Briefly Back in Boulder County, Part 1

From earlier today before my computer got its wireless networking problem fixed.

I'm writing this in a darkened hotel room, the only light from the screen and a cracked bathroom door. Andrew is sleeping very peacefully on the king-sized bed. He woke up at about 5:15 and needed some comforting, so I took him out of the crib and cuddled until he went back to sleep. Then I set about getting ready for work. In Colorado. In the snow (again, dammit).

I've mentioned recently how there's been lots to talk about regarding this move, especially as concerns the Dreaded Day Job. Here comes the DDJ portion of the State of the Move.

This post started out as a screed in my mind, mellowed to a rant, mellowed even more to a "grin and bear it" observation, and even became a detailing of a unique experience with positive spin. I'm still not sure how I feel about all of this. At times I'm so angry that I want to scream and tear someone else's hair out (mine's already falling out of its own accord at the moment--gotta love stress). Other times, I'm so scared and nervous that I want to curl up into the fetal position and wait for someone to tell me it's all over. And sometimes I think about how much I'm learning and growing and how much I've seen kindness and generosity during the past couple of weeks…and I feel invigorated and hopeful.

First, the rant portion. I've been a key player in a project this year, and our findings from that project need to be presented to our major client. This presentation was originally slated for the beginning of October, or for the week after. Well, that didn't happen, and instead they at first wanted to do the presentation the week I was moving. I told them that sure, I could fly out to the client and present that week--as long as the DDJ paid to load up our truck and clean our apartment because that's what I would be doing the two days they wanted me out of state. They decided that was an imposition and schedule the meeting for this week and decided to fly me back to Colorado after I had been in Phoenix only a week.

Now for the screed portion. On Tuesday, my manager informed me that I had to come back on Wednesday instead of Thursday and stay through to the end of the week. As Mark and I were in the middle of a housing lot hold that ended Wednesday morning, this pissed me off. Then our daycare in Arizona (a tenuous, vague thing that had only been discussed in hypotheticals) completely disintegrated (thanks, in part, to Drew finally saying enough is enough with all of these changes and needing Momma in order to keep from pitching the Biggest Fit Known to Infants). And, of course, seeing as how it was Mark's first week, there was no way he could take time off. My mother's school goes on fall break next week, making the timing there so close as to be frustratingly ironic. And my mother's boyfriend is dealing with the boss's boss this week. Our only option: bring Drew with me back to Colorado. The upside to this is that he gets to go back to his regular daycare up here and hang with all his pals for a couple of days.

Regarding the Arizona house issue: we were able to do a little shuffling and guarantee the same house just on a different lot until Saturday, giving us time to work around my being out of state. I'll have a lot more to say about this matter after Saturday.

Now Andrew is up, and I need to feed him and me and figure out how bad the snow is and if I can drive the rental minivan in it beyond the five minute drive to work.

Hitting the Ground Running

Whew. We've officially moved. Mark started his new job today. Drew is slowly but surely adjusting. The cats are pissed.

I was all set to start breathing normally today, but we found a house that we absolutely love on our way back from dropping off the moving truck yesterday. Long story short: we put a 48-hr hold on it so we could do some heavy-duty research and number-crunching and figure out if it's going to work. Yeah, crazy to think that by mid-week, we could be homeowners. It's especially crazy when you consider that I'm going back to Colorado this Thursday and Friday for the DDJ.

Did you hear that high-pitched scream? It's either me or the cats.

I'm looking forward to getting some writing time finally this weekend. I really, really need it. A longer post with more details of the past couple of weeks of insanity should be landing on the blog by Sunday.

State of the Move

For over six years, I have enjoyed Colorado's variable weather. Indeed, it seemed the only way to experience winter: snow one week, warm up to the sixties the next, snow again, warm up to the fifties again, etc.

I am not so enamored of this today.

Yesterday it was a beautiful, sunny 70 degrees. Today, it's somewhere in the forties with friggin rain AND snow. Ordinarily, I'd just brew up some herbal tea, bundle in one of my favorite sweaters, and wait for the warming trend.

However, we are loading up the truck today.

We're cold. We're wet. Our stuff may need Arizona's heat just to dry off this weekend.

The only positive I can find at the moment (other than that, yes, the weather could be worse--*waves to the in-laws up in Buffalo*) is that this weather should be on its way out by the time Mark gets on the road Friday, and the entire front has steered clear of the mountainous stretch of highway at the Colorado-New Mexico border.

Sigh.

Lots of stuff has happened since I posted last, but I have not the time (nor the temperament, damn weather) to get into it now. I should be able to post on Friday and give an update.

Yet Another Sunday Check-in

Mark's parents were in town, so I didn't have time to post until now. It was a great visit, although very quick. They graciously (hah, they're grandparents--it was eagerly) took care of the Drew Monster yesterday and today so Mark and I could get a ton of packing done. Andrew's room and closet are fully packed up except for the furniture and the stuff we're keeping out for easy use. The hall closet is good to go. All the knick knacks are packed away. It was a great start to the whole move out process. Plus, we got some really good news that a lot of builders in the newer Phoenix suburbs overbuilt recently expecting a lot more buyers that haven't materialized yet. They're hacking and slashing the prices (up to $50K) and tossing in all sorts of goodies to entice folks like us. Mark and I are drooling at the prospect of getting a brand new home for less than what we had anticipated spending on a used home. If the market stays like this, we may end up buying a house very shortly after arriving in AZ.

Things really haven't stopped clicking around here. It's a good feeling.

I Figured It Out

For two seasons, now, I have been bitching and moaning about the 20th century medicine portrayed alongside faster-than-light technology on Battlestar Gallactica. I just failed to understand how such a society could exist, and the writers of the show never saw fit to enlighten me.

Well, I found the missing link and have pieced together how it's possible.

Ron Moore, the creator of BG, also wrote the horrendous Mission: Impossible II, which featured such gems as accessing a Level 4 biohazard lab through a central airshaft and protecting characters from the experiments being conducted in said lab by having them pull on a ski mask and standing for five seconds in a decon spray. Oh yeah, and having the baddies sequence the DNA of an RNA-type virus in a microscope that miraculously produced data you can only obtain by exposing film to a radioactive gel (not to mention the whole process takes several days; even with the most advanced sequencing tech we have today--six years after the movie--it would still take at least an hour to obtain a sequence).

So the piss-poor medicine of BG makes sense now because the creator of the show seems incapable of doing basic research. Case closed. But the rationale that makes this OK seems to be that--as I sit here through all this debate on suicide bombings during the season premiere--the show is just a thinly veiled stream of political commentary and nothing more.

I'll still watch it for at least a good quarter to a third of the season to see where they go with this, but I'm not enjoying all the preaching at the moment.

It's Official

Mark did get the anticipated job offer Monday afternoon. He formally accepted it yesterday. He starts his first job using all that knowledge and skill he's spent the past ten years building on October 23. Andrew and I will be flying down to Phoenix on Oct 19, Mark will be driving down with all of our stuff on Oct 20. We'll be living with my mother for a few months as we shop (and save) for a house. I'll be working part-time remotely with my current company, flying back several times a year for a day or two.

It feels so amazing to finally have all of this decided and in motion. The next big hurdle is buying the house, but we're going to take our time on that one. We've already started that process and have really been pleased with the selection. It's amazing how good a housing market looks when it's not Boulder County (but not quite as amaizing as when it's not Orange County, I'm sure).

I'm going to try my best to maintain the blog during the next three weeks as we move and get settled into my mother's house, but if things go silent for a while, it's because I managed to pack myself into a box.

One Year Ago Today...

The Drew Monster will be 365 days old at 5:00 PM today. It's amazing to think of all that has happened in this past year and how much the little guy has grown in all senses.

It honestly feels like both a lifetime and a second have passed since they wheeled me into my antepartum room, and I got to hold my son for the first time. He had been fussing for a bit before I arrived, but as soon as I propped him up on a pillow next to me and started stroking his cheek, he sighed and fell asleep. I think I stayed up a long time just looking at him sleeping beside me. I remember the nurses checking on me several times that night and scolding me for still being awake.

The day I was discharged, Andrew had fallen asleep pretty much in the crook of my neck. I had to sign all the release papers in a strange position to keep from waking him. I remember feeling his warmth and small weight all but burrowing into me and thinking how I would treasure that moment for a long time.

This morning I reflected back on that moment as Drew sat in my lap and rested his head on my chest while cuddling his blanket. He does that upon waking up in the morning or from naps for a minute or so before he's shaken off the sleep and is ready to run wild. His warmth is bigger as is his weight, but the best change is that he's just the right size that I can easily plant tiny kisses on his little blonde head as he rests on me.

During his first few days, Drew really only moved his hands and arms. He hated having them bundled at his sides and always managed to free them from every blanket swaddled around him. This translated into him always having his hands up over his head while he slept.

Nowadays, Drew is all about moving everything. Changing him is a two-person, full body contact process. Who needs a gym when I have to change his diapers? And, the biggest movement of all, he took his first steps yesterday (which I'll talk more about on Monday). It happened at daycare, of course, so Momma and Daddy missed the big "first step" milestone, but I'm sure he'll be toddling around very often very soon to make up for it.

They say that it all happens so fast, and they're right. I've tried very hard to appreciate moments and give them the extra weight in my memory that comes with reflection so I can flip through the images and feelings of all that Andrew has given us this year. I'm excited what he'll have added over the course of this next year.

Happy First Birthday, Andrew Thomas.

Where in the World was Kellie Hazell: Update

I've got more European Adventures to cover, I just don't have the time to write them up at the moment. So this feature is going on hiatus for a couple of weeks. Tune in then for accounts of trips to Wales, The Hague (Model United Nations), Rome, Venice, Fatima, and Lourdes.

Crappy Weekend

Mark's darn near guaranteed callback by Friday for the job didn't come through. This is not to say he didn't get the job, or that we're any less certain he'll get an offer (well, OK, so our ego took a hit, and we've gone from 99.9% to just 99% certain). But not hearing meant we couldn't do a number of things this weekend to start the move out process (the first of which being to notify our apartment complex on Oct 1 of a move out date so we didn't end up owing them November's rent despite the fact that we'll be moving out before the end of October--we're really not happy about this).

Add on to this all the illness running rampant between the Drew Monster, Momma, and Daddy, and you've got a recipe for a bunch of cranky folks. We tried to distract ourselves from the job situation and the colds, but there's only so much of that you can do. Especially when Drewbie had a very fussy day yesterday. I had moved away from the exhaustion phase of the cold into the all-over bodyache phase. Mark was in the exhaustion phase. Drew is ahead of the game and was probably somewhere between all-over bodyache and energetic enough to do things as if he were healthy but the flesh is still not quite there yet. Sigh.

By the way, today's Drewbie Monday post has been shuffled to Wednesday, in honor of the little runt's birthday. We have cupcakes standing by for demolition.

Happy, Happy! Joy, Joy!

Mark's in-person interview went amazingly well. Barring something strange, we're supposed to hear back (and all indications are to the affirmative) by the end of the week.

Did you hear that really, loud clicking sound? Everything's moving into place! :)

ETN: At 5PM, Friday, September 29, I got a voicemail from my mother (forgot the damn cell phone at home today) that she left at 10AM telling me to adjust my verbiage in order to prevent violating something about confidentiality. I don't think there was a problem with what I posted, but seeing as how we didn't hear back by the close of business today (the end of the work week), I'm not taking any chances.

Where in the World was Kellie Hazell: Europe by Train, 1996

Not too long after I graduated from high school, I said a fond (hopefully temporary) farewell to my European Adventures by hopping on a train with some pals and taking in Paris, Barcelona, Lloret de Mar (resort town in Spain), and Geneva. The primary focus of the trip was a few days in Lloret, but I think the entire journey lasted 6-7 days. Here's how it worked: for an astonishingly small fee, we bought a week EuroRail pass that got us on a certain class of train (so not the ultra fast ones, but the regional ones), and that one pass was good for 5 days of travel in any of the participating countries. (If you want to see a lot of Europe on a budget and a backpack, I highly recommend these passes; no rental cars, you can sleep on the train and cut some hostel costs, and those European trains are very effecient and travel through some amazing sites--if you're awake to appreciate them.)

So early the first day, we loaded up our backpacks, joined up at a local regional station, waved good-bye to the 'rents, and were on our merry way to Paris. This was the third time I had been to Paris, but this was the first time I actually went up in the Eifel Tower. When I went with my girl scout troup back in 1988, I was waiting for an elevator to go up the tower and freaked out about falling so I just hung around the grounds waiting for everyone else to get down. This time I scoped Paris from the highest observation point and was overjoyed that it was a sunny, clear day so I could actually see the city. We wandered through Notre Dame and ate lunch by those freaky glass pyramid thingies at the Louvre (but we didn't have enough time to actually go into the museum, darn the luck), and tried to find Jim Morrison's grave. But what I remember most about Paris on this trip was Sacre Coeur and the artist's colony on Montmarte. After living and traveling in Europe for nine years, I had seen a lot of churches and basilicas and cathedrals and whatnot. Some of them dripped with gaudy gilded decor, some of them imposed with their extensive and infamous history, some of them overwhelmed with humongous organ pipes, some of them entertained with intriguing bells and/or clocks, and some of them managed to make you feel right at home with their understated beauty and atmosphere. Sacre Coeur was one of those. It helped that its design was not your typical European cathedral both inside and out. It helped that the grounds were extensive and set apart from the bustle of the city. It helped that it was a warm, sunny day. It helped that I was there without a chaperone and a schedule and had wandered there because I wanted to. The artist's colony was just a ton of fun to explore, especially at sunset.

Then it was on the train to sleep our way to Barcelona. This leg of the trip marked our only strange encounter on the EuroRail. Our pass didn't let us use the individual rooms. We had to take the generic seats. Luckily the train wasn't too crowded, and each of us got our own two-seater to fully relax and get cozy for sleep. I hadn't been asleep too long when I woke up to someone talking at me in an agitated voice (and a language I couldn't discern--at least not in my groggy state) and grabbing at my bag. After some frowning and sleepy "Parlez vous Engles" mutters, I moved my bag to my feet, thinking he wanted the seat. But then he just left to the next car. I shrugged and went back to sleep. In the morning, we discover that one of our number had been robbed. It's a good thing I'm a light sleeper. (We all donated a portion of our own funds to our suddenly poor pal.)

Barcelona was a blur. I mostly remember the train station. We did spend some time at the Sagrada Family basilica, which is a bit of an acid trip even when you're not a zombie after a few hours of sleep on a train. Every damn corner of that place is sculpted or decorated or something. It was pretty fascinating, though. Mostly because I kept wondering about the designer's sanity. And, of course, lots of history to ponder there.

We cut our sightseeing short so we could hurry down to Lloret de Mar and the beach. There we encountered a problem at our hostel. They had apparently overbooked. There may have been more of a snarl to that, but we were able to get into an actual hotel for even less without too much bother. Then it was all beaches and discos for a few days. One day we did take a boat over to a nearby town haunted by artists, Cadaques. The boat ride made most of us seasick, but the town was really nifty, and the Mediterranean really does have some amazingly clear blue waters.

Speaking of blue, we bought a skinny blue raft for our shared use in the sea. I think it may have been dubbed the Blue Penis, and I'm sure we though ourselves very clever for it. Although only the boys used it...interesting. There was a little bay off the beaten path from the bustling beaches of Lloret de Mar. Plenty of rocky outcroppings to just sit and watch the water--or dive off of as was the case of the boys in the group. NOTE: No ridiculous adolescents were harmed in the making of this trip.

After we got sick of sunning and clubbing, we hopped back on the train and made our way back to Germany via Switzerland. We spent a rather cold, gray, and rainy Sunday afternoon in Geneva. Just about everything was closed, and the things that were open were unspeakably expensive (lunch at Mickey D's cost us $10 each). What I remember most about that leg of the trip was catching glimpses of waterfalls from Alpine valley floors as the train wove its way through Switzerland. Very pretty.

I think I crashed for a good two days when we got back home. That sort of trip, while budget-friendly and time-efficient, will wear you out in a hurry.

Don't Feed the Drew Monster

Drew's starting to eat Big Boy Food. He's moving slowly into this world as he seems to have problems with certain textures other than the mashed and pureed consistencies he's used to. We weren't pushing him on this too much--until Momma had a blonde in distress moment after pulling him out of his old daycare. The new daycare provider had to experiment with food since I had neglected to provide her with his usual fare. He's now exploring the world of cookies and apples and cereal and crackers. Slowly but surely.

It's funny: a lot of folks mentioned how in the last round of Drew pics that he doesn't look like a baby anymore, how he looks like a toddler. I've noticed the changes as they've happened (usually by seeing how much more hair he has than he did before and how the appearance of teeth changes his looks), but they didn't give me a "my baby's growing up" pang. No, I got that when I went to pick him up from daycare one day and found him dwarfed in a high chair, gripping a regular-sized cookie that was bigger than his hand, and nibbling at it while kicking his legs. Damn near fell to the floor in tears at how old and independent he looked. I was tickled and proud and excited--and sad and terrified. It all moves so fast.

As I told my aunt (whose little one is about three months younger than Drew) before the daycare shuffle, I wasn't feeling the bittersweetness of Drew growing up as long as I could still hold him and comfort him after waking up from a nap or a bad dream or after getting an owwee. Now I cherish those moments when he needs them more than I ever did before. It won't be long before he doesn't need me in that way, before he's too big anyway. That's a good thing, and very necessary and natural and I'm honestly looking forward to watching Drew grow into the man he'll become. But watching Drew eat that cookie made me realize just how precious this past year has been despite all the missed sleep and spit-up stains and house rearranging and free time shuffling.

I never thought watching Andrew eat a cookie at eleven months old would generate this motherhood epiphany.

Brilliant Marketing

Via John Scalzi, I checked out a new idea for book marketing/bonus material. It's a blog related to a new book. It's supposed to be a standalone story that feeds into the book, or provides insight into the events that occur in the book. I'm checking it out because it sounds like a very clever idea, but the genre of the book is horror (if the blog had to be classified, I'd say suspense/thriller/paranormal with one or two mild horror elements). Still, the blog is an intriguing read and has me curious enough that, dammit, I'm probably going to pick up the book when it comes out. I just have to make a deal that I can only read it during the day and when I'm not alone in the house or something. I used to give myself nightmares just seeing the horror movie covers in the video store.

So. Details. The book is called Chasing the Dead. The blog is also called Chasing the Dead. Start with the first entry.

Birthday Prep Check-in

We went in for Drew's one-year-old picture session today. Got a lot of great shots. Those won't be back for about two weeks. This time Mark and I wised up and got extra sheets of wallet-sized photos. We forgot to do that for our family portrait last year and wound up giving away all the wallet-sized photos.

Also accomplished today: bought a couple of gifts for the boy's big day coming up here shortly, bought Mark's interview outfit, and had a fun a la carte lunch at Wild Oats (they have such amazing salads). Oh, and Mark is now up in Blackhawk playing poker as a treat to himself before the interview and to hopefully win some extra cash. He's been doing pretty well up at those tables lately.

As for this week...writing didn't go too well. I did get some accomplished, but not nearly as much as I had hoped. Tonight will go better. I let the CSI and Studio 60 premieres distract me. Bad, Kellie. Bad.

Music Variety

Tired of listening to all the political commercials on your radio station at work? Looking to find some new artists or a new sound? Interested in seeing scientific concepts applied to musical content? Bored and feel like playing with something for free on the Internet?

Look no further than Pandora.

Some folks got together and started the Music Genome Project, cataloging the songs of over 10,000 artists by such things as major key tonality, repetitive melodic phrasing, and--my favorite "gene" so far--extensive vamping (that's one of the genes on my Sting radio station). You can guide their program by giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to the selections they make based on common "genetic" elements. Sometimes the program gives you a golden, perfect station complete with artists you've never heard of before but will be hunting for on Amazon. Sometimes the program takes a turn into WTF-land and your thumbing down selection after selection.

But, hey, it's free and pretty interesting. Give it a whirl.

Juggling

In the midst of juggling life stuff, I find myself also juggling writing stuff. I have an idea for a short story that I'd really like to get into and give me the soothing satisfaction of actually completing a project right about now. But I'm afraid that I'll get derailed in the middle of SoZ, which would be a very bad thing because if I get derailed in the middle, it's hard to get back on track.

So that's the dilemma. Write the short story and feel good about seeing a project through from start to finish in the middle of all the Real Life Stuff and risk an extensive delay in finishing SoZ. Or keep chugging on SoZ--which I'm enjoying, don't get me wrong--and every now and then feel a little off because I feel anchorless in my writing as well as my life. Hmmm....

Old News, But Still Important

In the middle of science fiction's big night to reward folks (think Academy Awards), one male author made the decision to grope the event's hostess on stage. So instead of discussing the awards and the folks who earned them, the SF community raged about this author's actions. And rightly so, there was no excuse for it, and that sort of behavior should be immediately condemned.

However, barely two weeks later, the internet was in an uproar because a woman defended herself when a drunken jerk grabbed her in a bar. I absolutely don't understand this.

Both brouhahas have reminded me about a critique group session last year. There were only four of us there, and we were all women. For some reason, we got on the subject of sexual assault (either one of us had written a scene provocative of that or there was a big case buzzing in the news). The saddest part of that conversation is that every single one of us had an assault story to tell, ranging from the very tame to the stuff of Lifetime movies (or would have been had not the women managed to escape). Some of us had more than one story to tell. None of us got physical with our attackers. None of us ever pressed charges. All of us knew our attackers and trusted them. All of us went through a period of guilt after it happened.

I was at a party in college with a group of friends that I interacted with several times a week and that I trusted. When one of the guys told me I had to try SoCo and Coke, I took the drink without a second thought. No, it wasn't drugged, but that drink and the other two he mixed for me were heavy on the SoCo, and since I had never had SoCo and Coke before, I didn't quite figure out just how much alcohol was in each drink until I was well and truly drunk. Right about this time, I decided it was time to go back to my dorm since I didn't want to stay any longer and risk getting more drunk (it hadn't occurred to me that my friend had, in essence, gotten me drunk). Said friend offered to walk me home, since I was quite obviously smashed. Thinking him the perfect gentleman, I accepted.

No sooner were we in the stairwell than he pressed himself close and kissed me. I was more confused than anything else. I think my first thought was, "But wait, I have a boyfriend." I managed to step away and remind him that he was walking me home and that kissing wasn't conducive to that (or whatever the slurred equivalent is). As we walked across the well-lit and well-populated areas of campus, he kept trying to kiss me again. I kept avoiding it, growing more and more confused and agitated. When we got to a part of the campus that was not so well-lit nor so well-populated, I was remarkably sober. He made to kiss me again, and I put distance between us and threatened to yell rape if he didn't leave me the fuck alone. Suddenly he was remarkably sober and very apologetic and very desirous not to have his ass kicked by my boyfriend.

I made it back to my dorm without further incident, and wouldn't you know my first item of business? To call my boyfriend and beg forgiveness because I had kissed another man. At first my boyfriend was furious with this friend of mine, but I talked him down and managed to take all the blame until--here's the kicker--my man was forgiving me for cheating on him.

So when I hear that Harlan Ellison grabbed Connie Willis's breast and we're having a mostly intellectual debate about it (instead of a real discussion of what consequences such an action should have, such as, I dunno, banning Ellison from future World Cons) followed closely by a discussion of whether it was right or wrong for Campbell Award winner John Scalzi's wife to defend herself from a groper, I wonder if we'll ever get to a point where no part of society in any way tolerates any abuse of women, no matter how "small". Because if we were already at that point, then no guy would think it any way appropriate or "not a big deal" to touch a woman without her permission. I got lucky because the jackass in my case either wasn't prepared for a struggle or was too drunk to realize what he was doing himself and stopped as soon as I made it clear. (I actually think it was the former. Another guy tried similar things to another girl at the party. She and I compared notes, and we both came to the conclusion that the two of them may have bet each other how far they could get with each of us.)

If nothing else, it'll make fodder for good drama in a book later. But let's hope all this dialog actually makes inroads to the greater social problems involved.

Where in the World was Kellie Hazell: London, 1996

My grandmother, my aunt, and my great aunt came to Germany to see me graduate (or to celebrate with me shortly thereafter; suddenly my timeline is fuzzy) and to travel to London with my family afterward. We were going to take the train to Paris and then the Chunnel. This would've been a good deal more exciting had not Paris been under very tight security due to recent bombings and/or bomb threats and had we not seen Mission: Impossible with its tense, action-packed, chopper-in-the-Chunnel sequence.

The layover in Paris had been meant to be a group outing (we had at least three hours). Because of the security issues, though, the train station had closed off all of their short-term storage lockers. My dad, my brother, and I got to stay in the station with the luggage. (Wasn't a big deal for me because I knew I would be in Paris in another week or two with some of my friends on our European Adventure by train. That summary will be next up.) Incidentally, those three hours marked the first time I sat in a traveling apparatus terminal, trying not to be annoyed by the incessant, automated voice telling me not to leave my luggage unattended and to report any suspicious bags to the authorities. It was even worse that time because I had to hear it in French as well.

The Chunnel trip and train ride into London was rather uneventful. The Chunnel train was fast, and a lot of it was spent in a tunnel, and therefore with no scenery. I think this was the first time I had tea with milk; it sparked a brief fad for tea drinking in my life.

It was pretty much night when we got into London and made it to our hotel. There was some sort of problem with the hotel. Either we didn't stay in the first one we went to or the rooms weren't what they should have been given our number or both. All I remember is that we were all very tired and irritable by the time we found beds, and I think the first night was a bit cramped. The hotel we did stay in had a great restaurant with Egyptian cuisine, I believe.

We did some of the usual touristy stuff: London Tower, St. Paul's cathedral, rode the Underground, caught a couple of shows (I think I traded touring Buckingham Palace or somesuch in favor of waiting in line for tickets to The Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables). Actually, the shows are what I remember most about this trip. I was excited about Phantom as I had fallen in love with the soundtrack four years before. My brother, however, was salivating over the chance to see Les Mis has he had fallen in love with the soundtrack a couple of years before. My mother was eager for both. The rest of our crew was more excited about London, silly them. :)

My mom and I saw Phantom together. It was a matinee showing, so we got the understudies for a couple of folks. The theater was actually quite small (not on par with the Swan), and our seats were quite good. It was an enjoyable show, but I remember being disappointed because it didn't resonate as well with me as the soundtrack did. Still, I was absolutely tickled to be seeing Phantom in London. (Speaking of The Phantom of the Opera, I did see a production in Chicago that was phenomenal. The last note of that show is still with me: the Phantom singing, "It's over now, the music of the night." I'm getting goosebumps just typing this. I saw it with my aunt on a quick weekend jaunt away from Notre Dame. Our seats were absolutely terrible--there was a great portrayal of the descent into the catacombs that we only caught the last portion of because we were too high up to see all of the stage. But that note...I wouldn't say it haunts me because it's a far too pleasant sound for such a negative connotation.)

Now, Les Mis was an experience. I hadn't listened to that soundtrack very much, so I wasn't as attached to any particular interpretation of the vocals and music. Well, except for one song. The teacher who had directed one of the plays I did in high school sang "Bring Him Home" a capella for a play. But instead of taking me out of the moment, hearing it sung as part of Les Mis and recalling my memory of it in another setting dovetailed to make a profound impact. Though Phantom is still my favorite of these two plays, I enjoyed my London experience of Les Mis a good deal more.

There are two other snatches of memories I have of this trip. One was going to the London Dungeon, which was a mostly cheesy house of horrors tour of the seedier side of London's history, heavy on the Jack the Ripper gore--I mean, "lore". This was my brother's "Must See" stop on the trip, of course. The other memory I have was browsing through Harrod's, London's (England's? was it a chain?) version of Nordstrom meets Tiffany's or something. I managed to scrounge together the money to buy a very cheap pen there.

I think if I hadn't just graduated and wasn't heading off on another big trip in a few days, I would've remembered more of this trip as I know we must've done more. If nothing else, I had to have stocked up on my favorite Cadbury's chocolate bar, the Wispa. Hmmmmm....Wispa.

Next Week: Europe by Train, 1996; Previous Episodes: click on the "Where in the World" label for all previous traveling adventures

Giving the Humidifier a Run for Its Money

Drew loves to play on our bed. He'll flop backwards on to the mattress. He'll flop forwards on to the mattress. He'll climb on top of our pillows so he can grip the headboard railings and shake them and make the bed squeak. He'll pull the pillows on top of him and then crawl out from underneath.

But the best part of his bed adventures is how he laughs and grins and squeals. And he just doesn't stop the laughing or the frenetic activity. It's a great way to tucker him out and cheer yourself up in the process. We're going to have to get a picture of him throwing his hands up over his head and raising up on his knees in preparation for the forward flop or the pillow grab.

"...in Whose Character We Were Most Unhappily Deceived"

I had considered titling this post "How to Lose a Customer in 10 Days" but I like the Pride & Prejudice understatement here. What follows, dear reader, is a faithful narrative of my dealings with Ms. X------, my former daycare provider.

Transitions are a tricky thing. Management transitions, especially those in which contracts or explicit agreements are not used, are particularly tricky. This is where my blame in all of this lies. I didn't ask enough questions. I gave everybody the benefit of the doubt and decided not to be a bother during a transition period, hoping everything would settle out into the assumption of normal and routine that I had.

When the provider who cared for Andrew up until the end of August left, I was under the impression (from both the old management and the new management) that things would proceed in pretty much the same manner at my daycare. Sure, personalities and the basic tenor of the services provided would be different, but the basic setup was to remain the same. The situation changed upon the first day of new management, but without clear explanations as to what exactly the changes meant. I walked into the daycare to see a new face (we'll call her Y), and was informed that this new person would be "staying here all the time" instead of the person I had expected would be doing so (we'll call her X). I took this to mean that now Andrew would have two full-time daycare providers, one living at the house, the other living elsewhere. For the next four days, I saw the original person twice. Nothing was communicated to me on that person's absence. I learned later (from other sources) that there had been an emergency, and that's fine. I understand that those things happen, and if I had been informed of all changes and urgent circumstances (not the details of their lives, but the details of how that emergency would impact my son's care), I would've been fine. The situation deteriorated until last Friday, Mark and I arrived to pick up Andrew and found that both the original person AND the new person weren't there, instead it was Y's husband. Again, that sort of thing for a brief period of time in an emergency is OK, I just need to be informed. Oh, yeah, and Andrew wasn't eating or sleeping as he normally did. Granted, that could have been due to the stress of new people in his life, but it didn't do anything to make the situation better.

Mark and I struggled with what we should do about all of this last weekend. It was clear we needed to talk to them and find a way to get Drew back on his regular schedule for his well being and our sanity. We decided to call our previous provider who had moved and get some advice and suggestions on how to handle the situation--and to confirm that our assumptions had been accurate. Seemed like a good plan.

When I picked up Andrew on Monday, I was told that that Y (and her husband) would be going out of town for several days and that we had to bring Andrew to another daycare on one of those days and that "someone qualified" would be at their daycare for the other days. There was no mention of where X, the person who was supposed to be the primary care provider under this new management, would be during this time. As I took all of this in, they then shared with me that Drew hadn't eaten since noon and it was five o'clock. It was also clear to me by this time that their idea of day care was to keep all the kids in the TV room all day long.

I called my old provider as soon as I got home and learned that I was not the only one having problems with the new management. In sharing my concerns with my old provider, I managed to uncover a bigger contractual problem between the old and new management. I didn't realize it at the time, though, as I was not--nor should I have been--privy to the specifics of the how management changed hands. However, because of this issue, my old provider called X later and must've let her have it. But I knew nothing of that, either, until the next day.

On Tuesday, I went to drop off Andrew with a plan in hand. We were going to take notes on Drew's eating and sleeping habits each day and try to get him to his regular schedule, the daycare folks were to do the same. I was prepared to pull X aside and let her know my concerns and try to establish a better line of communication and explain my expectations. So when I showed up to find both X and Y (and even Y's husband) standing outside to greet me when I arrived, I started to get a bad feeling. Still, I soldiered on and laid out the plan to get Drew back to his regular schedule. Even though X agreed to the idea, she was immediately confrontational. I wasn't quite sure why until she mentioned that--and, yes, the quotes are damn near verbatim--"that's why you need to be calling us and not [the old management]."

Ah. Things were getting clearer and grimmer in my mind. Still, I tried to salvage the situation by explaining (very calmly and not at all attacking, I might add) why I had called the old provider. Things just went to hell in a handbasket after that. X remained belligerent and defensive, as if waiting for me to apologize for calling someone I had trusted with my son's care for nine months and, I surmised later, ratting them out. This, of course, assumes I had any idea that they weren't holding up their end of the agreement and that they were not wanting the old provider to know this.

When X started in on the attacks against the old provider (and somehow managed to mix in with them the statement, "We love Andrew"--yeah, sure, uh-huh), I stopped her by saying (again, very calmly), "Thank you very much for taking care of Andrew last week, but we're going to find another option." As I was turning to leave (I was still holding Drew; we had never managed to actually get inside the daycare), she said, "Well, honey, you do what you have to do."

Finally we had hit upon an agreement.

I think I started shaking once I got back home, but I still held everything at bay. After all, I had to get to work and figure out where to put Andrew for the rest of the time we're going to be here. My old provider had recommended someone, and she was able to take Drew right away. I was so discombobulated by the entire exchange that I gave her a diaper bag without diapers or food for her to use that day.

Everything's much better now. Drew adapted like a pro to the new situation in just two days (which makes me wonder just how unhappy he was last week), and I'm set up to work at home two days during the week. I had my first day of that today, and it was such a comfort to be with Drew all day. He was in such a good mood.

So that's why things got crazy on Tuesday. And the drama is still unfolding for those parents still trying to work with the new management. I think they've lost two more clients already. I'm not sure how many more they have to lose. After the way I was treated, I'm really not surprised. Such unprofessional behavior isn't exactly geared toward customer retention.

A Whole New Blog Check-in

I just switched over to the beta version of Blogger that will let folks "subscribe" to my blog and get email notification when I have new content. Also, there will finally be content tags so you can browse my blog by topic. I'm betting "Drew" will be a popular one. (This, of course, means I have to go through over three and a half years of posts and apply said tags. I'll probably do that over the course of a month unless I suddenly find a bunch of free time. Ha.)

The week finished up so well with the news about Mark's interview, the news about the DDJ looking for a tech writer (yes, I applied), and Drew adjusting very well to the new day care and being in such a great mood for me while working at home yesterday...it's just so hard to believe that the start of the week was well and truly awful.

As for the writing, I managed to get some done this week. I'm still stuck in the middle and not particularly enjoying it, but I keep trudging onward, knowing that things are going to get wicked cool in a bit. Also knowing that all sins can be fixed in the revision. I may need to start using some other story ideas as a carrot to get through this middle bit.

For the most part, though, I'm just damn happy to have survived this week. I have a feeling that the next few weeks are going to be like that. But I'll survive with a smile, so I guess that's all right.

Good News!

Thanks to everyone who's been praying, sending us good vibes, and in general thinking of us during this crazy time. It paid off yesterday. Mark is in the process of arranging an in-person interview at our top choice company. Life is still pretty crazy, and an in-person interview is certainly not a gaurantee of a job, but it's progress. And that's something for us right now. I hope to get some more blogging done this weekend, to let ya'll know about how I came to pull Drew out of daycare, and hopefully get back on schedule next week.

Bloggus Interruptus

May be silent for a bit. Pulled Drew out of daycare this morning (long story, details will follow) and had to put him with an emergency backup provider. Am in the midst of discussion with the DDJ the possibilities of me going part-time and/or working remote so we can stop with this daycare business all together.

Got stress?

The Security of a Blanket

Andrew's Great-Grandmommy Hazell made a soft blue blanket for him before he was born. We used that blanket to keep him warm when he was just a tiny thing sitting in his bouncy chair and watching the world come into focus. When it was time for him to go to daycare, we packed that blanket up in his diaper bag. It's been a daily constant in his life, but it was only recently that we noticed he had developed quite a strong attachment to it.



As these two pictures show, he likes to bite it and lay on it (sometimes he'll be crossing the room and the blanket will be in his path; he flops down to cuddle it briefly before continuing on his merry way across the room; that's when we snapped that second photo). That's been going on for a couple of weeks to a month.

Over the past week, we've clearly seen that this blanket has become a Security Blanket. While Drew's been dealing with the changes at daycare, he fusses whenever that blanket is not in his hot little hands. There was one day last week that he would only be comforted if I cuddled him while he cuddled the blanket.

No matter how normal this seems--and regardless of the fact that every child seems to have such a blanket or stuffie--I feel awful every time he grabs at that blanket like it's the only thing in the world that's going to help him. It makes me wonder what's going through his little mind, what's triggering such an intense need for the familiar and soothing. Plus, it makes me feel more than a little useless that even Momma's arms won't make him feel better.

Teaser Too Revealing

Ever get annoyed when you watch a promo for a show or movie and they use all the best lines and scenes? Or they reveal something that happens way at the end of the plot? Books have a bad habit of doing the latter one. In trying to make the blurb on the cover grab a reader's interest, they give too much away. This isn't a problem when you buy the book, because you have no idea when the events that are being described will occur. Sometimes this tactic is used because very little happens until the events described on the back of the book (a bad thing, very bad). Sometimes it's the product of a bad copywriter. I know of a couple cases where the authors try to get the word out to their fans and readers to not read the back cover blurb or the teaser.

I have no idea which of the two (or some other reason that I can't drum up at the moment) led to the back cover copy on a recent book I read, but the event described on the back of the book that leads you to believe the book will be about that particular thing doesn't occur until about page 420 of 480. I shit you not. I'd provide specifics, but if I told you the book or the event, I'd end up spoiling the book for you one way or another.

I've never seen such a terrible back cover copy, and I really hope that the person who wrote it got fired for it. There were plenty of other ways to make this book exciting to someone just browsing the SF aisles, and doing things this way only served to misrepresent the book and make for a disjointed read. I feel so bad for this author, and I hope I never run into this problem when I get published.

Adjusting Check-in

It's been a rough week. I'm trying to train a new hire to do everything that I do while not knowing when I'm going to leave and exactly what the company wants me to do when I do leave (there's talk about creating an entirely new position just for me that I could do remotely and part-time). Toss in the fact that this was also the first week of our new daycare folks, and we've got a recipe for an off week. And it wasn't helped by having an off weekend last weekend with Mark being sick.

No writing. Not a whole lot of good sleeping. But Mark and I did manage to salvage a little of it and go to a new winery at our fancy schmancy mall. And Godiva was having a 50% off sale, so we had to finish up our little wine and cheese session with excellent chocolate. It was a very good end to a rough week.

As for the writing, I'm working hard to get everything back on track this weekend. But I've got the added distraction of a short story that came to roost after a very odd dream this week. It's been a trend that I have to exorcise these guys pretty promptly--kinda funny for this idea since it's about a ghost. I'm going to make it a reward for writing at least my minimum every night this weekend and Monday. See if that's a good compromise for these crazy short stories that come out of nowhere.

Still no word on Mark's job, and things aren't looking too good with the current day care situation. We may be looking at some big changes next weekend. More then.

The Perils of a 2-hr Cable Movie Slot

Back when it first aired a couple of weeks ago, I watched Dragonsword on SciFi. And it was pretty good, except for the fact that it really needed at least another half hour to connect plot elements a bit better. It was sad to see a good movie with good acting and good writing that suffered because they tried to cram it all into 90 minutes or less. If you blinked, you missed a transition. If you coughed, you missed vital information explaining why certain characters were doing certain things. If you yawned (not because the movie was boring, but because you might actually be tired from chasing an eleven-month old), you missed Val Kilmer's thirty-second cameo.

What was left was a movie that felt like a bare bones outline with none of the padding that actually carries you from scene to scene or moves you in and out of arcs. I've seen this very often in the drafts that folks bring in to my critique group on their first visit. It's easy to get caught up in the "then this happens, and then this happens" of plot and story, trying to hit major drama moments or big juicy bits of conflict. But if you don't give the in between bits, then you don't set up the drama or the conflict effectively, if at all.

Still, Dragonsword was pretty well written despite it's obvious time constraints. It made me wonder what the first draft of that screenplay looked like, or if it was a case of a writer not understanding the need for fleshing out an outline. And it also gave me a mental note of what I need to be looking for when I revise my stories. Always good, that.

Stuck in the Middle with Muse

Crazy things start to happen when I get into the middle of a book. I'll try to skip it and get to the end, or I'll get caught up in all the flaws of the previous material that I halt all progress, or I'll get mired in it.

For Human Dignity, I skipped the middle sections by, in essence, writing the beginnings and ends of three books--conveniently called "parts" in the novel. That is, I introduced the situation and characters and conflict, then I went right to climactic action and resolved it, with some dangly bits. End of Part One. Part Two began fifteen years later, so I had to re-introduce the situation and characters and conflict, then I went right to the climactic action and resolved it, with some dangly bits. End of Part Two. And so on. My most common critique of HD remarked on this feature, which was just my way of avoiding writing the middle of a book.

With The Masque, I had so totally re-envisioned the beginning of the book after I had written it that I didn't know how to keep writing without revising everything I had written, which I was going to do except I got pregnant. But I was stuck at the end of the beginning of the book for months, unable to really move forward because of all the flaws and my unimplemented ideas for fixing them. This was especially frustrating because I was unemployed for many of those months and had hoped to use that time to finish the draft or at least get damn near to finishing it.

Now, here I am in the middle of Shadow of Zehth, and I'm not skipping it or stuck, but I am mired in it. Every scene seems to stretch on longer than it should. Could be that's how my previous tendency to skip the middle is exerting itself this time. I don't know. The only thing I know is it's really making the middle seem even longer to get through. But I'm going to keep at it and see what things look like once I write my way through to the end. Maybe these scenes won't be overly long and drawn out, maybe they'll be the perfect pace and length once I can see the whole of the book, or even just the whole of the middle.

I wish I knew why middles gave me so much trouble. One of these days I'll put my mind to the dilemma and see what I can learn from it to grow as a writer and improve my process, but for right now, I'm stumped.

As You Know...

Recently I've been hearing a certain phrase over and over in TV shows and in movies. It's the dreaded "as you know" line. It's a spotlight on upcoming exposition or infodumpage. And what makes it really annoying is that it's unnecessary. Why direct attention to the fact that you're about to spew information for the viewer's benefit that everyone on camera knows as a matter of course? I've been hearing it often enough that I'm in danger of developing a twitch. To prevent this from happening, I'm going to set up a drinking game and see if poking fun at the phrase will stop me from shuddering.

You can apply this game to any movie or TV show. You can substitute popcorn and anything else for the alcohol. You can do this by yourself, but for maximum hilarity, bring in a few other writerly types. The rules are as follows:

Every time you hear the phrase "as you know," drink a shot.

Drink two shots if the phrase is spoken by the character who always has the explanations, such as Colonel Samantha Carter or Dr. Daniel Jackson.

Drink three shots if the content that follows the phrase is information that is the basic premise of the show or movie, such as, "As you know, we've been traveling to hundreds of other worlds through the Stargate for a decade."

Drink four shots if the phrase is followed by a character's name, such as, "As you know, General O'Neill..."

Finish the bottle if the name that follows the phrase is Bob.

I used SG-1 as my example, but this show is most certainly not alone in this writing sin. And it's such a lazy, useless tactic, too. In nearly every instance, you can just get rid of the words "as you know" and have smoother dialog. In fact, you can often replace "as you know" with the word "because" to explain reasoning for the logic or solution that follows the infodump, or you can for the recent examples I've heard. And very often, the infodump is not necessary because the audience--even the casual viewer--is smarter than the writers give them credit.

Where in the World was Kellie Hazell: Stratford-upon-Avon, 1995

See me previous European adventures: East Germany, 1988, Berlin, 1996, and Prague, 1992.

The drama department at my high school organized a trip every year to London and Stratford-upon-Avon to, of course, watch a few plays and tour the Bard's hometown. I went on the trip fall of my senior year, along with several good friends from my drama class and the various plays I had worked either on stage or behind it. I don't remember much beyond Stratford itself, although I know we spent an evening and night in London when we first arrived in England, toured Warwick castle, and spent a day in London before leaving for home. Nearly all of my memories of that trip are of Shakespeare's town.

And it was a very lovely town. Big enough for good shopping and many excellent bed and breakfasts, but small enough that you never felt crowded or tiny. It was a town in which I would have loved to live. It had such a great feel to it. It also had three theaters, which certainly didn't hurt matters. One day I'll have to make a return trip. Hopefully the Drew Monster won't think Shakespeare is dull.

I had never been to London before, and I remember being a bit disappointed that we had arrived so late in the evening and that I was too tired from the bus ride and Channel crossing to appreciate the city or the play we saw that night. I'm never going to recall the name of the play we saw. It might've been something about the French Revolution, but I really can't say for sure. I think most of us slept through the thing. We stayed at the English equivalent of the YMCA or something that night, and I don't remember much about that either.

We all but descended on Stratford the next day, a whole bus of high school students scrambling about along one street in Stratford, trying to figure out who went in what B&B and who was rooming with who. It's possible there was more organization than I'm remembering, but it was a bit confused. That night we saw The Taming of the Shrew in the biggest of the three theaters (I'm sure I knew the name of this place at one point). It was a wonderful version with a few odd bits of modernization thrown in (someone impersonated Elvis at one point and Kate was carried off to her honeymoon in a Volkswagen Beetle). Our seats were far enough from the stage that I couldn't connect to the performance as much as I would've liked, but it was fun all the same. Afterwards, some friends and I got all fannish and took pictures of the house that Kate disappeared into when she was done signing autographs. The house was right across the street from the theater, talk about a nice commute.

The second day, we did all of the usual touristy touring of famous Bard locations, but the biggest even of that day of the trip was the play we saw that night. We saw Faust in The Swan, a very close and cozy theater where even the worst seats are pretty much right up against the stage. Our drama teacher had talked a bit about this version of the Goethe story, and I think we were all pretty excited to see what was the fuss. Also, of the four plays we saw on this trip, I think this was the one with the biggest names. Not that I remember those names, or that I even really knew them at the time. Still, I remember it being billed as the spotlight play of our trip.

Little did we know what we were in for.

The play started out well enough, though I didn't know the story very well and felt a bit lost. This did not help when they started in with the nudity. At first it was a demoness-type, and that seemed appropriate. Then it was poor Gretchen, and, from what I remember of the story, that seemed appropriate too, though I did start to squirm. But when Faust himself got totally nekkid and did this standing spread-eagle thing, I spent the rest of the play examining my watch and shoes and cursing the intimacy of The Swan. Nothing against the actor playing Faust, but I just felt uncomfortable watching him after that scene, especially because I knew he wasn't circumcised. Seems a bizarre thing to know about a stranger as they perform a play.

I think there might have been some parental flak about that play.

The third play that we saw in Stratford was once again in the large theater. It was Richard III. We had nearly the worst seats in the house. Mine was particularly bad as the woman sitting next to me kept falling asleep and drifting over into my seat. Also, this was a very traditional performance of the play, and the colors were all very drab, and everyone was so far away that they turned into white and gray and brown blurs.

Aside from the RSC plays, there are three incidents that stand out in my memory from this trip.

I'll get the bad one out of the way first. In the nine years that I lived in Germany and traveled all over western Europe, I was never once treated in any ill fashion for being an American. Except for once in a fish-and-chips hole-in-the-wall place in Stratford-upon-Avon. Now, I traveled as smart as I could, always trying to speak the language if I knew it, acknowledge and participate in the customs when appropriate, modify my clothing and behavior so as not to bring unwanted attention to myself, interact with nationals in as respectful and courteous a manner as possible, etc. In this food joint, however, I was with two others from our group, and I think one of them was wearing her letter jacket (stupid, stupid, stupid; why not just slap a sticker that says "AMERICAN TOURIST" on your forehead and be done with it?). Still, we weren't goofing off or being loud or anything rude. I ordered my meal, saw that the lady behind the counter was putting salt and vinegar on the other orders before mine (they were locals), and asked for the same. She shoved my little container of food at me and said, "Do it yourself."

The second little vignette is just that: little. My upstairs neighbor and best buddy, Matt, was on this trip, and we managed to set some time aside to share dinner in a pub in Stratford. Just the two of us. No chaperones tapping their watches, no hordes of fellow travelers yukking it up all around us. I think we also imbibed in a local brew. In addition to it being great food with great company, the meal further solidified that comfortable feeling the town exuded, which I sorely needed after my fish-and-chips experience. It was wonderful to eat while traveling and not feel distinct and separate, to instead feel like a regular. I wish I had been able to do more of that sort of thing during my trips in Europe.

The third and final Drama Trip moment that I will never forget happened in London. It was a foggy night, and me and my intrepid friends were crossing a bridge to join up with the rest of the group. As we started out on the bridge, someone looked up and saw a small, silver, flickering object. That someone got all of our attention, and we all studied the thing as we walked. At first we were just curious, wondering what the hell it was. Then fatigue and general high school giddiness clicked in. We decided it was a UFO. We managed to convince ourselves enough of this possibility that we even took pictures and tried to figure out how one went about reporting an alien sighting. We reached the other side of the bridge at this point--and that's when we saw some lone soul flying a kite. A small, silver, flickering kite.

Next week: Since I'm thinking England and plays, I'll share the story of my trip to London in 1996, just after I graduated

DREW-BEE-Ohhhhhh!

Andrew has discovered two new sounds: oooooo and ohhhhhhh. He loves to make these noises. He'll even get into volume contests with you if you start aping the noise. And of course his face just looks adorable when he does it. We're trying to get good video and better pics of it.

I would think this sound cuter if he hadn't made it constantly while he was supposed to be napping this weekend. Although, to be fair, he did a lot of things while he was supposed to be napping. Such as standing up in his crib so he could gnaw on his railing or experiment with all the fun buttons on his mobile keypad or knock his bibs and burb cloths to the ground (they usually rest peacefully on the shelf-top of his attached dresser, which is supposed to be beyond his reach; ha). Sometimes he laid down quietly in his crib and only occasionally uttered his "ohhhh" while kicking his stuffies. Sometimes we'd only hear the ribbitting of his stuffed frog to know he most certainly wasn't sleeping.

I think, though, that his favorite time to make these two sounds is when Momma says, "Andrew, no," as the munchkin is heading for unauthorized destruction and mayhem. He'll stop whatever it is he's not supposed to be doing, look at me, and very cutely round his lips and say, "Ohhhhh." Or he doesn't stop and look at me but continues what he shouldn't be doing and says, "Ooooo," like he realizes he's just found a new toy.

I much preferred it when he favored the "mum-mum" sound.

Bad Move, SciFi

Well, SciFi recently announced that they won't be carrying SG-1 anymore, but they'll still show Atlantis.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Between the absence of SG-1 next year and the apparent decision to run Battlestar Gallactica off from the new episode runs of Stargate, I now have no reason whatsoever to watch new episodes of Atlantis. I wonder how well their ratings will do next season when SG-1 is no longer a part of SciFi Friday. About the only way SciFi can redeem itself in my eyes is if they do indeed bring back Firefly as was rumored last year.

As for SG-1, the official word is that they're going to shop for a new network. Hopefully they find one that's not a premium cable channel. Well, by the time the next season airs, we'll be in a position to afford premium cable.

Late Check-in

Sigh. We were all set to have a great three-day weekend. A stroll down the Pearl
Street Mall so Drew could people watch. An early dinner at the Melting Pot to celebrate Mark's recent success at the local poker tables. A relaxing holiday during which I was hoping to get some extra writing time. The weekend even started out really well with Friday's mail. Mark received his PhD diploma so he can frame it and point to it to get underlings to call him "doctor." And I received just about the nicest, most encouraging form rejection letter possible for the publishing business. (Yes, Carson's Learning was not accepted to the Interstitial Arts Foundation's anthology, but the form letter asked me to submit again when they were ready for their second installmant of their anthologies in 2008.)

Then Mark got pretty darn sick in the night and spent all of day either barfing, passed out asleep, or sitting on the porcelain throne. Seeing as how I'm still not close to 100% yet after finishing the second round of antibiotics and dealing with the stress of this week's meeting, it was not the ideal time for him to be out of commission. Somehow I managed to keep up with Andrew despite the fact that he barely napped and seemed to have found some sort of mythical source of unlimited energy. (By the way, he's got a fifth tooth popping through now; one day we'll get a very clear picture.)

The weather was pretty foul today, so the stroll down Pearl Street was going to happen even had Mark been healthy. We've had to cancel our Melting Pot reservations as Mark gets green just hearing the word "Jell-O" at the moment. I'm still holding out hope for Monday, though, at least to garner me a good nap if nothing else.

Even with the craziness of the week, I got my minimum word counts in every night but tonight (and even managed an extra 600 words last night; now that SciFi Friday and Monk & Psych are all in their breaks, I might start scheduling writing on Fridays--though that will only be for this month as October brings the return of Battlestar Gallactica on Fridays). My health is improving still, and I should be very much my usual self by next weekend if not sooner.

Oh, and the meeting with the pres went very well. There was a lot of panic as we had serious technical difficulties in our review and ended up being late to the meeting as we tried to straighten them out (good news there is that I'm low enough on the totem pole that others get the black mark for that...I think). In the group critique session that Teresa Nielsen Hayden ran at my first convention, she asked if I had ever sat in on executive meetings before (I think the dialog and tone of a scene in HD--that I have since cut--didn't ring true for her). Well, now I can say that I have, though the DDJ is a smaller company than Eugene's in HD.

That remdins me. As I've been sharing the story with co-workers and hearing the "wow, how did you do this at your age" comments from the docs, I've put the entire urosepsis (and, indeed, all of the strange and plentiful health issues of the past almost two years) into a category of research for my writing. I can now write a very tense birthing scene, an accurate if mild ICU scene, and describe what it's like to have in-home health care. And so much more. Too bad I don't write medical thrillers. :)

Long-awaited Drew Pics

Not one, not two, but three whole pages of new Drew pics! Watch Drew take in Rocky Mountain National Park! See his adorable baptismal outfit! See his teeth (well, you can kinda see them in one of those pictures; have to look hard; them things are hard to catch)!

Pardon the Silence

Huges meeting with the head honcho at the DDJ today, been preparing all week and haven't had time during day to post, and I practically never get time at night on normal weeks. Didn't post over the weekend because I had just been started on another course of antibiotics (damn bug is persistent and still lingering in my bladder, apparently) and was both tired, worn out, stressed, and irritable. Didn't feel like sharing that with the on-line world. Regular posting should hopefully resume tomorrow, though the DDJ is still going to be insane after this meeting and the antibiotics and other stressors will still be there. So who knows...

Eureka

I'm actually regularly taping a show so I can watch it later. I haven't done this since The West Wing. Eureka airs during my writing group, and I make it a point to tape it so I can watch it when I get back, even though I know SciFi will re-air it later that night and on Friday afternoons. I don't want to take the chance that they won't re-air it.

The concept of the show intrigued me: average guy is the sheriff in a town full of mad scientists. The pilot was a bit busy as they tried to pack a lot of the "townies" and the culture into the two-hours in addition to the basic show plot. That and the actors either mumble a lot or the show doesn't do a whole lot of voiceover in post. But it was still pretty fun.

The next two episodes were even better. We're slowly getting to know other elements of the town and the characters, and the story of each episode is a good mix of fun science and sleuthing. I really enjoy watching the characters interact. Especially Henry. Actually, that might be more the actor than the character. I've loved everything this guy has been in that I've seen. He brings such an honesty to his roles. Eureka's also done a great job of twisting the "computer as character" gimmick that Star Trek started. In Eureka, the computer is the sheriff's house, and she's very needy as well as a bit too helpful.

I'm still on the fence on the whole "Section 5" series arc/plot that they're developing. There are times it seems intriguing and times it seems a bit over the top or cheesy or just beyond the rules of the world they've set up. But it does keep the conflict going from episode to episode, so it's working on some level.

My only confusion with Eureka is the show that airs just before it, actually. SciFi has done so little promotion for Dead Like Me. It seems like a fun enough show from the little scraps I catch before Eureka. It really makes me wonder why it got such a raw deal. They don't even promo Dead Like Me during Eureka or during the SciFi Friday lineup. Very confusing.

The Perfect Novel

I have come up with an idea for the perfect novel. Of course, I have no recollection of the particulars of said novel. Did I mention that I had this moment of creative genius while I was in the hospital? And that this spark of writerly brilliance occurred over the course of my worst night? Yeah, so feverish delirium + percocet + morphine + fenergan + antibiotics = savant.

Seriously, I remember piecing together a novel in the semi-conscious breaks during my one night in med/surg (where I was at my least lucid). But I have absolutely no memory of any details that would help me write said novel such as characters, plot, theme, you name it. As far as I know now, the idea went something like this:

I introduce this character, someone flawed yet sympathetic. Then I totally put her in some serious trouble, something that hasn't been done before. As she's fighting to put things to right, she royally screws up and probably has a dark moment in which she questions everything. But eventually she finds a way to fix things, and she's grown and learned something along the way.

I really wouldn't be surprised if that's what I came up with. Not so much the perfect novel as it is a recipe for your basic novel.

Regardless of what the idea was, it carried me through the next day and made the transition from med/surg to the ICU less scary. I often came back to the thought of my perfect novel that day, telling myself that when I got out of the hospital, I was going to write the pants off that thing. By the next day, during my Adventures on Ambien, I realized that I didn't have any clue as to the specifics of the idea anymore, if I ever did, and I think that's what made that day particularly rough fro me.

Maybe one day I'll reconnect with this perfect book. Maybe I won't. But I will say that a nebulous, flawless novel is a bit better for a drug-induced flight of fancy than having Captain Malcolm Reynolds of the spaceship Serenity tell me to get up and pump my breasts. Note to self: always mix percocet with morphine, never take alone.

Goofing Off, Writer-style

So last night I stayed at my writing group longer than I had intended. My health is still a decent bit from 100%, and I had pushed myself a bit too hard at work earlier that day. I had meant to stay at group for an hour and then go back home for bed. But my writing group is fun, and I was enjoying getting into the meat of the pieces that were brought. So I stayed an hour longer than I had planned. I was getting ready to leave then when the group convinced me to stay because the next piece was only three pages.

Well, by this point, we were all a bit punchy. The jokes were zinging left and right, giggle fits were looming on the horizon. It helped that it was a really good piece that we read. If it had required more work, I'm sure we wouldn't have had the attention to spare much beyond critiquing the writing. But we did have the attention to spare.

Thus we were able to have a good time with the usual evil of "eyes resting on the floor" instead of "her gaze lingered on the floor" or something. It's a common writer mistake and one that very often makes it into print because, while it may be incorrect and physically impossible for your eyes to be resting on the floor or traveling up someone's body without severe pain and, well, blindness, everyone knows what you mean. Doesn't make it any less of a mistake, of course, but it's easy to overlook.

While most of us were making fun comments about locomoting eyeballs, though, one brave soul was endeavoring to provide serious feedback about part of the piece. The part involved a letter, and the critiquer was curious as to whether the writer had created the letter herself or if she had found it in her research and it was actually source text. Unfortunately, our intrepid writer responded by saying, "Yes, I made it up. It came out of my head."

I think I waited a beat before saying, "Do you have writing coming out of your other body parts?" We all giggled and carried this a bit further until I made the inevitable comment. "Well, if you think this writing is good, you should see the stuff that comes out of my ass!"

Yes, yes. Very clever. And had we been just a group of pals joking it up, it probably would've stopped there. But because we're writers, I no sooner had said the line than I followed it up with "Oh, that's fun. I gotta work that into a book somewhere." And then someone else said, "Wait, that's totally something that Travis would say," referring to a character from someone else's work-in-progress that we had reviewed that night.

Even low-brow humor isn't just low-brow humor for writers. Sure, we'll laugh at it, but we'll also be matching it up to our writing somehow. So be careful with that ridiculous knock-knock joke or bawdy limmerick. It just might come back to haunt you in print.

Where in the World was Kellie Hazell: Prague, 1992

See my previous posts: East Germany, 1988, and Berlin, 1996.

The travel agencies that catered to the American military in Europe had a particular type of trip that must have had a clever name but that we called the "shop till you drop" trips. They were bus trips to one of several nearby cities. You'd sleep on the bus, tour and shop during the day, then sleep on the bus back home. If you've ever tried to get a regular night's sleep on a bus, you understand why this might not be the most enjoyable traveling experience. But the trips were a big success for the single military member or the young couple, and, of course, the occasional odd family such as mine.

In the summer of 1992, the four of us grabbed one of my uncles and my grandmother and went on a shopping trip to Prague. Or at least I think my uncle was there. This is one of those "memory is fuzzy" moments. We stuffed the six of us into a car, drove to a bus pick-up spot, the bus drove us to a coordinating center for several of these trips to various cities, and then we got on our bus to Prague. The bus was garishly purple, and that led to the moniker for this trip: the Purple Bus Ride from Hell. At first I thought my seat was comfortable, but shortly after we got underway, I managed to find fault with some funky footrest thing. It was a long night.

We had breakfast at some special place. We did a bus tour. We saw a couple of sights. Then we were turned loose on the shops to buy crystal and the other items that were fairly cheap in the city. At some point during the day, we went up to either a castle or an entire older, walled city on a hill. There was some changing of the guard. There was a great view of the city. There was Franz Kafka's house. I think I had just read The Metamorphosis, so I was tickled by this sight. I also remember it the clearest as I had a picture taken just outside his door. (Good ol' Franz was very, very short.) And then we piled back into the bus for the return trip.

Believe it or not, this was the part of the trip that I'll never be able to forget.

I actually slept well at first. The customs stuff at the border woke me up, though I don't think we had to do anything. I could be wrong there, as I think I remember my mother and father being annoyed or saying that someone was being overzealous or something. I slept fitfully after that. A commotion at the back of the bus woke me fully. I couldn't understand what was happening. There were some exclamations that were pretty muffled by the time they made it to me at the front of the bus, but a lot of people seemed to be going or looking back there.

We made an unscheduled stop at Nuremburg Air Base (I think), and everyone got off. I think this was the point where my mother explained to me that someone was sick. An ambulance showed up, although it was a German one, not an American one, which was odd because I know we were on a military base because we were sitting in front of a Burger King and something else that was specific to the military bases at the time. It's possible that this base was closed or closing to the point where it didn't have an emergency services hospital, but that doesn't seem right either.

The paramedics (or whatever the German equivalent is) boarded the bus and brought the sick man off the bus. He wasn't moving, he wasn't conscious. They put him in the ambulance and tried to work on him a bit there. That wouldn't have been a problem except German ambulances have fairly big windows with about three-quarters of frosted glass. I remember watching the paramedic bobbing in and out of the clear portion of the glass as he performed CPR. I don't know how long the ambulance stayed there, or how long all of us stayed off the bus watching. It seemed like a lot longer than it probably was. I'm not sure anybody really slept for the rest of the trip home.

I found out later that the man had just stopped breathing on the bus ride. There were three nurses on the bus, and they took turns doing CPR to keep his body alive until we could stop. I'm not sure anyone ever found out why a healthy man in his thirties just up and died on that bus. And due to the whirlwind nature of the trip, it's very likely that only a couple of other people on that bus had even talked to him the entire day. I wrote a story about it for my ninth-grade English class. I probably still have it somewhere. There was a little blurb about the death in the paper, which I feel in retrospect I should've cut out. At least then I might remember this man's name and who survived him. It seems odd that I was in such close quarters with a man who lost his life in my presence, and I can barely recall what he looked like.

Next week: Stratford-upon-Avon, 1995, definitely more up-beat

Best Medicine

The six days I spent in the hospital weren't fun for a number of reasons. But the best part of every day there was the few minutes each morning and evening when Mark brought Drew to say hi. I wasn't able to hold Drew at all (he's so curious and grabby that my IV wouldn't have lasted for a minute with him in my arms), and he was more interested at all the new sites than puzzling out who the crazy lady in the bed was. Still, I couldn't help but smile whenever I saw him.

Part of the reason I was so miserable the last two days of my stay was because I felt well enough to be home and wanted to be home so I could see more of my smiling guy and actually put my arms around him and hold him while he drank a bottle. The world of difference I felt between my last day and the hospital and my first full day at home was probably due almost entirely to Drew.

It was the hardest thing to spend all of last week at home and not keep Drew home with me, but doctor's order are doctor's orders, and there's no way I would've been able to get as much rest as I did if I had been chasing after the Drew Monster all last week.

We have lots of pictures of our little guy, but most of them are digital (the perils of having a digital camera and no printer). I wish we had printed more pictures so I could've put Drew's somewhat toothy grin on the little tray by my bed. Maybe that would've kept my fever's down or something. It certainly would've made me smile more.

The Odd Sunday Check-in

Still not back to 100%. I've only been up for three hours today, and I'm ready for a nap after doing simple grocery shopping. I go back to work tomorrow, but I'm not sure I'm going to make it a full day. We'll see. Other than the energy levels, though, I feel fine. I've got several follow-up appointments this week and next, and the docs will give their Final Word on how I'm doing after the recent medical insanity. One of the follow-ups includes an ultrasound of my kidneys. Fun.

In non-health business, I've done a lot of reading and TV-watching this week. The books were OK, but nothing that really absorbed me and Did It for me. It'd be nice to read a really good book. I've got a hardback that I picked up that I've been shying away from even though I really like the first chapter. Sounds silly, but I was reluctant to heft such a tome this week. I'll probably get over it, though, as I really want to get into a good book and that one seems to be the most promising.

As for my writing, I did manage to get a good bit done this week. About 4K. And I should have the energy to write more today and tomorrow as well. I need 5K more by tomorrow night in order to be fully "caught up" to my minimum goals after the hospital stay, but I'm not going to push myself to make it. If I get there, I get there. If I don't, it's OK. Health has to come first at the moment.

So that's been my week. I wish I was a bit more healed, but I'm hoping that getting into the swing of my regular life will trigger the rest of the energy to return. Some times that's what it takes.

The Details of the Recent Medical Joy

Remember that kidney stone that was so funny ha-ha back at my six-week postpartum check-up. Yeah, not so funny anymore. Apparently I passed the stone recently. I didn't feel a thing. Didn't notice anything that could be remotely odd that would have indicated the stone had left my kidney and wandered its happy route out of my body. Unfortunately, the passing of said stone made conditions perfect for a little E. coli (not the icky one you hear about people dying from due to bad food) to wander into my bladder. Again, I didn't notice anything. My body is still protesting that whole pregnancy thing and is taking its sweet time letting everything get back to normal. The bacteria had a grand ol' time in my bladder and decided things looked even sweeter in my kidneys. That's when I finally noticed something. Back pain. Unfortunately, I attributed this to severe menstrual cramps. Then I got a fever and a terrible headache and started vomiting. Finally, I called the after-hours line and they told me to get in to the ER.

The ER docs quickly diagnosed me with a kidney infection, pumped me up with some antibiotics (took them forty-five minutes and three techs to get the IV in me), and sent me home. Things only got worse the next day, so back we went to the ER. They admitted me to their observation ward (IV was amazingly a one-stick deal this time; that nurse is my hero), and the round of chills to fever to headache to backache continued while they kept up with the same antibiotic. Sometime during that stay in the observation unit, they realized that the infection had found its way into my bloodstream and there was evidence that the lovely little E. coli were already starting to chomp away at my red blood cells.

This concerned me. So much so that I don't think I shared it with anyone. The destruction of my red blood cells, that is. I mentioned I was septic to Mark and family, but I think I kept the image of munching bacteria to myself. I'm not sure what I told to whom, though. That whole fever and drugs thing.

So they transferred me out of observation and into their med/surg wing. I got a new antibiotic, and by now the docs were closely monitoring whether the antibiotic was actually doing its job because the last one hadn't been. Unfortunately, this wing was so busy, that I got very spotty treatment. It took them four hours after I vomited and started spiking a fever before they came in with anti-nausea meds and Tylenol. Therefore, I understandably got worse during my one night in med/surg, and they transferred me down to the ICU the next day.

In the ICU, they gave me another antibiotic in addition to the second one that they started in med/surg. And they put a cooling blanket underneath me to prevent more spiking temperatures. They also put these odd cuffs on my legs to massage me and prevent blood clots. They made the mistake of giving me Ambien to help me sleep one night. I've never been so out of it. If you called on Wednesday of last week, don't believe anything I said. :)

The ICU nurses were great. I particularly enjoyed my night shift nurse. She took very good care of me. She even tried really hard to keep my glasses from falling into a pool of my vomit. Wasn't quite fast enough, but she did get them all cleaned up for me afterward. She's also the one with whom I made a pact to get an IV back in me after my first one "fell" out. We made said pact after four techs had given it a go, one of them with an ultrasound machine to help her find the veins (she stuck me twice without success). We made this pact even after some idiot from the ER tried to stick me in a vein that already had seven pokes all in a nice row from the course of blood draws over several days (when he stuck me there, I came off the bed screaming and crying). And she got the IV in me in one try.

By the way, it is ever so much fun coming home from the hospital looking like a junkie. Both of my arms are black and blue.

Once it was Friday, I was pretty much out of the woods, except for the whole concept of an oral antibiotic I could take so I could go home. I mentioned that the E. coli was resistant to the first antibiotic they tried, and that it took two separate kinds to actually start making progress in my bod. The new problem was that the primary candidate for oral antibiotic was a derivative of a drug I was allergic to. So I was watched closely Friday and Saturday morning while on the pill antibiotic, with a steady saline drip through my IV to keep the vein open just in case things took a dive.

At last they discharged me, and now I'm at home, trying to get my energy and appetite back (I don't recommend this particular diet, but I did lose 10-15 lbs over the course of this illness). I'm hoping that this is the last of the crazy medical dramas in my life for a bit. I was pretty scared for a bit there last week, and I think Mark and a few others might have been biting their nails, too. I'm ready to be healthy for a while now.

Pressure

Mark's phone interview went well. Now it's back to a waiting game to see if they want an in-person interview. I'm thinking they will, but I'm not exactly the most objective person around. Mark's feeling a bit antsy now that he just has to wait. He really likes this company, really likes the positions they have open. This job encapsulates just about everything we're looking for in this job search for our family goals. That's a lot to be waiting for.

I'm trying my best to keep him calm and relaxed about it. It's hard, though, because I really want him to get this job so I don't have to work and we can settle into Arizona. But I'm setting that aside as best I can to keep him sane so he can still keep up the job search and follow-ups so we get him launched in his career. The point isn't to get the perfect job but the best job for his career that is available. But when that perfect job is sitting right there, and he's a step closer than he was toward getting it....

Keep sending those happy thoughts and keep those fingers crossed.

This Period of Silence Brought to You By: Urosepsis

OK, so why hasn't Kellie posted in over a week? Kellie was in the hospital from last Sunday until this past Saturday. Yup, six days. Fighting a kidney infection that had made its way into my bloodstream. And the little bacteria bugger was resistant to the first couple of antibiotics they tried, and then of course, I was allergic to the next couple on the list that would work. And on this went for six days.

I'll have a much more detailed report of the whole affair a bit later in the week (I've been ordered to take the week off and recover). Of course this latest round of medical bliss has completely wrecked my brand spanking new writing plan. But I do have some really good news that's come out of this bit of non-posting: Mark has a phone interview tomorrow with his top choice company. Send happy thoughts for him and maybe a few for my continued recovery, eh?

Regular blogging to resume next week.

Yet Another Writing Plan

Last week I got frustrated with my writing. Frustrated in the sense that I knew I was good enough to be published right now, at this very moment, except that I didn't have a completed novel of publishable quality to get published. In the odd logic that permeates such frustrating moments (and keep in mind I was having a bad week at the DDJ and was irked that I couldn't spend the time on my writing that I wanted), I decided to go ahead and pitch the Velorin series to the Luna line without a finished first book. No, I didn't go right out and act on said piece of insanity. I let it stew. I discussed it with Mark. I considered all of the various problems that could arise if I did this--and it was very telling that my only option that would not land me in some sort of trouble was if the pitch was rejected.

So I put my frustration to better use and formulated a do-able schedule that would allow me to finish a draft of SoZ by the end of the year (with hopefully enough wiggle-room to accommodate the insanity of moving, whenever that should hit). It involves committing myself to at least 1000 words every time I sit down to write. This shouldn't be a problem in that I tend to write 1,200 to 1,500 words in every session. But to put the goals in writing, with the expected weekly goal of at least 3000 words (I get three nights to write each week) and the expected monthly goal of at least 12,000 words, should help me make steadier progress. I know where I'm going with the book, I have an outline of everything I've already written, I have a plan for getting where I want to be by the end of the year. I am going to stick with it.

Also on tap with the writing is to make a similar plan for getting my two short stories out in the world. Right now they're stalled because I'm unsure of the turnaround time at the magazines I'm shooting for and with the uncertainty of our move.... I just have to analyze my options and make a decision. As for my other writing ideas, I'm going to put them into a reward structure for meeting my 12,000 a month goal. Also, all writing business items (such as the blog), will be taken care of one night a week to prevent me from wasting my other writing time doing post in advance and such. By putting aside a specific time for that every week, I should limit the distractions and such that would prevent me from meeting 1K a session or even writing SoZ at all in a session.

Marketing that Goes Too Far

Getting to your audience is a vital part of developing your writing career. You can write the best damn book in the world, but if it's not getting into the hands of people who want to read that stuff, you'll crash and burn. That's why writers need to develop some method of promoting themselves (websites, con appearances, newsletters, etc.). Sometimes it can go too far, though. Or just be so transparent as to be annoying.

Case in point is the recent re-release of a book originally published by a small press: The Expected One. Riding on the last gas of the DaVinci Code hype, the marketing for this book takes things one step further. I don't know how the story came out (publisher put this info in a press release? author created her own press release?), but it caught and spread to the point that even the booksellers were using it as a marketing ploy to get folks to buy the book. This novel is about the modern-day descendent of Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, which puts it right in the Code pack, but the publisher or author or both are trying to distinguish it by making it known that the author herself thinks she is the descendent of Mary Magdalene and Christ. Maybe I'm too cynical for thinking it, maybe it has nothing to do with selling books, but I heard this and thought about how I could hype my books with similar tactics.

For all of my SF books, I could claim to see the future, and that my books are basically transcriptions of my visions. For all of my fantasy novels, I could claim that they are loosely based on my experiences in my past lives--you know, sort of like a Million Little Pieces semi-fictional memoir.

Nah, too much effort to try and keep all the stories straight or be ready with an explanation any time I might slip. Too much effort. I'd rather put that energy into writing really good stories that don't need gimmicks to sell.

Where in the World was Kellie Hazell: Berlin, 1996

Last week I posted my first installment of the "Where in the World was Kellie Hazell" series: East Germany and East Berlin in 1988.

As mentioned in that college-paper interview, I went back to Berlin in 1996. Instead of driving, I took the train. (About half of my European adventures were accomplished via train; I miss that transit system.) And I went with my then-boyfriend instead of my family. I think we were on the faster-than-average train but not on the fastest available. I tried to find a distinction between the former West and East Germanys similar to what I had observed before, but I couldn't see it. There was no drastic change in the color scale, there was no sudden difference in building style. Maybe the disparity of those elements was much more prevalent right up against the border during the times of the Iron Curtain? Times like these I wish I hadn't been so young during that time.

I said it in the interview: the only real distinction between East and West Berlin was the shocking number of construction cranes dotting the eastern side of Berlin. The wall was only there in memorialized slabs, and the sterility of the border on the former East Berlin side of things was all but gone. I found it oddly disappointing that there wasn't still a bigger stretch of it left so I could see the past and the present and the future in greater relief. That and I really wanted to chisel out a piece of the wall with my own two hands.

We only had part of a day to explore Berlin. I don't remember much about the trip aside from a few scattered images of the train ride, standing in subway stations, those cranes, and the Brandenberg Gate. Last week I talked about how you could only see it from a distance, and even then it had the garish Berlin Wall marring it in the background. But on that trip we could walk right up to it, and the only thing detracting from its history and beauty was the marketplace of cheap tourist souvenirs that had sprung up at its base. Ah, how perfect a juxtaposition of memories: the cold, cruel leaching of color and life from the communist era against the chaos of capitalism in its most opportunistic venue. I should've bought a T-shirt.

I wish I could remember more about this trip. Berlin has so much history and beauty; surely we had enough time to see more than I remember. But it was 1996, I was a senior in high school. I spent most of that school year in a disconnect, eager to "get on with my life" and experience college and take the next step toward my dreams. There's a lot that happened that year that I only half-remember or remember as if it happened to someone else. I had the ridiculous notion that that year had to be perfect because it was my last year of being a child. I never daydream about reliving my youth, but there are times that I wish I could whisper some advice in my younger self's ear, namely, "Pay attention here."

Next week I'll detail my journey to Prague in 1992, when it was still the capital of Czechoslovakia.