We recorded Chapter 9 and 10 today, so my part of the process is over for the moment. Rob will edit it together, and then we’ll see if I need to do any pick-up lines.

I got a bunch of layout done today, which made my eyes cross. I recovered by a too-brief stint in the yard and then trotted off to have dinner with Christina Crooks, followed by talking too late and chocolate.

I don’t need these. We don’t use oil and vinegar sets now, despite having received some as presents. And yet… I want this Oil & Vinegar set because it’s witty and graceful. How often can you say that about something designed to carry condiments?

Rob and I start the cross-country drive to NY on June 20th and plan to arrive on June 30th.

Rob and I recorded Chapter 7 today. We started into Chapter 8, but I realized that because of travel I hadn’t spent enough time with the text and was stripping the meaning from the narrative. Nice. So, Rob trotted off to get us some lunch and I read the chapter aloud to get it more settled. We’ll record 8 and 9 on Saturday.

I got some work done at home and my nephew came online and wanted to chat again. I’m not quite sure what to make of this. He’s writing what I can only describe as Dadaist Science-Fiction.

Then it was off to have dinner with the witty Mr. Lake. He has a shiny red convertible and the weather was perfect.

Rob and I saw Children of Men tonight. Oh, that’s a good film. While I had a very nice date, I can’t recommend this as a date film. It’s very moving, but pretty bleak.

As promised, Rob picked me up at the airport. We had dinner and then headed into the studio. We got Chapter 6 recorded and are now going home. Ah, sleep.

I’m at the Chattanooga airport on my way back to Portland. I’ll get home at 6:00 tonight and head straight to the studio. Well, probably dinner and then studio.

There’s an article in the paper about my Dad. What’s more exciting is that they did an online segment with video, so you can actually see Dad play the musical saw.

One of my favorite things is to get Dad to bring the saw out when company comes. I love the way jaws drop; people alternate between awe and laughter. I mean, it sounds like a soprano, but it’s a saw. And yes, he cuts with it.

Once, the North Carolina Symphony asked him to play with them, but they wanted a gimmick so people would believe that he was playing an actual handsaw. Dad walked out on stage, sat down on the bench that they’d given him and it wobbled. Badly. He frowned, then stood up, turned the bench on it’s side and sawed off one of the legs to shorten it.

Then he sat down and played with full symphonic accompaniment.

(Of course, they’d pre-trimmed the other legs and marked the one that he needed to trim.) Dad usually makes a couple of “tuning” sorts of sounds on the saw before he starts playing, not because it needs tuning, but so that people can get the giggles out of the way.

Ever seen anyone, besides my dad, play the saw?

The apple does not fall far from the tree in my family. We tend to have such strongly recognizable stamps from generation to generation that one could accuse us of cloning.

The point here? I went to watch my brother teach World Civ at the local college. He’s good at it, but he’s the kind of zany teacher who makes wise cracks that everyone loves. His lecture on the Byzantine Empire was fast but thorough and I learned stuff I didn’t know. That was cool. HOWEVER I also know that if it wouldn’t get him fired that he’d just lie through his teeth to these kids for the sheer fun of it. I mean, he’d fess up eventually, but the urge to see how far he could push the lie would be very tempting.

This comes to mind now, because I just got off the computer after spending an hour hanging out with my nephew IMing. My nephew enjoys being off the wall just for the sheer fun of it. (I would show you some of his fiction, but he was very quick to claim copyright.) But they also both enjoy being smarter than the other person.

What’d we talk about? I showed him this puzzle, which took me a couple of days the first time I solved it. He just finished it. Now, it’s possible that he found a spoiler sheet, but he also learned to play chess over a weekend from reading a book.

Lord knows when he’ll show an interest in me again, or why he did tonight, but I’ll have another puzzle waiting for him. I’m not even going to try chess.

My palm pilot has a very discreet little camera on it. This is handy because it means that when Grandma is telling a story I can record her without her feeling self-conscious. This is great, except when said palm pilot freezes dumping ten minutes of really interesting stuff about the school wagon she rode. I can tell you that it was a wagon with an oil cloth top, two horses and that, in good weather, the boys had to get out and walk at the hills to make it easier on the horses, but it’s just not the same.

Oh my. Jen Stark creates amazing sculptures out of construction paper. That’s right, you remember the stuff you used in elementary school, and how it would come in that fantastic pack of rainbow colors. There are gorgeous things at her site, including a short animation done with construction paper that’s like a kaliedoscope, spinning and twirling paper that changes shape and color.

Definitely check her out. Oh, in the middle of the sculpture section, there’s a set of cut leaves, in which she cuts patterns out of actual leaves.

The last of the extended family left today. I should explain that my family is like something out of Norman Rockwell. I’m talking reunions, Christmas Talent Shows, and being close to people who are third cousins. I mean, Walter is actually my 1st cousin twice-removed, which means that he’s my grandmother’s first cousin. I grew up thinking this was normal, because it’s that way on Mom’s side too. I realize now that my family is very unusual.

My parents own the conjoining property that two of the family homes live on. Woodthrush Woods, which is the house that my grandfather built, and Robin’s Roost, which was Walter’s House and moved down to a plot next to Woodthrush. Confusing? Just roll with it, the important thing to know is that it means that when everyone convenes they come here and there’s plenty of room for all. (Some day I’ll have a writing retreat here. Thirteen acres, nine bedrooms, five baths, wi-fi and a creek.)

Where was I going with this? I got distracted by visions of writer’s retreats… Oh yes. So, there are lots of family photos stored here, going back to the 1800s. We even have a couple of tintypes. In among these are the comparatively recent photos of my childhood. Here I am as a blonde with my brother. His hair is dark brown now.

Anyway, this has been an excellent trip home, even if the reasons for coming were sad. At one point yesterday, my dad said, “I love funerals!” I gaped and he continued, “It’s the only time you get to see people.”

Crazy, but yeah, I know what he means. So, being a geek, I decided to put together a website for my extended family and have been busily scanning in photos from the boxes that Robby, my dad’s mom, had stored here. My grieving process often involves making something. When Robby died, I sorted all these photos and labled them. Now I’m scanning and uploading.

Grandma, by the way, is looking quite spry at 102. I’m going to see her tomorrow, but I’m waiting for the antibiotics to kick in. Oh, did I mention that I came down with strep on the flight from Hawaii? Dad didn’t want me to talk about it because, “No one likes to hear you complain,” but it’s just so funny. And, because I’ve worked in the schools and have had it enough as an adult to recognize it, I went to the Doctor almost as soon as I hit the ground. I feel great, but just don’t want to take any chances around Grandma.

Walter’s memorial service was today. It was a simple, but moving service. It’s amazing how easy it is to laugh with these folks. One of the things we found was a newspaper article about a letter that Walter had written home to his mother during WWII. The rest of today was probably too personal to be of interest, but I thought you might find this interesting from a historical perspective. Plus, it turns out that Walter was a darn fine writer. I wish I’d known that while he was alive.

I had forgotten that one of my favorite cousins was getting married this weekend. I landed safely and on time, went by the house, showered and went to a wedding. (I had wanted to attend, but was afraid to make plans because of our ever fluctuating move date.) It was a lovely ceremony and they are so clearly deeply in love that I got all weepy.

Coming back to the house, it was so clear that being here for the funeral tomorrow was the right decision. These people, my family, are all wonderful and funny. We can’t help laughing when we get together. I helped put the program for the service together today and as part of it pulled out a picture of Walter that was taken right before he shipped out for WWII. Such a handsome young man. Then, of course, because I was going through the box of photos, I also had to pull out his old v-mail letters to my grandmother. Those were wonderful to go through and read as a group.

Thank you to everyone who expressed their support. It meant a lot to me to open my email en route and see your notes.

I’m writing this as a way to process. I’m on hold with the airline right now trying to get a bereavement fare because my uncle died this morning.

Walter is not technically my uncle, but emotionally that’s what it feels like. He’s my grandmother’s first cousin, which makes him my first cousin twice removed. In today’s world that’s practically not related, but NWA, lord bless them, knows the practical truth and is willing to deal with the emotional truth and pretend that he is my uncle. Or was. Crap.

Ah. They’ve got me booked, so I’m leaving Hawaii this afternoon. My dad doesn’t understand why I want to spend all that money and leave Hawaii. It’s hard to explain, except that I need to go home. I need to be there.

In some ways Walter has been gone longer than this morning; he’s had dementia and hasn’t been himself for a while, but because I’ve been out of town so much, I still have the memory of the strong, vibrant man that he was meant to be. That’s who I’m grieving today.

Oh, hey. Talk about stupid bonuses–to get me home, they have to put me in first class. Bully for me.