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.)

Things I am enjoying right about now.

1. The first-thing-in-the-morning sun, and the last-thing-at-the-end-of-the-day sun.

2. The moon in a nest of clouds.

3. The last tomatoes.

4. The last peaches.

5. Walking the dog in the late evening.

6. My adult children, with their full beautiful lives and the little connections I have with them almost every day.

7. A bagel in the morning.

8. Re-acquainting myself with how sentences work (the subject matter of one of my classes).

9. Choosing clothes to wear every day.

10. Looking forward to a movie tomorrow night. What movie? Who cares?

Wait for it . . . the annual Best Movies So Far post, coming up this weekend.

Back to L.A.:

Did you know about the giant windmill farm?

The next day, we did one of my favorite things this trip--a drive we took up Western Ave, which basically runs from the South Bay all the way to the Hollywood Hills. We were heading to Griffith Park, and we could have taken a series of freeways, but this was better. You can see a lot of different demographics and neighborhoods that make up greater Los Angeles. Did I tell you about last trip, when we got a little bit lost in Compton/Watts, trying to find the Watts Towers? That didn't happen this time:

Unfortunately, Monday is the day that the Griffith Park Observatory is closed. What? No, you heard that right: Monday. However, it was still good. We also stopped in a Target in, I believe, West Hollywood. Targets are not all created equal, but they are all good.

On our way home:

An ache in it.

Starting out the month of December with a week of sick--yes, I'm still whining about that--means that the rest of it is all compressed. All the festive, the baked, the decorative, the get-together-ness. Not to mention the grading.

This December has had and will have some big events in it. My son is coming home from Singapore, for instance, in just three days. In just three days, two years of his remote presence will be concluded, and he will be here to laugh with us, to eat meals, to see movies, listen to music, sleep with the dog. Last week, his older brother defended his master's thesis. We attended the defense and listened to the evidence of his accomplishment, his learning, his scholarship.

And then there are projects: my daughter raised a bunch of money with some of her friends to renovate and redecorate a room at the Ronald McDonald house. Another daughter finished up a successful semester at school, while working really hard to earn not quite enough money. And the transitions: another son just got a new job and is moving to Virginia. And Scotland daughter is very far away with her two beautiful daughters, and her husband who just got made the bishop of their ward.

I don't write very directly so often here about my kids and grandkids. I love them all so much. I am so proud of all of them. That--all that feeling, how powerful it is--that could be everything there is for me. It sometimes feels like my heart could break, over and over again, with the hugeness of it.

This week the mother of a son's good friend died in her sleep. She was only a little older than I am. I read her obituary today and saw the picture of her when she was a little younger. She was beautiful. She was a knockout. The story of her life--what she did, her accomplishments, what and who she leaves behind--I feel overwhelmed by these thoughts right now.

What is life for, except to live it? What is life for, if not to be overtaken by these loves?

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!  

Eight of this, eight of that.

My friend Ann was tagged to do this and because it's kind of irresistible, I'm doing it too:

8 Shows I watch

• 30 Rock
• The Office
• Mad Men
• The Closer
• Saving Grace
• Law & Order: Criminal Intent
• Damages
• Frasier

 8 Restaurants I love

• Big City Soup
• Red Rock 
• Thai Delight
• India House Infinite Eight, 
• La Luna          David Friedman
• Mi Ranchito
• Bambara
• Trio

8 Things I did yesterday

• Worked on a poem
• Took Bruiser for a walk
• Picked stuff up and put it back at T.J. Maxx
• Made hash out of roasted vegetables
• Had a great conversation with a baby (Will)
• Talked to several of my children
• Drank a pot of tea
• Blogged (of course!)

8 things I'm looking forward to

• Christmas
• Thanksgiving
• The movies tonight with the historian
• Seeing my missionary son again
• AWP
• Breakfast, tomorrow and every day
• Jan. 20
• Seeing my Scotland daughter again, whenever that may be!

8 Things on my wish list

• Live in France for some unspecified period of time, but long enough that it’s “live” and not “visit”
• All sorts of trips with the historian—the above France one, an Eastern swing (Montreal with a side of Ottawa maybe, Maine, etc), a Southern swing, down the Mississippi, an historic L.A. and environs trip, . . .
• Better organizational abilities and less stuff, probably, although I kind of love my stuff
• A Kitchen-Aid stand mixer, yellow, like Lis's
• One of those crazy digital pens that takes a movie of when you’re writing
• All sorts of awesome cameras, like the one Jeff Bridges uses, for instance.
• Another book
• Just a whiff of my youth back

8 things I love, in no particular order

• My wonderful, adorable husband
• My splendid, gorgeous, talented, hilarious children, each and every one of them
• My darling grandchildren
• My house
• My crazy garden
• My awesome dog
• My fabulous parents
• My amazing siblings
• The movies (that’s nine!)

8 things I can’t stand, in no particular order

• L.A. Lakers, doesn’t matter which era or the personnel
• Pompous blowhards of any stripe (takes one to know one, though)
• Being patronized.  I am positively allergic to this.
• Bad restaurants.  There is just no reason.
• Giving up hope
• Movies where they blow stuff up while the hero walks away with cascading sheets of flame in the background with a hard rock musical background (more movies than any of us would care to admit)
• That one Michael Haneke remake of his own sadistic movie.  Funny Games. Yeah. I can’t stand that, and I only saw the trailer.
• People who think they’re the boss of me  

8 people I'm tagging:

I would love to hear these things, in whole or in part, from any of my blogging circle family and friends!

Emendation:  I tag theorris, my daughters, my son, dr. write, lis, and otterbutt!  Accept that, theorris.  I command it! (btw, I am thankful for all of you, which is why I am tagging you!)

A little wisdom.

From Through the Children's Gate: A Home in New York, by Adam Gopnik:

We delight in children because they keep the seven notes of enlightenment, as the Buddha noted them. Keep them? They sing them, they are them: energy, joy, concentration, attentiveness, mindfulness, curiosity, equanimity. (Well, not the last, maybe, but they still keep it better than we do; they are often in pain but rarely in panic.) Detachment, too--they are detached from us in ways that we only know after; they study us exactly as monks contemplate the world, to free themselves from needing us. Their ultimate enlightenment lies in in that emancipation. What we didn't grasp before is how badly the world feels about being abandoned by the monks. As parents we are, briefly, objects of intellectual desire; we are, for a moment, worlds. We should be proud to have been as large as world, but instead, we are merely sad to be abandoned. The risk of sentimentality lies only in failing to see that the most charmed thing they will do is leave us. They have to renounce their attachment to us as the adept abandons his attachment to the world.

Getting older every single day of my life, my friends the people. Frankly, at the moment, I'm not feeling so bad about it.

Paterfamilias.

Happy Father's Day to:

• my dad, who helped me pass my math classes in high school by helping me to learn math, and who helped me learn a little bit of trigonometry over the phone in college, and who wanted me to go to college so much that he never made a big deal out of it, just made it an underlying assumption for me and my brother and sisters, so we all did. And for being so proud of me and for loving me for my whole life.
  
• my kids' dad, who is a great, big-hearted, loving father and an all-round terrific person.
• my husband, who loves his kids like crazy and is a stalwart, always-on-your-side dad to all of them, and who loves my kids, too, which if you do the math, is a lot of kids to love that he didn't have to, but he did, which is one of the zillion reasons I love him.
  
• all the rest of you dads out there. More power to you for being the man who finds it in him to love and nurture a kid.
  

My grandmother.

When I was a girl, we went every summer, at least, to my grandparents' house in Idaho Falls. Idaho Falls was basically heaven, in my book. The house had a basement, which no house I remembered living in had had. It was cool and dark. There was a fruit cellar. There were an assortment of toys that included a jack-in-the-box, a jumping jack, a cash register, and a doll that came in its own trunk with its own clothes, shoes, and a tiny little hairbrush. My grandmother had, on her dressing table, a mirrored tray with perfumes, jewelry, and a bowl full of quarters. She had cookies and ice cream. She had particular ways of doing things, like lining the sink with rubber mats when we did the dishes. The dishwater was scalding hot. She played endless games of cards with us. I was the oldest grandchild, and there were uncountable stories about me that she told as part of the family lore.

Lately, when I've gone to visit her, when she was having a good day, she'd say something sweet about my beautiful hair or what a pretty sweater. Her beauty was pared down to its essence. When she was young, her hair was dark, curled beautifully in the style of the day. She was a dish. I love the bones of her face, her gorgeous Roman nose, her white hair in a flurry on her pillow. The last time I saw her was last Wednesday. She wasn't feeling well. Her eyes were closed--it was late. She was talking anxiously, feverishly. I'm so glad I got to sit with her, stroke her hair, touch her. I sang to her, a little. Then I had to go, I was exhausted; this morning, I woke to a call, telling me she was gone. All day I've been remembering her, thinking back to before these last few years, when she was younger, full-bodied, full of life. Quiet day. I spoke several times with my father, my aunt, my children. Remembering what a great pleasure it was to drive up to the house on First Street, with its poppies, its great pine trees, its roses, and a bower of geraniums; to go in, to tear downstairs with my brother, to revel in the wonderful playhouse she and my grandfather had made for us.