Hog Pee

You know what's great? Flying down I-40 with the windows down, wind in our faces and hair, singing at the top of our lungs. Know what's not so great? Doing all that behind a semi-truck that is carrying hogs.

Back to the Real World

I'm cleaning the cabin, hubby is at the laundromat, and we're prepping to hit the road this afternoon. After a few days of driving and a detour to Meteor Crater in AZ, we will be back in California, back home. Although it will be nice to be there, I am already starting to grieve the loss of the true sense of leisure that comes with vacation. Once we're home, instead of hanging out with the family--drinking tea or wine by the river, reading books, rafting, hiking, swimming, knitting, etc.--I will be worrying about how to get stuff done: dissertation work, house work, syllabi, new prep, campus administrative work-- you know, the list goes on forever. And worrying about all of that work--and doing all of that work--changes how I relate to my family. Instead of enjoying them, I'm often figuring out how to get time away from them so that I can get stuff done. And that makes me sad and it makes them sad.

We've all been together for four weeks, almost 24/7, and it's been great, much easier than when they were younger. I am say to say goodbye to our little family bubble and all of the fun that has come with it.

Rocky Mountain High

We've been on the road for three weeks now, and we've been having a grand time. We visited dear friends in Gypsum, rented a little cabin in Minturn, had five glorious days with Grandma in Denver, had fun with Grandpa in Pueblo, and now we are happily stowed at our last real stop--a little cabin on the headwaters of the Rio Grande. It's a little pre-fab jobbie in an over-55 park (it's Grandpa's cabin), but it is steps from the river, the beautiful river, which I can see out of every window. It's a great little cabin in a great spot. This morning, a fox ran by the window.

What is it about a water view that is so compelling? I could watch the river all day.

A New Word

Hyscarical. adj. The description of what it's like to be a grown man who is pulled behind a speed boat at 25 miles an hour on a tube while his buddy, who is driving, tries to dump him by slingshotting him over the wakes. Origin: Coined by the Girl last weekend while we were the lake as her dad talked about about how scary it was and how hard he was laughing.

Organizing and Packing

A friend of mine once said that getting ready for a long trip is like preparing to die. I know what she means.

We just spent a weekend at a lake house, which involved much shopping and planning and packing (and much fun, too!), and now we have about a three-day turn around before a month-long trip. We're getting things in order, taking care of all the many things that have been neglected during the school year (which is everything). Taking care of things that we have ignored for months (or even years) because we just wouldn't feel right if we left home for a few weeks with them undone.

It drives me a bit nuts. One time, before a trip, I even started to hyperventilate a bit. So. Much. Planning. I think that, if I were a more organized person in general, it would all be much easier. But I'm not very organized, so every time, two days before we leave, I'm running around the house looking for proof of insurance cards and the dog's vaccination records.

All while trying to get all of the laundry finished, running a bazillion errands, and making sure there are plenty of Magic Tree House audiobooks on my iPod.

And, of course, I don't have my article finished (but it's close-ish!).
Crap. Just remembered I forgot to call today to order contacts.
Oh, and I need to take care of some Netflix DVDs.
Oh, right, we're out of cat litter.
And then there are those library books . . .
Oh, and I have to drop of that deposit . . .
The bills, the newspapers . . . I think the boy needs a new fishing pole . . .

And so it goes . . .

Chick Lit

I've been thinking about "chick lit" this morning. I am reading "Fly Away Home" by Jennifer Weiner, and I am struck by how much I like it. I have read most of her books and have liked most of the ones I've read, and this morning I've been thinking about why they get so much flack. And these thoughts led me back to my dissertation subject--Eliza Haywood--and how/why she got so much flack.

I want to write more about this, but I have to go to an eye doctor appointment right now, so I'll ponder on the topic while my eyes are being examined.

In the meantime, do any of you know of academic conferences that focus on popular or commercial women's fiction--contemporary or historical? I would love to find something like that, especially something that allowed for looking the relationships between early popular women's fiction and the contemporary stuff.

I think I might pick out new glasses today! I think I've had my current ones for four or five years.

Like Bob Dylan Says . . .

Last Wednesday, the Girl turned six.
Next week, she finishes kindergarten.
Last night, she had her first sleepover away from home.

And when she got back today and I wanted to sweep her into my arms and hear all about it, she brushed past me to get the iPad to play a game.

The times, they are a changin'.

And I'm not sure I like it.