The event.

Yesterday was a big day. A glorious day, a momentous day, an emotional day. A beautiful day. And today, like the days after big, glorious, momentous, beautiful days should be, was a quiet day. We talked about everything--how wonderful it was that Abbey loved it, every part of it. How beautiful everything and everyone was. How splendid it felt to have so many people who love Abbey there. How much fun it was to dance together.

I have a picture of my mother helping me on my wedding day,
just like this.

So many great moments: helping Abbey get dressed. Watching the flower girl (Gwen) and the ring bearer (Van) do their excellent work. Listening to Abbey and Michael exchange vows. Listening to the music by Isaac and Rob. Having the pleasure of getting to know the groom's family a little bit better. Watching my kids all come together for their sister. Sophia's toast. And everyone, everyone dancing.

ring bearer, bride, flower girl

the happy couple.

these are my children. they are the BEST.

Isaac and Rob did the beautiful music.

A big family--not even all of us--from the bride's side.

Lesley took this fantastic dancing selfie!

Cousin of the bride Diane took this fantastic dancing action shot!

end of the night. party's over. lights in the trees, banks of snow.

My beautiful daughter Abbey the bride.

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Dec 18, 2015 at 4:17pm PST

Sometimes, everything is okay.

Like today, for instance.

Knowing that there was a race against the clock, printer-wise, and that while there was a good faith promise to get a printed magazine delivered by 4:30 p.m., there was on the other hand every chance in the world that things could go awry, I was unable to sleep last night, which meant that I was behind, just a little, in all my appointments, etc. today.

Yet after all--after the fouled-up print job and the promises, after the not-enough-sleep and the ten-minutes-behind day--after all this, the book was delivered a half an hour early, it was exquisite, and the reading--the whole event--was just splendid.

Here's what the internet said about it:

And just in case you want to check it out--you can go here to see the whole digital edition, and here to see the pdf of the print edition. If you want yr own book, you can come to my hall at the SLCC to pick it up for yourself. It's a beauty.

(It's possible that I am filled with love for humankind at the moment. Just saying.)

In the middle of the middle of the end.

Why does blogging seem like a big question mark, wrapped in briars, right now?

I don't give a damn about the blogging zeitgeist. I have loved this space as a little art gallery, as a place to try things, as a small space to speak. I think I still do love it. I'm sure I still love it, but something is getting in the way.

Is it that the many ways to enter this space--visual, textual--crowd its entrance?

Is it that life itself seems thick with sadnesses, potential and real?

Is it that the marker of my work life, the semester, is at its most crushing point?

Oh, let's focus on the semester. By all means, the semester, with its thicket of grading, its consultations, its many indicators that my optimism may be unwarranted, that I am not, as it were, succeeding in aiding my students toward their achievement of the course outcomes? Is it that school life is filled not with nouns but nominalizations? Is it that the semester's weather has finally settled into its wintry trajectory?

I want and do not want to talk about the many deaths that seem to be accompanying me along my path. They're not my deaths--am I even allowed to talk about them as if they were my own story? The walk alongside a loved one, if briefly, in the valley of the shadow, as it is said--not my story. My own age pressing on me--this is my story, but it is not delightful.

I know I have delightful stories to tell. I live them almost every day. I'm sure I have small amusing anecdotes to tell about the inventive definitions my students are concocting for syntactical terms. Pictures to post. Things to celebrate. I have them. They spill out of my handbag whenever I go looking for my lipstick, and fall out of my pockets with the small change, and trail behind me, an invisible vapor, when I walk from here to there.

I feel like I just had to say this: it has been a long year with much grief, some of which feels very close to me and which I don't have the blog-language to talk about. Maybe I can say it in poems, but only maybe; and if I don't say it here, anything else I do say would feel dishonest to me. So tomorrow, I hope to be able to set this all to the side, at least for the moment, having acknowledged it, and get on with the business of joy, which business I want to choose every day if I can.

A moment and some words.

"The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness."

Thanksgiving.

Just a few things this day reminded me I'm thankful for:

• my Mom and Dad.  We got to sit around after almost everyone was gone and talk about the cross-country trips we used to take, driving from Tucson to Georgia--what a treat!  
• my sister and her family.  I always love a family party when I get to hang out with them--my nieces and my sister and her husband.  Peerless folks, all.
• my own kids, who today were with other parts of their families and, in some cases, in other parts of the world.  They make my life sweet and they are each of them a great joy to me.
• music.  My aunt Sal, niece Diane, and I played three hands at the piano, and then Sally and I played this Mozart four hands at the piano sonata we've been saying we'll learn--it was so much fun.
• a house to live in.
• food to eat.
• a hive of family relationships that buoy me up and make me feel whole.
• my beautiful, cherished husband.
• wonderful friends, old and new.

. . . and much, much else that it's too late to post.  11:59!  

Let's do the collapse.

Tonight there were twenty-four people here for an annual holiday dinner at our house. I started my day by doing a handful of cooking chores before we went to hear running son speak in church, which was lovely--hilarious, for one thing, and moving also. Then, we came back home and begin the cooking in earnest.

The menu was a fleshed-out version of running son's suggestion/request, which I granted because, well, he won't be here for the next two years (perhaps it is tedious to keep hitting this theme, but it's what is on my mind and in my dreams, as well as in my entertaining and menus, apparently). He texted it to me a couple of weeks ago: "for the family dinner, what about beef, chicken, veggie enchiladas, mexi rice, corn, chips and salsa?" Last night, he texted a stipulation that the "mexi rice" be "with no chunks."

Oh what alien chunks await thee, running son, in Singapore!

Be that as may be, in all, we had the above items, elaborated and augmented by me, plus a salad that had mint, cilantro, finely shredded scallions, avocado and a bunch of greens, in a lime vinaigrette. We also had a fruit salad (a classic combination at my house--pineapple, oranges, kiwis) and for dessert, a Texas sheet cake enhanced with chili, cinnamon, and a little coffee, along with vanilla ice cream. There was supposed to be cinnamon ice cream, but the canister for my ice cream maker didn't feel like freezing solid, due to the extreme over-ratedness of the Sub-Zero refrigerator/freezer combo that this house came with. Big and overbearing, it is the Escalade of refrigerators. Annoying and not particularly efficient. Good I had back-up ice cream, by design. I am beginning to develop a rather passionate hatred for that refrigerator.

Even without the homemade ice cream, we all had a swell time. It was a bunch of our kids, spouses, and grandkids, as well as the historian's sister, her husband, and their kids and spouses and grandkids. This year, we missed the historian's Seattle daughter and her partner, plus my soccer coach son. Over the years, this party has proven to be one of the occasions that argues for life sometimes turning out better than you had a right to expect--that you can wring joy out of great difficulty. I love to plan and cook these dinners. We all work together--the historian always cleans and straightens, I cook, and this year, college daughter was a great help to me in the kitchen and elsewhere. Then, when it's over, the historian lets me rehash the culinary and other high points endlessly, because he's a good person.

Now, it's time to read the paper, possibly watch television, and admire the dogs in repose.

Brand new baby boy.

Deacon John Leasure, 7 lb. 9 oz., 21 1/2 " long.

Brand new dad.

















Brand new mom.















Beautiful boy.