a combination of all three genres which is why it has appealed to so many fiction-readers. In fact, the entire series has been so beloved that the books have been on the national bestseller lists since "Outlander" was published in 1991. In this first book that I'm currently reading (all 640 pages or 896 depending on the format), 1945 nurse Claire Beachamp recently reunited with her husband following a separation due to World War II finds herself transported to 1743 Scotland when she touches the boulders of an ancient henge while on a walk to pick herbs. From there, her adventure starts.

Now, some of the dialogue is silly (one exchange has our heroine, Claire, saying, "Ugh!" in response to hearing some terrible incident involving her Highlander lover, Jamie Fraser, a written vocalization which never fails to stick in my craw). There is also the unreal ease with which the heroine accepts Jamie's love (thereby seeming to forget her still-living-in-another-time period husband without that much of a blink) as well as the rather ... er ... politically incorrect punishment from said husband (Jamie spanks the bejeesus out of her with his belt when she disobeys him).

All that aside, I've found myself transported right along with Claire despite my high-minded preference for more intellectual literature. I recommend "Outlander" to anyone who's looking for some fun, light, engaging summer reading.

On a related note, I've actually been reading more tradition romance novels. Rubbish to be sure, but enjoyable nonetheless. The books seem to go along with my penchant for movie and television watching. I wondered why I've abandoned writing, why I put aside my heavier reading pursuits in favor of silliness.

I wonder while I lecture J on the necessity of school, of passing classes, of not running around with hoodlums as friends, while I dole out medications to the boys and tie and re-tie M's hair in ponytails and listen to J tic because he's so stressed out over summer school. Today I meet with the principal of the school because in truth, J's needs are not being met. I've come to the conclusion that if he's unmanageable in school, it's because he's not being managed correctly. The other day he cursed me out, using...well...using my favorite F-word in the world. Yeah, THAT one. I was surprised, horrified, wanting to get a switch off the tree and mete out my own punishment, but I realized the stress over school had simply reached a boiling point. Something isn't right in Denmark, so to speak.

I don't think I need to wonder why I'm escaping into escapist fiction. When I was in law school, I used to escape the serious lifestyle of studying with video games and made-for-tv movies. Today, there's stupid fiction, hot sex between the pages, happy-ever-after endings, and ... made-for-tv movies. I'm not doing anything different than I did back then.

Last night we went to the Pomona Fairgrounds for the fireworks. The show was preceded by monster trucks and freestyle motocross. I had to laugh that in Pomona (versus the big show at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena) when the announcer asked everyone to clap and cheer for our servicemen, firefighters, and law enforcement, the crowd booed law enforcement. D and I laughed hard along with all our compadres in the crowd. I don't think any police officer wanted to stand up in that crowd! We had fun though, yelling out wildly for the Bounty Hunter who stirred up so much dirt with his wheelies that it took a full ten minutes for the air to clear. We collectively gasped when the motocross guys did no-handed flips with their motorcycles and one truck caught fire after too many donuts. And then the fireworks. We took pictures with our cell phones along with the rest of the crowd - no fancy cameras and tripods for the cheap seats! Even though J stayed home, choosing to hang out with a neighbor, A, M, D and I enjoyed ourselves despite the long and slow exit. For the evening, we escaped and forgot our usual troubles.

Well, back to "Outlander."

Summer, Summer, Summer...

"I have a runny nose, Daddy, and besides that, someone was making fun of me at school on Friday. I don't want to go to summer school today." Ahhh...so said my dearest at 7:30 this morning when D tried to wake up J up. So he could go to school, so he could get 10 credits and thus take less classes in his first year of high school.

Last summer we thought to relieve the kids of school. This year is a different story. Both boys are in school - A is being home-schooled by D, and J is at the high school. M is also being home-schooled. With J, we thought it best to acclimate him to the routine of school, to get him used to managing his tics in a school environment. D and I worried. He did so well at home, we didn't want his good work to plummet. But the reality is, his tics ARE being well-managed, and he WILL lose out on the music programs if he stays home.

"Come on, Daddy, I really just want to stay home, just for today."

D came into my room and whispered, "He's got a really runny nose."

"Give him a cold medicine."

D tiptoed out of the room. I drifted back to sleep. At 9 or so I got up and looked in the bedroom and there was J, asleep. He slept until 11.

When he woke up, he asked, "Hey, I made plans to go skating with my buddy. Can you drive me to the elementary school? Just to the hill."

Umm...no.

"Why NOT??!!"

"If you're too sick for summer school, you're too sick to skateboard for friends."

"It's just summer school, it doesn't matter!!"

Heavy sigh.

Yesterday was nice though - after screaming and fussing and complaining and threats to stay home, all five of us managed to get into the SUV and head out to the Orange County Marketplace (which used to be the Orange County Swapmeet) to walk around and buy a beach hat. Which we did. Bought beach hats. Afterwards, we drove to Newport Beach for an early dinner and I had a Mojito. Never did I need one so badly in my life. We all had fun, though. Lunch-dinner was the best. Classic rock playing. The ocean breeze coming in through open windows, chips and salsa, hamburgers, fun conversation. Beach hats.

I took pictures from the pier. I'd not seen that many people at the beach in years. Packed. Sardines.

Today we'll go swimming at the community pool. I'm going to learn how to make a Mojito.

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to all my fellow fatherly bloggers, whether by biology or love. Hope your day's been a good one, full of family, friends, or the peacefulness of a quiet day.

Spectaculular Independence

I thought this picture was worth publishing. My little M woke up in a stormy mood, dramatically tossing clothes about, bemoaning her lack of desire to follow our strict time line in order to get to school on time. Since the days of my childhood, where I fought with my style-conscious mother over what I wanted to wear, I vowed never to force my own children to abide by my personal sense of dress. I'm glad to see I was successful in creating independent-minded children who see beauty in many things, in places others might skip.

Graduation

My oldest child, J, is graduating from 8th grade on Wednesday. I've been disconnected from it. My brother (father to step-daughter, S) and his wife put on a graduation party on the weekend for S (who graduates also from 8th grade) and to tell you the truth, I was relieved because when they let me know about it, I realized I hadn't planned anything in celebration of the day. Why? I suppose it's because the year's been a long one with J, our battle with Tourette's, with his "couldn't-care-less" attitude towards school, my own recalled "couldn't-care-less" brush with 8th grade graduation. I suppose the disconnect was more due to D's and my narrow focus/worry on his walking onto the high school campus next week for his first class back at school rather than walking to get a diploma. All my energy has gone into fretting about high school. Will he tic there? Is the medication enough to counter the anxiety? Will he be lost there? Will he let his grades plummet there? Will he walk to get his diploma there? And what of those other kids of mine?

So, he's graduating. Congrats, my dear. Now onto the really hard work of setting yourself up for college and a career. The world is your oyster as they say. Are you going to nurture the pearl, or swallow the meat with horse radish?

***

The weather is beautiful now. I love the June gloom which gets burned off by a slow-to-heat noontime sun. I sit on a chair on the porch with my book and a coffee in the morning, watching the sprinklers work and the dog sniff around the perimeter of the yard. Something always new to find in the familiar, eh?

Pssst....

I got the job!

And now...I worry about doing well. The angst never ends. God help my poor family, friends and loved ones.

Signed,

Assistant Professor Bliss

Names

As I reviewed the names of the students who were slaughtered at Virginia Tech, I wondered what the names were of the people slaughtered in Iraq on that same day. And the ones yesterday. And today. I keep wondering if the situation in the Middle East would be more "real" if we knew who these people were? If we saw their smiling faces, their dashed hopes, up front and personal?

Or would it only to serve to sadden us, to bring us all to the brink of helplessness since our voices tend to be lost in the politics of it all?

***

I had that job interview and now I wait. I did okay, not stellar. Sometimes in the throes of nerves, I tend to say things I wish I didn't. Can I recall anything specific? Yes...and it only gets worse in my imagination with time. So I do better not thinking about it. I'll wait for the rejection letter. As I munch on foods that are bad for me.

***

Only April 25? Damn it, I can't wait for summer.

Happy Easter!!

Happy Easter, everybody. Here at the Bliss household, we had a mini-Easter-egg hunt in the house because it's been raining. Later, we're going to host a lunch for D's sister and her husband. Nothing fancy. Lasagna from the local deli and a salad. I'm not sure we even have dessert.

The picture is from a few weeks ago - I attended a conference in San Diego and the family met me on my way home. We stopped in Carlsbad for a "dip in the sea." The kids played until their clothes were soaked. The two little ones wore clothes from my suitcase for the ride home. J sat at the edge of the sand, refusing to get his pants wet. Who could blame him? I ran behind the kids snapping away.

What's on our agenda? I've got an on-campus interview at the local university. Found out I have only one other competitor. When I first got the letter, advising me of the day-long interview, I was near tears with stress. Since then, I've let it go. I'm prepared, got a lecture ready to go, a portfolio put together, the suit's pressed, the only thing left is doing my best. Right? The terror has subsided because this is something we've been waiting for, but it's much out of my control. Either I'm a fit, or I'm not. Right? I know, to some, this is silly. They do interviews often, it's a routine. This has never been routine for me - it's always been an opportunity for Adriana Bliss, the child, to rake herself over the coals for everything that's wrong with her.

So here I am. Cannot wait for Wednesday night, after my evening class is over. So I can get on with my life.

The kids are doing well - J's vocal tics are under control at last. He still has a motor tic where he clicks his jaw, causing him real pain. But that seems to be on the mend - the times he does it is less, the ferocity is less. We're going to enroll him in our city's high school, come September. I'm hoping to work out a custom program where he can take two of his core classes at least, as independent study, or perhaps with a home teacher. He's done incredibly well this year - getting straight A's - earning A's on his exams. I hate to rock the boat by dumping back into the classrooms he's grown to hate.

April already? Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be 43. Ouch.

I'm sorry I've let my blog go. Writing has become an exhausting task. Perhaps my energy is zapped by school, the children, keeping up the house, prepping for this interview. I'm not as free in my writing as I once was. The words don't flow like they used to. They are restrained, organized. To the point. I suppose that's good except the straightforward ideas never hit paper. Or a computer screen. They stay in my head, acting like a beach's waves. Thoughts of short stories and blog posts come and go, darkness finally arriving, so only the echo of creative thought is left as I fall asleep. The surf not seen by anyone. Maybe, maybe summer will bring new light.

I think of you. Often.

Happy Easter, my friends.