Mid-afternoon today I had an overwhelming wish to be at the beach. Specifically, something out towards Bodega, like Dillon, or Wright's Beach. When I was in high school and life seemed way more complicated than it had any right to be, sometimes I'd ditch school and head out there with a couple of friends. We'd stop at one of those fruit stands on Highway 121 and buy cherry juice, which would be warm and way too sweet by the time we got to the ocean. Wander through the kite store and pick out salt water taffy.
I'm still conferencing. It's strange, but bouncing around in a building with 15,000 people can be surprisingly lonely. I'm not one of those folks that easily makes friends with whoever I'm sitting next to in a Python presentation. I'm a little jealous of the folks who are here with 20 people from their office. They have someone to have lunch with.
Not that I have time for lunch. My days are packed full of so much information I'm worried about the maximum capacity of my brain.
It must be a strange thing working in a business right next to large conference center.
I'm in San Diego this week, for the ESRI User Conference. Translation: a bunch of map geeks have descended upon downtown San Diego, overrunning the ten blocks or so immediately surrounding the conference center, wearing our badges, matching ESRI saddle bags, and all wearing polo shirts and buttons that say things like "We are GIS."
I've been sewing on my grandmother's old viking for years now. Between she and I, it has some miles on it. I think it rolled off the assembly line a few years before I did, as evident by the bell-bottom clad models in the instruction manual photos, standing on impressively shaggy carpet. It's not a fancy machine, but sturdy, and has seen me through a great many sewing adventures.
"Mom, do you want to play with me?"
"What are we playing?"
"Legend of Zelda."
"On the computer or real life?"
"Alright." I turn around. The kid's wearing a robin hood hat and brandishing a wooden sword. "So, you would be Link then?"
"Yes, and you're Princess Zelda."
"Good. Where's my sword?"
Big sigh. "You're the princess. The princess doesn't have a sword."
"Yes, well, Mommy is not that kind of princess. Where's my sword?"
I had an awesome dance teacher once (Hi Adam, if you're out there) who said that, at any moment in a dance, he should be able to take a snapshot of the dancers and it should look perfect. All the connecting steps, the beats between the beats. Poised. Perfect.
Words to aspire to.
I went up to Portland a couple of weeks ago (my traveling shoes have been getting some wear lately) to visit an aunt, some cousins, an old friend, and a beautiful city.
Alright, it's dress rehearsal time. There is an enormous platter tutu covered in feathers in the back of my car, and a tiara in my dance bag. (Actually, there's a lot of stuff in my dance bag, but who wants to talk about that when you have a tiara?)
I've made my pre-show trip to the makeup section of the grocery store, and, as per usual, came out with bottles, vials, and a long rant to anyone who would listen on how that particular aisle could be used to diagnose most of the self-esteem problems that our society bestows upon its female half.
You may have noticed I'm back from vacation. Have been for about a week, actually. I apologize for the back-blogging. It's not a practice I generally approve of, but I didn't want to spend all my time in Hawaii formatting blog entries, so there you have it. I'll write on the go, but photo editing and spell-checking waits for the home turf.
I interrupt this Hawaii broadcast to announce that today marks my thirty-fifth trip around the sun. And going around for another pass...